“Caleb, the time difference, mate,” the taller man says awkwardly. “She won’t be up.”
“Well, if she isn’t, Della, her assistant, will be. She’s in the UK.” Caleb steps away, agitated, tapping the phone again. As he paces backward and forward, Elin hears him quietly talking. His speech is very slow, deliberate. She’s not sure if he’s trying to delay the moment or it’s just his natural pattern of speech.
When he walks back a few moments later, phone still in hand, Elin notices his eyes sliding toward the balustrade. “She—” He stops, collecting himself. “Bea never went to the U.S. She canceled her trip yesterday.”
His words act like something seismic.
The group’s expression lurches from disbelief to horror.
Jo shakes her head. “I’m going to check for myself.” She makes a dive for the pavilion, ducking under the tape.
“No,” Elin says, but she’s too quick. Three, four strides, and Jo’s at the glass balustrade.
When she walks back to them a few moments later, her face is drained of blood. “You were right, Han. It’s . . .” She stops, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s Bea.”
20
Elin’s chosen to speak to the Leger group at a corner table on the restaurant terrace, overlooking an almost deserted pool. Peering through the still of the water to the glass bottom, the jagged rocks below, her stomach flips: She’d never trust that glass.
Waiting for everyone to settle, she pulls her notebook from her bag. A member of staff places a jug of water and some glasses beside her.
Jo leaps on it. “Han, have this.” She pushes one of the empty tumblers across the table, but Hana doesn’t respond—she’s mechanically shredding a tissue in her hand, tiny white pieces fluttering to the table.
Elin clears her throat. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I know it’s hard, at a moment like this, but it’s important for me to understand a little more about Bea, specifically why you didn’t think she’d be here.”
“Of course.” Caleb meets her gaze, his eyes now puffy from crying. “Bea was meant to be working this week, in the U.S. She’s a corporate lawyer in London, but her firm has an office in New York.”
Elin nods, slightly thrown by his precise diction, somehow at odds with the emotion in his face. “Was she originally planning to come?”
“Yes.” Jo swivels her phone on the table. “This holiday was meant to be a family thing, with partners. We hadn’t seen each other in a while.”
“And whose idea was the trip?”
“Mine,” Jo says. “Well, I arranged it after someone else initially suggested it, and I thought it sounded good. I’m an influencer, so I got in touch with LUMEN’s marketing team and they asked if I’d like to come to the retreat. I invited the others.”
“When did Bea cancel?”
Jo considers. “A few weeks ago, said she had a business trip she couldn’t get out of, but that Caleb would still come, so we could spend some time getting to know him better.”
Elin nods. “And there was no indication Bea had changed her mind? No messages you might have missed?”
“No. She even told me the flight landed in the U.S. on time,” Caleb says. “We’ve been in touch via message ever since she’s been out there.” He corrects himself. “Since I thought she was out there. Like I said, she even messaged me last night. We’d been to the beach, sent her a group photo. She didn’t pick up, but she sent a few lines back.” Tapping at his phone, he thrusts it toward her. “Look. This was . . .” He checks the screen. “Eleven oh three . . . we’d just got back to the villa.” He tips the phone toward her again.
Elin glances down at it, nods. “No one left the villa again?”
“No.” The others shake their heads.
She turns to Caleb. “And when did you last speak to Bea?”
A pause. “Not since she left on Thursday,” he says slowly. “That’s usual when she’s away on business. We don’t feel the need to keep checking in, especially on a short trip.”
Elin nods, her sense of disquiet growing ever stronger. Bea’s fall was an accident, the CCTV makes that clear, but the fact that she wasn’t meant to be on the island in the first place is bothering her.
Why come here unannounced? For what purpose?
There’s only one thing she can think of, but that feels spurious—surely she’d have had to tell the retreat, at the very least? She decides to voice it anyway, gauge their reaction. “Is it possible that it might have been some kind of surprise?”