Who is Maud Dixon?(78)

“It’s okay.” She pushed herself further up. “Come sit.”

“No, no. Go back to sleep.” Helen left the room.

A few minutes later, Florence wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been a dream.

Then she woke up again. It was still dark. The air felt tense, like a shrill violin string had just been plucked.

She put her feet on the cold floor and walked out into the hallway. It was quiet except for the fountain gurgling in the courtyard below.

She went downstairs. The living room was a mess, but no one was there. Meg and the others must have left.

There was a shuffling sound from out on the terrace. She opened the French doors at the back of the house and saw Helen silhouetted against the dark sky. She was standing by the pool.

“Helen?”

Helen jumped and spun around with her hand on her heart. “Florence, you scared me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep. It’s so peaceful out here now that the heat has lifted.”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s been a long few days. Weeks. Months.”

“Do you want company?”

“No, go back to sleep. I’ll be in soon.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Good night.”

Florence went back upstairs but she couldn’t get back to sleep. She picked up her book. A half hour later she heard Helen’s footsteps on the stairs. They paused briefly outside her room, then kept going down the hall. The door to Helen’s room shut quietly.





43.



Florence went downstairs shortly after dawn. She hadn’t been able to fall back asleep after finding Helen outside by the pool. She guessed that had been around four in the morning.

Amira started when Florence walked into the kitchen.

“It’s early,” she said.

Florence nodded. “Is there coffee yet?”

“I’m making it now.”

Florence wondered what time Amira arrived in the morning. She was always already there.

A few minutes later, Florence settled outside on the terrace with a mug and a brioche. The sky was brightening at a drowsy pace, the palm trees still just outlines against the sky.

Florence considered the one question that had kept her awake far longer than any of the others: Should she turn Helen in?

After all, Helen had killed someone. It had been in self-defense, but that didn’t change the fact that Jenny was dead. Was Florence really willing to risk being charged as an accessory after the fact?

On the other hand, Florence gained nothing by sending Helen to jail. Helen had said she wanted to disappear in a way that left Florence safe and “compensated.” What, in practical terms, had she meant? Florence seemed to be in a position to name her price. Besides, she didn’t like the thought of Helen in prison. It would be like keeping an exotic bird in captivity. A waste.

“You’re sunburned.”

Florence jumped. Helen was standing in the doorway.

Florence drew her hands up to her face.

“You’re all red. I didn’t notice last night. You should take better care of yourself. There’s SPF in my toiletries kit.” Helen sat. “Did you end up getting any sleep?”

“Not really. You?”

“Some. I’m okay, though. Nothing a little coffee won’t cure.”

As if on cue, Amira stepped out onto the terrace with the pot. She greeted Helen placidly, as if she’d always expected her to return. Maybe she had.

When she’d gone back into the house, Helen asked, “What did you tell Amina?”

“Nothing, really. I said you were in Marrakesh.” She realized how odd it was that she’d never explained her injuries or why she was driven back to the villa barefoot by a policeman. “Her name is Amira,” she added, for lack of any other explanation.

“Is it?” Helen asked, uninterested, as she pulled apart a croissant and spread honey on it. “Listen, I have to run into town this morning. When I get back, let’s talk about next steps.”

“What are you doing in town?”

“It’s better that you don’t know.”

“We don’t have a car anymore.”

“I have one.” Helen took a sip of coffee. “By the way, what was the name of the guy from the embassy?”

“Dan something. His card is on the table in the living room. Why?”

“I have a plan. I’m going to take care of a few details, then I’ll tell you everything.” She drank the rest of her coffee in a single gulp and stood up.

“You’re leaving now?” It wasn’t even seven yet.

“The early bird etcetera, etcetera.”

Helen disappeared into the house to get ready.

Half an hour later, she was gone, and Florence was alone again.

She was still sitting there when she heard the phone ring. Amira stuck her head out onto the terrace. “It is Madame Greta again, Madame.”

“Can you tell her I’m not home, please?”

Amira nodded, but reappeared a moment later. “She says if no one talks to her she will call the police.”

Florence knew that if Helen came back to Villa des Grenades and found the police there, she’d never forgive her. And the truth was, Florence wasn’t ready to choose sides yet.