Page 102 of Angel of Death

‘You kept hearing people drowning, apparently?’

She swallowed. ‘For a while. Yes.’ She wasn’t going to lie about that. Where was the point? There would be other witnesses to the fact.

There was a suppressed ripple of reaction from those watching, a gasp, then a whisper of comment, and Miranda nervously looked round the court, then, for the first time.

And saw Alex.

Her heart leapt and she began to tremble.

He was sitting just a few feet away from her, wearing a dark suit and white shirt, a blue silk tie, looking magnificent. His skin had a deep, smooth tan that made his hair seem blacker than ever and his black eyes watched her in a way that was unnerving.

She moistened her dry lips with her tongue, looking away. Was he still involved with Elena? Would he be marrying her? Or had he already done so?

‘You were obsessed with drowning, in fact,’ the defence counsel said.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she whispered.

‘You wouldn’t say it, no, perhaps not,’ he repeated. ‘But is it true? I shall be calling a psychiatrist who worked with you three years ago who says that in his opinion . . .’

The prosecutor was on his feet. ‘Objection, your honour. Hearsay. Not substantiated in evidence as yet.’

‘I agree, Mr Ruddock,’ the judge coldly nodded. ‘The jury will disregard the defence counsel’s last sentence.’

Miranda wished she could sit down; she felt cold and weak. Through the high windows she watched the grey cloudy sky move by relentlessly. Was it raining in the streets? It seemed to her to be raining in here. Her eyes were misty with unshed tears.

When she had finished giving evidence she left the court, to avoid Alex, but found he had anticipated her action and was waiting outside.

His dark eyes were intense, glittering. ‘Miranda . . .’

‘Leave me alone!’ she cried in panic, and began to run but he caught up with her, his legs were longer than hers, he could move faster.

‘Why have you turned against me? I don’t understand!’ he said, taking her arm in his long, hard fingers, and making her stand still.

‘Why do you think?’ she hissed at him, aware of people staring. ‘Don’t bother to go on pretending. I know you were in league with Terry.’

He stared in apparent amazement, his expression so convincing she almost believed him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I heard you, on the phone. You said he had asked you to keep me on the island until he could come for me.’

‘That wasn’t Terry, that was Neil I was talking to! I’d promised him I’d keep you safe.’

She drew a sharp, painful breath. ‘I don’t believe you!’

‘Ask Neil,’ he shot back.

‘I have, I’ve talked to him about it and he never said . . .’ She stopped, thinking back. What exactly had she said to Neil?

Had she told him what she had overheard? Now that she thought about it, she had a feeling she had been vague, not wanting to go into details, trying to hide her hurt and anger, hating to admit Alex had made such a fool of her.

‘Here he comes now,’ Alex said, looking back up the stone steps. ‘Ask him.’

Neil arrived, breathless and a little flushed from running. ‘What’s going on?’ He looked from her to Alex, back again, frowning. ‘What are you doing, Alex? I told you she doesn’t want to see you again.’

Huskily, Miranda said, ‘Neil, listen, I have to ask you something. I overheard Alex talking to someone on the phone last year. He said something about having promised to keep me on the island until this other person came to get me. I thought he was talking to Terry Finnigan, but he says he was talking to you. Do you remember that? Did you ask him to keep me on the island?’

He frowned. ‘Well, I did ask him to keep an eye on you while you were over there, to make sure you didn’t leave the island until I could come and get you. I was afraid of you being abducted.’ He paused, then added, ‘As you were, in the end. Just as I was afraid you might be. So I was quite right, wasn’t I?’

Miranda couldn’t speak, she was too overwhelmed. She walked on out of the Old Bailey into the close-set streets surrounding it. Alex caught up with her. She stopped and looked up at him. He was so strikingly foreign in this grey place, with his deep tan and jet hair.

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