The Sanatorium(37)
“No. Any calls that are for work they expense from their personal mobiles, but we mainly use the phones here.” She gestures at the landline on the desk.
This must be her personal mobile, surely? But why keep her personal mobile statements here? Then Elin notices something. The network: Orange.ch. Wasn’t the mobile Isaac showed her Swisscom?
That means Laure has another phone.
When she picks up the most recent bill, her eyes leap the page. One number appears repeatedly on the call log.
Texts too. It must be Isaac’s, she thinks, pulling out her own phone to check.
It isn’t. Whoever she’s been repeatedly calling, it isn’t Isaac. In fact, Elin thinks, looking down the log, Isaac’s number doesn’t appear on here anywhere. Her body tenses. There’s something about this she doesn’t like.
Why keep the statements here?
But Elin knows the answer: She doesn’t want Isaac to see them. Her mind immediately makes the next leap: Is Laure seeing someone else? Has Isaac found out?
Her mind draws back to the call she witnessed last night: Laure could have been using this phone. This could be the number of the person she was speaking to, the number she’d been unable to find on Laure’s other phone.
Elin’s mobile vibrates.
A message from Will.
Weather all over the news. They’re evacuating hotels on the other side of the valley.
“Got everything you need?”
Dragging her eyes from the screen, Elin notices the impatience on Cecile’s face. She’s had enough. Wants to get back to work.
“Yes.” She gestures to the folder containing the bills. “Is it okay if I take these?”
“Of course, and if there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.” Her voice is earnest, but her expression is curiously opaque. Elin’s finding it hard to tell if the words are genuine or simply a cool professionalism.
“Really,” Cecile adds, as if sensing her thoughts, “anything at all. Laure’s a valued member of the team—” She breaks off, her eyes fixed on the window.
Elin follows her gaze to the car park outside. One of the police 4x4s she saw earlier is pulling away. It’s moving quickly, wheels churning up snow.
Looking back to Cecile, she stops, noticing her tense expression.
Elin’s about to ask her about it but pulls back.
Don’t overstep the mark. If something has happened to Laure, she needs to approach this situation, the people here, very carefully.
29
A printout?” Isaac’s voice is too loud, strained, but it doesn’t matter. The lounge is packed, his words lost amid the hum of conversation, the clink and clang of cutlery. Music is playing on low: a contemporary jazz track, suitable for daytime.
No one’s venturing out in this, Elin thinks, looking outside. The sky is black, huge snowflakes being pulled in all directions by the wind.
She nods. “It was in Laure’s desk.”
“So that’s why you sent Will off. So you could confront me with it.”
Elin bristles. “I hardly sent him. He’d finished lunch and wanted to check his e-mails.”
Isaac sets down his fork with a clatter and pushes his plate aside. The chicken salad has barely been touched, lettuce leaves, slick with oil, heaped up on the side of his plate.
He’s a mess, Elin thinks, looking at the stubble grazing his cheeks, the crumpled clothes.
“So what’s it about?” he says abruptly.
“Depression. There was a business card attached to it, for a psychologist.”
Running a finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes lock on the fireplace behind him. The flames are leaping high, curling against the glass.
“A psychologist?” Isaac’s eyes widen before he collects himself. “It would . . . make sense.” He looks at her, assessing, as if trying to pregauge a reaction. “Laure has been struggling with depression recently. It’s been worse the past few months. Her medication . . . that’s what I took from the shelf. I wasn’t certain you saw.”
“I did.” She meets his gaze. “Why did you hide it?”
“I didn’t want to go into something private, without her permission. I thought she’d be back and I wouldn’t have to . . .” Shaking his head, he looks down to the floor. “But that’s all gone to shit, hasn’t it?” He clears his throat. “I’ve canceled everyone, you know. Laure’s friends. Mine. Even if the weather doesn’t come in as they’re forecasting, there’s no point in them coming now.”
“You’re sure?”
“Not much of an engagement party without the bride-to-be, is it?”
Hearing the anger flaring in his tone, she changes the subject. “So how long has she been depressed?”
“On and off for years, since Coralie died. It didn’t help that her father didn’t stick around. When Laure hit eighteen, he pissed off back to Japan.”
“Coralie’s dead?” Elin falters, picturing her, the narrow face, the slanted, feline eyes. Coralie was a one-off, a no-bullshit firebrand, so full of energy that it’s hard to imagine that she’s gone.
“A hit-and-run in Geneva. Near the lake.”
“Laure didn’t say.” Why hadn’t she mentioned it, Elin wonders, stung, but deep down, she knows: Why would Laure trust her with that after Elin had ghosted her?