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I could feel Ned’s eyes on me across the table.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I was just wondering how Justine’s interview with Ophélie Tessier went,” I said. “The day we left for Vegas, you told me she was going to Paris to interview her.”
He did his usual thing of taking his napkin and dabbing at his lips, buying himself time. Was he going to continue lying to me, or would he tell me the truth?
“I’m afraid I wasn’t quite truthful with you,” he admitted. “But it came from a good place. I knew how much you liked Justine so I didn’t want to upset you by telling you that I had to let her go.”
“Let her go? You mean, you fired her?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Why?”
“Because I found out something unsavory about her, something that would tarnish the reputation of the magazine.”
“Unsavory? Like what?” I had to play along; he held the key to my freedom. “It’s just that I know Justine, and I can’t imagine her doinganything that would hurt the magazine. It’s not as if she gets drunk, or does drugs, or—”
A light went on in Ned’s eyes. “That’s exactly it,” he cut in. “I found out that she’d been taking drugs. And, as you know, we have a no-drugs policy at the magazine, because of what happened to my brother. I had no choice, I had to let her go.”
I felt suddenly sick. When he had been speaking to his father, Ned had never said why he had terminated Justine’s contract, and Jethro Hawthorpe had never asked. I didn’t know what Ned would have come up with if he’d been put on the spot—but now, I’d supplied him with the perfect excuse for firing her.
“I don’t believe it,” I said loudly. “I know Justine, she wouldn’t touch drugs.”
Ned pushed his chair back. “Well, there’s a lesson for you, Amelie. We don’t always know people as well as we think.”
“Don’t worry, it’s one I’ve already learned,” I hissed, as he walked from the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
PRESENT
I walk to the window, the strips of cardboard in my hands, and wedge them in the gap between it and the wooden board. I bend to look through the gap, but there’s no glimmer of light. I straighten up, puzzled. It’s not been long since I was brought my porridge, I should be able to see a sliver of daylight. I jam my fingers into the gap, make it a little wider, as I’ve done before. I still can’t see daylight. Was it my imagination, those other times?
Voices reach me, they’re talking downstairs. I move to my corner, push the mattress from the wall.
“I have news, Ned,” I hear his abductor say. “Dumping your wife’s body on your father’s doorstep seems to have had the desired effect. He wants to talk.”
“You should have killed her earlier,” Ned says.
“Maybe. But if we had, we wouldn’t have gotten such a great payout.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know how much we initially asked for?”
“No.”
“Take a guess.”
“I don’t know—a million?”
“We asked for a pound, Ned. One pound to get you back. And you know what? Your father refused. Imagine that.”
I frown at the mention of a pound. Why would they only ask for a pound?
