Charlotte nods, and blushes. She looks so uncomfortable Bianka almost feels sorry for her. Almost.
‘He said he’d tell Andreas,’ Bianka continues. ‘And he insulted your mother. He said the most disgusting, horrible things. That was when you—’
‘Jesus,’ whispers Charlotte, no doubt struggling to build the images in her mind.
‘He literally marched up the path from the beach, making us run after him, saying it would all be his property soon enough anyway. He wrenched the door to this house open and when you tried to stop him, he lunged at you. He struck you across the face and you pulled out the hairpin from your bun, and… and…’ Here, Bianka pauses and lets a couple of tears drop from her eyes. It wasn’t hard to make them appear, replaying the full horror of the situation; the wild look in Maxime’s eyes as the shaft of the hairpin dagger was buried in his neck, the thump, thump, thump of his foot trembling uncontrollably as he was overcome by cramping as he died.
‘And you killed him. He tried to hit you again but he was injured and you stepped aside. Then you tripped and fell and it was the fall that knocked you unconscious – you struck the side of your face…’ Bianka gently runs her fingertip across the deep-blue bloodied ridge above Charlotte’s cheekbone. Charlotte winces – it must be swollen and tender to the touch, pinprick bursts of blood bruising her milky white skin. ‘You saved us both,’ Bianka whispers. ‘God knows what he might have done. You had no choice, Charlotte.’
‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t. What do we do now? I mean, we have to go to the police. We’ll tell them it was self-defence. It was self-defence, clearly—’
‘No.’
‘No? Bianka, what? Seriously?’
‘Think about it, Charlotte. What do you think will happen if we do that?’ Bianka realizes she’s practically hissing and Charlotte retracts, tears springing to her eyes again. She has to be careful with Charlotte; they’ll both go down if one of them loses it. Bianka hasn’t seen this version of Charlotte before, this meek, frightened woman who seems completely bewildered and unable to get a grasp on the situation. She has seen calm, controlled, alpha Charlotte, the woman who has everything. And the Charlotte with the cool edge, the one who was seemingly quite fine to just cast Bianka out in the cold when she’d decided everything they’d shared no longer meant anything to her. But now, everything is different. Charlotte needs her, Charlotte depends on her entirely; Charlotte will owe her big time if Bianka helps her to make this go away.
‘Well, I don’t think I’d get convicted of murder, if that’s what you mean,’ says Charlotte, her voice thin and weak.
‘Really? But, Charlotte, that’s what this is. Murder.’
‘In self-defence.’
‘Well, yes. Absolutely. But do you really want to spend the next couple of years in Spanish courts trying to prove it, while your marriage and your career burn to the ground? I mean, can you imagine what Streamstar would say?’ Charlotte falls still and silent, probably seeing those flames licking at the foundations of her hard-earned respectable life.
‘So what do we do?’
‘Get rid of him.’
‘No—’
‘Think about it. The guy’s dead. It is what it is. Nothing can ever bring him back. It would be insane to let what happened to him drag us down with him. Do you think Emil and Andreas would see any mitigating circumstances in this situation? Do you think they’d forgive us when the full picture emerges? Because it would. He had footage, he said. If we go to the police, they’re going to start digging and they won’t stop until our lives are ruined, even if it didn’t end in a murder conviction. Hell no. And what about your career? Imagine the headlines. Your viewers. Not to mention the catastrophic effect on your poor kids.’
‘Stop. Stop it, Bianka.’
‘Their childhoods would be ruined.’
‘Stop. Please.’
‘Fine.’
They sit for a long moment in the deep-violet afternoon light seeping into the little farmhouse, the dead man on the floor between them. Bianka had slid his eyes shut before Charlotte regained consciousness, which was harder than she might have imagined. They kept slipping back open, revealing terrifying white slits beneath. Charlotte reaches out and lightly touches the eagle tattoo on the back of the man’s hand, encrusted with drying blood; he’d held his hands up to his neck to stop the bleeding after pulling the metal blade of the hairpin out. Charlotte releases a little sound, a soft whimper, and her body trembles as she cries at the shock of this terrible new reality. Bianka knows she’ll never forget these moments, and that Charlotte won’t either. They’ll be bonded by this, and bound by it, too, forever. In spite of the gruesome way it happened and the horror of watching Maxime die, Bianka couldn’t actually have wished for a better outcome.
Their eyes meet and Bianka tries to convey strength and support to Charlotte – it is imperative that they are completely and fully united in this situation or it will ruin both of their lives and many others, without doubt. Charlotte nods and takes several deep breaths, and Bianka sees the contours of controlled, calm Charlotte return.
The only sounds inside the finca are the waves crashing against the rocks at the far end of the bay far below, and the lazy squawks of gulls in the distance.
‘How would we even go about getting rid of him?’ asks Charlotte, her fine-featured face contorting into grimaces as she seems to imagine what that would entail. She shoots a quick glance at the body over by the door, and winces, tears springing to her eyes again at the sight of the lifeless young man.
‘Well. We’d have to think about making sure he’d be difficult to identify in case the body ever was found. And we’d have to make sure that absolutely nothing points to us. I think… I think we’d need to find a way to make it look like he’d gone somewhere voluntarily.’
‘How would we do that?’
‘We’d come up with a cover story. Dispose of his phone. Then him.’
‘But… how?’
‘Let’s think. But we have to be quick. Anette or Linda could come back down to the beach to look for us or, God forbid, come here. We’re both covered in blood. We need to get cleaned up and hide him for now, then return tonight, after the dinner.’
‘The dinner? We can’t go to dinner!’
‘Why not? Charlotte, we have to. It will be our alibi. We’ll probably be there for hours, hopefully around the time Maxime’s friends will raise the alarm. Here’s hoping he didn’t tell them where he was going when he came here.’
Charlotte hesitates, then nods.
‘And then, after, we’ll come back here and drag him down to the boathouse. I assume you have the key? And can we launch the boat easily?’
Charlotte nods again, frowning.
‘And then?’ she asks.
‘We dump him at sea. We’d need to weigh him down. Figure out the best place to do it. Somewhere deep and open, not in the bay where he might be spotted or dragged in on a strong current.’
‘I know a place,’ says Charlotte. ‘It’s not far, but the sea is very deep there. I remember someone told me not to use the paddleboard out there because of strong outward currents. I don’t think we’d risk him appearing on a beach somewhere, especially if we find a way to weigh him down properly.’
‘I can’t… I just can’t believe we’re having this conversation,’ whispers Bianka, making her voice low and anguished. It’s time to make sure Charlotte knows how lucky she really is to have someone like Bianka, who is willing to do anything for her, even get rid of a dead man. ‘I never thought I’d find myself in a situation like this. Never.’ Bianka buries her head in her hands and cries.
‘I—’ says Charlotte, placing a light hand on Bianka’s bare shoulder. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.’
