The Passengers(64)
Her acting skills disguised the fluctuation in her voice. ‘What would we all like to drink?’
‘Coke, please,’ chirped both children. She hesitated, her eyes locked on theirs, searching for evidence of what she thought she had witnessed. But all they gave back to her were their innocent smiles. She turned and left them alone again with Patrick.
Throughout the weeks that followed, Sofia replayed that moment over and over again. Had her eyes deceived her? Was she blowing a misplaced hand out of all proportion? Patrick was the man she loved above all others, the only one she wanted children with. How could he be anything other than what she knew him to be? It wasn’t possible. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t cast out the niggling doubt from inside her.
It was some months later when she returned home from filming in the South of France and found Patrick alone with Paige and Robbie. Instantly it put her on edge. She hadn’t expected to see them all together and the memory of Patrick’s misplaced hand returned. She held her breath, waiting in the shadows, watching for signs of inappropriate behaviour. But all three played innocently on a swing Patrick had made by looping a thick rope over a tree’s sturdy branch. ‘Why are the kids here?’ Sofia asked, trying to hide her uneasiness.
‘Your sister asked if I could look after them while she took Kenny to Rome for the weekend,’ he replied.
‘You didn’t mention it when we spoke last night.’
‘Their babysitter cancelled last minute. It’s okay, isn’t it?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’
She gave him a lacklustre smile. Patrick placed his camera on a deckchair and kissed his wife’s cheek. ‘Can you imagine what it’ll be like when we have our own little Paige running around the place?’
‘Why a Paige? Why not a Robbie?’
‘I don’t know … I suppose I’ve been picturing us having a little girl. A mini-Sofia. Someone to follow in your footsteps on the stage. A real daddy’s girl.’
She blanched at Patrick’s words and, suddenly, being pregnant with his child was the last thing Sofia wanted. The voice inside her, which she relied upon to guide her career, made itself heard – you cannot trust him!
After a sleepless night, she waited until Patrick had left the house to play an early morning round of golf before she approached Paige. They sat in the den watching cartoons.
‘Did you have fun with Uncle Patrick yesterday?’ she asked and Paige nodded. ‘What did you do?’
‘We played in the woods.’
‘With Robbie?’
‘No, he was on his bike.’
‘It was just the two of you?’ Paige nodded again. Sofia’s heart beat faster. ‘And what did you get up to?’
‘I’m not allowed to say,’ Paige replied and put her finger to her lips, making a shushing sound. ‘It’s a secret.’
‘You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else.’
‘But I promised.’
‘Sometimes it’s okay to break a promise. You trust me, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘He took photos of me. He said Mummy asked him to, to show her how I’m growing up.’
Sofia’s body stiffened. ‘What kind of photos?’
‘Running around and next to the trees. He used the camera where you have to shake the photographs and they come to life like magic.’
She was referring to the Polaroid camera Sofia bought him for their holiday in St Lucia. Sofia recalled he’d had it with him yesterday in the garden when she’d arrived home. Sofia hurried to the annexe Patrick used as his office. Fuelled by adrenaline and unease, she didn’t know where to begin her search or what she was looking for. She began with the files in his cabinet, and then leafed through books on shelves and drawers stuffed with papers. There was nothing incriminating. But her relief was tempered by frustration. Her inner voice was never wrong. She knew what she had seen that day by the pool.
The corner of a box poking out from under a stack of old coats caught her eye. Tentatively, she removed the lid and looked inside. It contained a stack of brown A4 envelopes, each addressed to a PO box but with no name, and containing a Dutch postmark on the front. She examined the contents of one. Inside was a glossy colour magazine, containing page after page of indecent images of young girls. Sofia dropped it to the floor, took a step back and began to hyperventilate.
She eventually found the strength to continue and inside the other envelopes were different issues of the same magazine. And at the very bottom was a white envelope, a Dutch address on the front written in Patrick’s handwriting, and containing loose Polaroids. Sofia half closed her eyes as she removed a handful; her worst fears were quickly realised. They were clothed and unclothed pictures of Paige. Patrick hadn’t taken them only for his own gratification, but to share and arouse other like-minded people.
Sofia steadied herself against the wall, concerned her legs might give way beneath her. Despite her spinning head, she grabbed the photos, stuffed them into her pocket, returned the box back in position and ran to her bedroom. Once behind the locked door of the ensuite, she vomited into the sink. She had never felt pain like it, knowing that the man she loved had robbed a child of her innocence, and under their roof.
Before her niece returned home, Sofia made her promise not to tell her mother about the pictures and in return, she would organise a photo shoot at a studio in London for Paige and her friends. Her niece squealed with delight and swore to remain silent.