“I know, doll, I know, I’m tired of saying it to Rosie and Amy, but you’re right. The Vivid Viral Agency thing is the bit that really makes no sense. I’m starting to think I might not be back in England anytime soon, so I need to find another way to take a look at them. Also there’s this guy Henk, who started his own close-protection business three months ago, which is convenient timing.”
A bell rings at the door of the suite, and Steve puts down his machine and answers the door. A young St. Lucian man in a jade uniform has a large black bag folded over his arm. He gives it to Steve.
“From Miss D’Antonio in the Presidential Suite, sir. A suit to wear for this evening’s dinner.”
“A suit?” says Steve. “I don’t need a suit to eat barbecue.”
“Sir,” says the young man, “tonight you are dining at our sushi restaurant with the owner of Emerald Bay.”
Oh, man. Sushi?
“Miss D’Antonio also said you can wear it to meet the drug dealer tomorrow. I didn’t wish to pass this message on, sir, but she gave me a substantial tip.”
Steve thanks the young man and takes the suit inside. He throws it on the bed before thinking that, actually, he should probably hang it up. He picks up the Dictaphone again.
“Bloody sushi, in a bloody suit. First I miss the bolognese, now this. I wonder if Tony Taylor would drive up to Letchworth for me? Have a poke around? That’s a thought, isn’t it?”
Steve looks out over the Caribbean Sea, and feels the breeze on his face. He extends an arm to one side, and imagines for a moment that Debbie is there with him, safe in his embrace. But she is not in his embrace, and she was not safe. And a better man than Steve would have come here long ago. What chances he had.
If there’s trouble tomorrow, if bullets fly his way, if one should hit him, would that be such a bad thing?
There is another knock at the door. Steve finishes his message. “Love you, baby, I’m so sorry you couldn’t come here with me.”
He opens the door to Rosie D’Antonio.
“Hello, Stevie,” says Rosie. “Have you been crying?”
“No,” says Steve, honestly, before registering the heat behind his eyes and realizing that he has. “Why did you buy me a suit?”
Rosie smiles. “One of my favorite things in the world is handsome men who are very badly dressed. There’s so much you can do with them.”
“I don’t wear suits,” says Steve.
“You have very certain rules, Stevie,” says Rosie.
“I know what I like, and what I don’t like,” says Steve.
“That is very evident, Stevie,” says Rosie. “You like your routine?”
“Yes.”
“You like your home?”
“Yes.”
“You like to feel safe, and you like to feel prepared?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” says Rosie. “And how is all that working out for you?”
“It’s working out well,” says Steve, but the question has hit home. His world has become so small. What must Amy think of him? What must Debbie have thought?
“Good,” says Rosie. “Now, take my arm, and let’s walk along the beach and talk about murder. And then you can tell me all about your beautiful wife, and how much you miss her. Would you like that?”
Steve nods. He would.
“I would too,” says Rosie.
46
Amy is running along a sandy beach, her feet splashing in the water every time a wave comes in. Her wraparound sunglasses and her headphones cocoon her. She speeds up, sprinting now, the effort beginning to show on her face. As she passes a bright yellow rowing boat pulled up onto the beach, Amy collapses to the ground, as if she has reached an imaginary finishing line.
Taking huge gulps of air, she looks back toward the beautiful resort that towers over Emerald Bay, and then looks around the desirable stretch of beach she now finds herself on. She takes out a cheap phone and punches in a number.
Susan Knox is at her desk, trading software open in front of her. A mobile phone buzzes somewhere, but she can’t immediately locate it. It is certainly not the one on her desk. She searches for a moment before realizing the buzzing is coming from the bottom drawer of her desk. At speed she reaches her arm underneath her desk and knocks on a panel; a key drops to the floor. The mobile is still ringing as she grabs the key and uses it to unlock the bottom drawer. The ringing gets louder as she pulls out a phone and answers.
“Jeff???”
“It’s Amy.”
“Jesus, Amy,” says Susan. “You’re still alive?”
“Out of breath but alive,” says Amy. “So nothing from Jeff?”
“Nothing,” says Susan. “You?”
“I’m uncontactable,” says Amy. “Henk was trying to track me down. I didn’t like it.”
