The Woman Who Lied(87)

Ottilie’s apartment is in a beautiful white stone-pillared building with a black front door. There is a concierge at a desk in the foyer and a lovely old-fashioned wooden lift in the middle that reminds me of the ones in old movies. He smiles at me as I enter. I show him my identification and tell him I’m here to see Ottilie.

‘Oh, she left late last night. Or, rather, in the early hours of this morning, according to the night manager.’

‘What time?’

‘Around two a.m. She has a friend staying. She’s still there, apparently.’

I push down an uneasy feeling. ‘What number is her apartment?’

‘Seven.’

I don’t wait for the lift, instead I run up the back stairs, out of breath by the time I get to Ottilie’s apartment on the second floor. I knock on the door but, as I’d thought, there’s no answer. I’m sure I can hear a cat miaowing behind the closed door. I rap my knuckles again and call Emilia’s name. An elderly woman from the next flat opens her door, her face screwed up in annoyance. ‘What’s all the racket?’

I explain who I am and show her my police ID card. ‘I might have to kick the door down,’ I say. ‘I’m worried about the person inside.’

‘No, don’t do that. Wait.’ She disappears back inside the flat. I can smell something cooking. She emerges again, holding a key. ‘We all swapped in case we locked ourselves out.’

‘Fine. Thanks. Please, open the door.’

She takes her time about it, and just when I’m about to wrestle the key from her and do it myself the door swings open. She steps aside and I rush in. I can sense the old woman behind me as I hurry through the square hallway into the galley kitchen. It’s empty. So are the bedrooms, one of which has all the drawers and wardrobes open, with clothes flung on the bed and floor.

‘Emilia,’ I call, running now into the living room, pushing open the door. The room is dark, the heavy curtains tightly drawn, but in the corner by the radiator there is a body on the floor.

The old woman turns the overhead light on and gasps.

‘Call an ambulance,’ I say, rushing over to where Emilia lies fully dressed. She’s on her side, her eyes closed, and she would have looked like she’d just fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the unnatural pallor. Deathly pale, blue-tinged lips. I kneel down and try to find a pulse, fearing I’m already too late.





61





The first person she sees when she opens her eyes is Elliot, and she wonders if she’s dead. Or dreaming. She blinks a few times, his face coming into focus as he looms over her.

‘She’s awake,’ cries a familiar voice and she turns her head to see Wilfie and Jasmine on the other side of the bed. They’re all beaming at her but it looks as though both her children have been crying.

‘It’s all right, love, you’re safe,’ says Elliot. He’s holding her hand, reminding her of her last memory: Ottilie’s hand, warm and sweaty in her own.

Her mouth feels dry and she tries to speak. ‘Here, have a sip of this,’ says Elliot, gently guiding a clear cup of water towards her.

She takes a sip. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in the hospital. But you’re okay. You’re going to be fine.’ The relief in his voice is evident and she wonders if there was a point when they didn’t know that this would be the case. She tries to sit up but discovers she can’t. Elliot pushes a button on the bed and it moves so that she’s more upright. ‘Is that better?’

She squeezes his hand. ‘You’re out …’ she manages.

And that’s when she sees the concerned faces of her parents behind her children. She blinks again.

‘We were all so worried,’ her mother says, patting the regulation hospital blanket over her knees. ‘You’ve been out for nearly twenty-four hours.’

Drugged. Ottilie had drugged the hot chocolate she’d given her. No wonder she’d felt so out of it. That was why her thoughts had been all over the place. Had Ottilie been planning to kill her but hadn’t given her enough?

‘Where’s Ottilie?’

‘She’s … gone, sweetheart,’ says Elliot. ‘The police are looking for her, but she’s probably already left the country.’

Emilia can feel tears on her face. Elliot bends over and kisses her forehead. ‘You gave us quite the scare. Thank goodness you’re okay.’

She reaches out, her fingers finding Wilfie’s soft curls and then Jasmine’s hand. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she says.

She has to stay in hospital for a few days to check that she doesn’t have organ damage. She can hear the traffic outside, the beep of horns, the blare of sirens, and it’s strangely comforting. She still feels woozy from whatever drug Ottilie had given her – the doctors had told her, but it had a long name and Emilia can’t remember in her haze, but apparently it’s easy to get on prescription. Elliot has stayed with her while her parents took the children home. She hadn’t wanted to let Wilfie or Jasmine out of her sight, but she could see they were tired and, once they’d understood she’d be okay, bored. What if Ottilie came back to finish her off? She expresses this fear to Elliot, who hasn’t left her side since she was brought in, so the nurses have told her.