The Aura (11 page)

“I’m so sorry, Kate,” Josh said again. “That must have been awful, finding Rebecca.”

I just nodded. It was hard to speak.

“And I’m really sorry I didn’t believe you. Well, I did, but with some reservations.”

“It’s all right, Josh. I’ve had a hard time believing it too.”

A group of young men in suits came in, loud, laughing, making jokes about someone’s age, celebrating a birthday perhaps.

“Have you seen any more of those auras?” he asked. I told him about Nick’s.

“That’s very odd,” he said, leaning into the straight-backed chair. Covered in red plush and gilt-framed, the chairs looked as though they’d been lifted from the palace at Versailles. But the velvet was stained, and the gilt chipped, showing patches of dull brown paint underneath.

“What do you think?” he asked. “What would Rebecca and Nick have in common apart from living in the same building? Just a coincidence?”

I shook my head. I’d been thinking about it all day. What were the odds that it was pure chance? Small, I thought. There had a to be connection, but I couldn’t see what it was.

“The boyfriend must have something to do with her death,” I said. I told Josh what I knew, which wasn’t much. “I think they had a fight on Sunday evening. She fell, or was pushed, and died, and then he moved his stuff out.”

“Sounds like a plausible scenario,” Josh said. “Did she tell you what time she was meeting him?”

“No, she was vague,” I said. She’d been vague about almost everything to do with Edward. Apart from his name, I knew nothing about him. Nick had seen him, he’d said, on the stairs a few times, but never talked to him.

“Maybe the boyfriend is the connection between Rebecca and Nick,” I said. “But I can’t work out how, given that Nick never spoke to him.”

We were both quiet, pondering the puzzle. “The thing is that I have to try to help Nick,” I said. “I failed Rebecca. I can’t let Nick die.”

Josh looked startled. “God, Kate, you can’t start taking responsibility for whether people live or die. It’s impossible. I mean, you hardly know him. How can you protect him?”

I drained my wine. I seemed to be drinking a lot of it nowadays.

“I can’t just do nothing,” I said. “Should I warn him at least?”

“From personal experience, I’d recommend against it. It sounds, well, incredible. And coming from a near stranger, not something he’d be inclined to believe.”

A couple holding tall glasses of something with maraschino cherries in it came to sit at the table next to us. Their umbrella drinks seemed out of place in a rain-soaked London pub, but maybe they were trying to recapture happy memories of some tropical vacation. Regardless, they were so close to us that it made any conversation about the aura impossible. Josh drank the remains of his beer, and we headed to the door.

“Sure you don’t want to go out for dinner?” he asked.

I was feeling dead on my feet. I wouldn’t be good company.

“Another night?”

“Of course,” he said. We walked the short distance to the nearest Tube station and went through the turnstiles together. We were traveling on different lines. My platform was to the left. His was straight ahead. Ignoring the crush of people around us, we stopped, holding each other tightly. When he kissed me, I felt myself clinging to him. It was hard to let go. I wanted to be with him. But what I wanted more than anything was to go back to my old life, the life I’d had before I started seeing these weird visions. Before I’d seen my dead mother on the hill in Tuscany. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I had to work it out, and it wasn’t fair to drag Josh into the mess of my current existence. There would be time, later, I told myself. When things were resolved and back to normal.

***

I was thinking about Rebecca while I ran a bath and lit some candles. It was taking some time for me to realize that she really was dead. I expected to receive a text at any moment, asking how my CT scan had gone, suggesting a place for dinner one evening, confirming the time and place for our theater outing on Saturday. The ring of the phone made me jump.

I knew it would be my father. He was the only one who called me on the landline. Juggling the handset and the kettle, I made tea while we talked.

“Are you all right, pet?” Dad asked for the third time. “Leo is worried about you. Have you been to a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Dad, and there’s no need for you to worry, honestly. It’s been busy at work, that’s all. And yes, I had a CT scan and everything is good. What about you? How are you doing? I wish I could be there for the funeral tomorrow. I’m glad Leo is with you.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Leo told me how busy you are at work. I hope they’re treating you well there, and not expecting too much of you after the accident. You need time to heal.”

“Everyone’s being very nice,” I said.

There was a long pause and I heard classical music playing in the background but couldn’t place the piece. Beethoven maybe or Mahler. Something dark and heavy, which wasn’t a good sign. My father selected music according to his mood.

“Did you tell Leo what happened on the hill. I mean about what you thought you saw. That confusion over what happened?”

“There was no confusion, Dad. I know what I saw.”

“I was thinking about coming over for a few days after Francesca’s funeral,” he continued, ignoring my response. “What do you think? Would that work? I’ve got some shopping to do anyway.”

The shopping wasn’t a good cover. He hated shopping and certainly wouldn’t fly all the way to England to buy anything. He was coming to check up on me.

“Let me look at my schedule, okay? I’m really busy. But the good news is that the project is going well.”

“That’s excellent,” he said. “Well done.” His tone reminded me of when I was little and had fallen off a bike and scraped my knee. While Mum had cleaned out the wound with an antiseptic lotion that stung and brought tears to my eyes, Dad had praised my bike-riding skills, a successful attempt to distract my attention from the injury.

The music swelled in the background and a violin played a heart-wrenching solo that made my pulse quicken.

“Anyway, I’ll be there in a few weeks for the long weekend,” I reminded him. The company always celebrated the anniversary of its founding by giving everyone a Monday off in mid-November. I planned to go to Florence for the long weekend.

“That’s lovely, Katie. I’ll look forward to it. I miss you.”

Feeling sad for my father, I put the phone down and went to take my bath. Sinking into the scented water, I watched the candle flames flicker and dance.

I felt so helpless. I hadn’t tried hard enough to save Rebecca. I ran through my conversations with her, looking for clues, any hint of what might have happened. I had to do something. I’d find Edward. I had a feeling that he held the key to Rebecca’s death. I thought about where she might have met him. Work was the most obvious place. I would start with that.

The following morning, I climbed the wide marble steps in front of the Montgomery Group’s headquarters. It was the first time I’d been there, and it was hard not to be impressed. Befitting a successful real estate development company, the building was spectacular, with a multi-story atrium, glass walkways, and enough plants to populate a small jungle.

I approached the reception desk, where an impeccably coiffed and manicured young woman tapped on a keyboard. A nameplate on the desk said her name was Amanda. She was wearing a headset and talking into a microphone. When she’d finished, she looked up at me.

“Can I help you?”

I wasn’t sure how to start, so I plunged in. “I’m a friend of Rebecca Williams. She worked here.”

Amanda’s face clouded for a second, but it wasn’t clear whether in deference to Rebecca’s death or confusion as to who she was.

“Yes?” she said after a short pause.

“Anyway, I’m trying to trace a friend of hers. To give him something. His name’s Edward and I think he may work here.”

Amanda stared at me. “Edward what?”

“I don’t know.”

With a sigh, she began clicking away at the keyboard. Those long red nails had to be a major deterrent to fast typing, I thought. She looked up.

“Which department does he work in?”

“I don’t know.”

Another sigh. She held her hands up over the keyboard, like a pianist preparing for the grand finale, and finished with another flurry of tapping and clicking.

“Nothing. We don’t have any Edwards in the employee directory?” Her voice tilted upwards as though she was asking a question.

“He may be a consultant or a freelancer. Do you have a list of outside contractors?”

“We have our own IT department?”

I assumed the implicit question was “so why would we need a technology contractor?”

“Well, thank you,” I began, and she cut me off.

“There’s a Ted Evans who works in IT?”

Ted, Edward. That could be it.

“Can I go see him? Where is his office?”

She shook her head. “No visitors without an appointment? Would you like me to make one for you? Tomorrow perhaps?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back another time,” I said. I was far too impatient to wait a day to see him and besides, I didn’t want to tip him off. I doubted that Rebecca had mentioned me to her boyfriend but, in case my name had come up, I thought it best to make our first meeting a surprise. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I hoped that he’d give away something.

I loitered near the desk, pretending to read a company brochure until a group of Japanese businessmen approached. I wondered what they would make of Amanda with her red nails and Essex accent. Then I heard her speak to them in Japanese. She stood and matched them bow for bow. So much for my reading of the ditzy receptionist. My Dad always warned me against judging people before getting to know them.

Slipping out of the reception area, I chose a hallway and walked along it until I reached a bank of elevators. Unlike the glass ones in the main lobby, these were more traditional enclosed cars. Of course, I had no idea where the IT department was located, but I figured I could work it out.

The doors opened on the first floor to an empty corridor with no one around, so I pressed the button and rode up to the next floor. This time, several people got in, employees with photos and nametags pinned to their lapels.

“I’m looking for the IT department,” I said.

“Fifth floor,” said a young woman. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes.” I made a show of looking at my watch. “And I’m a little late.”

I rushed out as soon as the doors opened. The corridor took me past glass-fronted offices with nameplates on the doors, and several huge rooms full of computers with flashing lights. At the other end, a knot of people had just come out of a conference room. One of them was tall, with brown hair, in his early forties, and dressed in dark pants and a crisp white shirt, bearing a faint resemblance to the man Nick had described. I loitered, pretending to read something on a notice board on the wall. My heart was jumping around in my chest. If this was Rebecca’s boyfriend, what would I say? Would he know that she was dead?

The group wandered past me, arguing about something to do with back-up systems. The brown-haired man was in the middle, and I couldn’t read his nametag. While I debated whether to follow him, a door opened behind me and an older woman came out. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Ted Stevens.”

“Ted? Sure, he’s in his office. Four doors down on the left.”

The door was open. I tapped on it before stepping inside.

“Yes?”

The speaker was pink-faced, with thinning mahogany-colored hair that looked dyed. He looked at me in such surprise that I thought perhaps he didn’t get many visitors.

“I’m sorry, wrong office,” I said.

“Who’re you looking for?” He put his sandwich down.

A name jumped into my head. “Phil Collins?”

It didn’t seem to register. He just shrugged. “I don’t know him,” he said. “Maybe down on level 3. There are a bunch of new programmers working there.”

I glanced at the nameplate on the door just to be certain this was the right office.

“Thanks, Ted,” I said.

He nodded. “No problem.”

I trudged back to the elevator. So much for that idea. It had been a long shot, but it seemed that Edward, whoever he was, didn’t work for the Montgomery Group.

I ran through other possibilities while I traveled to the office. The Tube was almost empty at this time of day, leaving me alone with only my own reflection in the dark glass opposite for company.

Not for the first time, I thought about the phenomenon that was the Tube, with its trains that sped along narrow tunnels barely wide enough to accommodate them, carrying subterranean travelers that seemed, for the most part, oblivious to the fact that we were hundreds of feet underground. I’d heard the urban myths about mysterious walled-off stations, giant rats, and the numerous ghosts that wander the platforms at night. Shivering, I shrank into the corner of the seat, perversely wishing the carriage was chock full of ill-tempered commuters.

By the time I reached my station, I was glad to ride the escalator up to ground level. When I got to my office, Josh was loitering near the door.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “Alan’s on the war path, asking where you are. Are you all right?”

At the end of the hallway, Alan’s voice signaled his imminent appearance. I said I was fine. Slipping into the conference room, we took seats at the table, where I lined my pen up next to my notebook, hoping to make a good impression on Alan. I fixed a bright smile on my face as he opened the door and strode in, flanked by Ben and a couple of other team members who were consulting on the Montgomery project.

Taking a seat at the head of the table, Alan aimed a death glare at me. Ben shot me a look of malicious glee and ran his finger over his throat. In response, I lifted my middle finger just above the edge of the table. It was gratifying to see him flush and look away.

“Happy you could join us, Kate,” Alan said. “Are you ready to discuss this presentation?”