Perfect Strangers

‘Shit. We’ve been phoning the wrong number,’ muttered Josh.

‘Yes, but that’s good, don’t you see?’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘Let’s call it now. If Nick’s girlfriend is here, she will pick it up and we can identify her.’

Josh smiled and pulled out his mobile.

‘I’ll take the ballroom; you wait out here and listen for anyone answering their phone. I’ll keep ringing. If I get them, I’ll ask them to meet me by the terrace steps.’

Sophie walked to the edge of the terrace, her pulse quickening. It was a long shot, of course. Maybe Nick’s lover hadn’t brought her phone; maybe she wouldn’t hear it ring. But there was always a chance, wasn’t there? And by Sophie’s reckoning, they were due a little bit of luck. She weaved through the crowd, her ears peeled, willing herself to pick up a noise, but all she could hear was the clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation and laughter. And then she heard it; the faint but persistent chirp of a mobile phone. There were dozens of people out on the terrace, even more milling around the gardens below; it could be anywhere. Sophie looked from left to right, desperately watching for movement, someone lifting a cell phone to their ear.

There, she thought. It was coming from the area down by the infinity pool, she was sure of it. She moved across to the stone steps and, gathering up her dress to expose her silver shoes, followed the sound as quickly as she could. The pool was surrounded by dark slate, and its clear turquoise water was shimmering in the darkness. As she walked around it, Sophie could see a group of three women, evidently come down here to smoke. The one with her back to Sophie reached for her clutch – the ringing was definitely coming from there. It could be a coincidence, of course, so Sophie hung back in the shadows. She could not see the woman’s face, just her graceful neck, her long dark hair, and the full skirt of what was obviously a very beautiful gown.

Sophie turned and looked back towards the house, where she could make out Josh’s tall silhouette against the double doors.

She beckoned to him and then walked towards the woman, who was pulling the phone away from her ear. Her heart was thumping loudly as the woman turned, her profile illuminated by the silvery moonlight.

‘Allô?’ said the woman into her phone. There was a pause, then she turned again – towards the terrace steps.

‘You?’ whispered Sophie, her hand going to her mouth. ‘Lana?’

There was no mistake: the woman’s face was illuminated by the yellow light from the house. Lana Goddard-Price, the woman who had asked her to house-sit, the woman who had told her to help herself to anything in her Knightsbridge home: the woman who had set everything in motion.

‘Sophie,’ said Lana, moving away from her friends. There was no surprise in her voice, only a matter-of-fact statement, as if she had just bumped into a vague acquaintance she didn’t see all that often. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘So I take it you two know each other?’ said Josh, walking up behind them. Sophie kept her gaze on Lana. She couldn’t think of anything to say except the obvious truth.

‘Nick’s dead, Lana,’ she said in the most level voice she could manage.

If Sophie had expected the woman to crumble, to weep, to betray her distress, then she was disappointed. Lana simply closed her eyes and nodded sadly.

‘Collect your coat, then we should leave. I think we had better find somewhere quieter to talk.’

32

Lana’s house was a thirty-minute drive away in Cap Ferrat, an exclusive wooded peninsula beyond Nice, sandwiched between the understated but extremely expensive villages of Villefranche and Beaulieu-sur-Mer. Josh and Sophie sat in silence, unable to talk in front of Lana or her driver, each wrapped in their own unspoken questions as the car drove past the crowded restaurants and pretty terracotta houses of Saint-Jean, then out on to the headland, the pine forest closing in around the impressively discreet properties on the winding sea road, each one protected by high walls and security cameras. The Goddard-Prices’ home was smaller but no less impressive than Villa Polieux, with its pale pink exterior and neat garden bursting with bougainvillea.

Not that Sophie was in any mood to appreciate it. The journey had given her plenty of time to imagine almost every possible scenario to do with Nick and Lana, but one thing seemed obvious: whatever Lana Goddard-Price’s motivations were, it was no coincidence that she had chosen Sophie to house-sit for her. And that meant that Sophie had been duped. Why? She had no idea. But the very idea that she had been sucked into this chaotic and dangerous plot on purpose made her almost sick with anger. Josh clearly felt the fury coming from her, and as the car pulled to a stop, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. That was something, she supposed.

Stepping out into the balmy night air, Sophie could hear the shrill rasp of crickets in the bushes and feel the breeze blowing through the umbrella pines. For one moment she had the urge to run off into the dark forest, leave all her burning questions unanswered, leave the whole sorry mess behind. But she had to know. She had come too far to turn back now.

The house was in darkness as they stepped inside. Josh and Sophie followed Lana down cool stone corridors and into a wood-panelled study. Lana went behind the desk and switched on a lamp, then indicated a pair of sofas.

‘Please, sit.’

She took a cigarette from a case on the desk, lighting it with a slim gold lighter.

‘Terrible habit, I know,’ she said, blowing a long stream of smoke at the ceiling. ‘When my personal trainer isn’t around, I fall back into terrible habits.’

‘If your name is Lana, then who is A?’ asked Josh, settling back in his seat.

‘My full name is Alannah. Most people call me Lana.’

Sophie glared at her. ‘Well, what do you want from me, Alannah? We know you were Nick’s lover. I somehow doubt it was an accident your house-sitter was involved with him too.’

‘Nick had many amours, but I wasn’t one of them,’ said Lana, pouring herself a brandy from a decanter on the desk, then sitting down opposite Sophie and Josh. ‘Our relationship was of a professional nature. I was paying him to do a job, which was to get involved with you.’

‘But why? Why on earth—’

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Josh. ‘Can someone fill me in, please? So it was your place in Knightsbridge Sophie was house-sitting?’