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‘No, no. She gone back to England.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
Back out on the street, Ethan did what he always did on the rare occasions when he had no clue what to do and called his ultra-efficient PA.
‘Helene, I need you to find out what flight a woman named Merida Cartwright is on...’
‘She flies tonight,’ Helene said.
‘How do you know?’
‘That’s why I rang. She’s called a couple of times and I’ve always put her off...’
‘Put her off? Why didn’t you put her through?’
‘When did that policy change?’ the assertive Helene checked. ‘Am I now to put througheverywoman who calls you?’
‘No,’ Ethan conceded. ‘So what did she say?’’
‘Well, she was angry. She said that she was leaving for England and...’ Helene hesitated.
‘Go on.’
He knew then the reason Merida had missed performing tonight. He knew it down to his bones, and what Helene said next only confirmed it.
‘She said to let you know that you’d be hearing from her lawyer.’
There was a moment of silence, and not just from Ethan. It was as if every car on the street had suddenly switched off its engine, every siren dimmed and every conversation around him had suddenly stilled.
Then he snapped into business mode. ‘Send me her number,’ Ethan said. His voice was utterly even, despite the fact his heart was galloping.
She didn’t pick up.
He spoke to Helene again as he walked to his car. ‘Find out her flight details.’
‘Ethan—’
‘Just do what you can.’ He got into the back and gave instructions to his driver. ‘JFK,’ Ethan said, and then wondered if she might be at LaGuardia.
‘Sure...’ Edmund drove off. ‘Arrivals?’
‘No—Departures.’
Such a horrible word, Ethan thought.
‘Do you know the airline?’
‘No.’ Ethan gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘I just know that the flight is tonight, to London...’
But so were several others.
‘Gatwick or Heathrow or...?’
‘I don’t know!’ he almost shouted, and for Ethan that was rare. He didn’t often raise his voice to get action, but his frustration wasn’t aimed at his driver, more at himself. ‘I’ve got Helene looking into it. Hopefully we’ll know more by the time we get there.’
He saw the grim look on his driver’s face at the lack of forthcoming information. And it was merited. Edmund was right to be concerned as there were endless terminals at the airport. Ethan lived in a world of private jets and first-class flights, where there was no standing in a long, snaking line. He simply rocked up to the private lounge and strolled onto his flight.
