Getting Lost Page 20

  It would be late by the time they reached their accommodation, and the hotel bar was the gathering place that evening. All in all, this left Stella a mere two hours to prepare. While her group were exploring, or most likely shopping, she hurried to her first stop, a cheap department store three blocks away from the bustling souvenir and watch stores that hugged the Reuss River. With time at a premium, Stella went directly to the boys’ clothing section and selected an entire outfit.

  The fitting room assistant gazed at her with a confused expression, but Stella ignored her and secured herself behind the locked door and stripped. First she tested the shorts—dark brown with light blue writing down the side. They fit. Next, she slipped on a white T-shirt and was amazed at how androgynous she looked. She slid on a white cap and hardly recognised herself. As per the instructions on the Internet, a disguise was required for the difficult task of tailing someone known to you. The tricky part was to appear different from your usual self, without standing out in a crowd. Stella was pleased with her progress, and after carefully selecting additional items, made her purchase and delivered the goods to the hotel.

  She tipped the contents of the shopping bag on to the bed and quickly ripped off the tags, scrunching the clothes in an attempt to tarnish that crisp, new look. She stripped again and stood before the mirror to tightly wrap wide bandaging around her chest, flattening her modest breasts. Stella attempted this three times until she could secure it swiftly in place in less than fifteen seconds. The boy’s underpants, with the trendy thick waistband, were surprisingly comfortable, and the shorts went with them nicely, low-slung and trendy. The cheap runners looked too new, so she opened the window and scraped them along the roughly rendered sill. Next she threw the white cap on the ground and stomped all over it—no kid had a clean white hat. Stella then extricated the insides of cheap bud-shaped earphones, leaving only the shell. They were an effective prop, but she needed to be able to hear.

  Finally, she stood appraising herself in the full-length mirror. Would Phoebe recognise me? She hoped not. This was her only chance.

  With her supplies stuffed in a cheap skater-boy backpack, she squeezed it into the bottom drawer of the bedside table before calling Phoebe.

  “Hey, you. Where have you been?” A hint of annoyance crept into Phoebe’s voice.

  Stella remained firm. “You do realise I’m working at the moment, don’t you? I had a few things to attend to for the girls in the office.”

  “Oh, okay. I missed you this afternoon, that’s all.” Stella experienced a pang of guilt at Phoebe’s kind words. “Melanie and I found a great shopping arcade and we’ve gorged ourselves on fondue.”

  Phoebe sounded so calm, and Stella realised there had probably been enough time that afternoon to meet up with Sebastian. She was relieved to know nothing had happened, but it was unnerving to hear that Phoebe had spent a relaxing afternoon with Melanie. For her own part, she had rushed around making last-minute preparations in her attempt to provide Phoebe with a second pair of ears and eyes, albeit without Phoebe’s knowledge.

  But Phoebe was a planner. She was methodical and detail driven and certainly wouldn’t have waited until today, the last minute, to finalise this operation. The stress Stella was experiencing was hers alone. Phoebe was calm and most likely on schedule.

  *

  The cog rail journey to the summit of Mt. Pilatus, the steepest in the world, produced the obligatory wonderment at ascending a mountainside with a maximum gradient of forty-eight percent. But it was the anticipation of the impending activities that excited most, and only a handful let fear overcome them. Those with an adventurous spirit could toboggan over a kilometre down the mountain or experience the thrill of the giant tubing slide, over sixty metres long. The photo opportunities atop Mt. Pilatus were endless, and Stella was required to pose for many group shots.

  She was relieved to finally remove the fake smile from her face and sit opposite Phoebe and sip coffee. She felt safe up here. In contrast, looking down on beautiful Lucerne, she felt nothing but dread. She attempted to relax, but was a million miles away, her mind constantly flashing with images of Oscar, Simon Threadbody, the nanny, Sebastian, and beefcake bodyguards with dark sunglasses and thick necks matching their thick heads.

  “Where are you, Stella?” Phoebe asked, worry in her eyes.

  “Pardon?”

  “Just now. You certainly weren’t here with me. Where did you go?”

  It crossed Stella’s mind to tell the truth, tell Phoebe how worried she was, how eagerly she wanted to help. But she wasn’t willing to upset Phoebe now. She convinced herself lying was for the greater good. “I was thinking about last night.” Stella managed a lazy wink. “I think I’m exhausted.”

  “Really? You actually look worried.”

  “Can you blame me?” Stella wanted to wring Phoebe’s neck, beg her not to go, but it was imperative she remain calm. “I’m focusing on taking you to lunch tomorrow so we can celebrate your successful morning and the fact that you managed to stay alive.” Although Phoebe had voiced concern about the lengths Oscar would go to protect his grandson, Stella had pushed the disturbing thoughts to the far reaches of her mind. Safety in numbers and providing a witness, should it all go pear shaped, was Stella’s focus. She wanted to be available to call the authorities or provide backup if required. What she hoped, beyond anything, was to be a silent observer with Phoebe never having to know she was there. She pushed her luck one last time. “So, what’s the latest I can expect your call?”

  Phoebe frowned.

  “Look, I’m going to be worried sick. I am worried sick. You’ve planned this, I know you have, so I’m guessing you have a definitive start and finish time.” Stella raised her eyebrows defiantly. “So, when can I expect a call to breathe a sigh of relief and stop worrying?”

  Phoebe’s features softened. “Midday. I promise to call you no later than midday.”

  “And will you be close by?”

  The look Phoebe gave Stella was more than enough to indicate the conversation was over.

  *

  The group struggled to settle through dinner. Pumped full of adrenaline and astounded by the views from the mountaintop restaurant, they chatted loudly and as usual, it was a rowdy descent via the cable cars with a spectacular sunset providing the backdrop. Russo was a maniac on the ride to the hotel, and even though it was nearly ten thirty by the time the last person was handed their room key, the group were keen to drink late, and unfortunately, Stella was obliged to at least make an appearance.

  Predictably, Phoebe declined. She was snug in bed by the time Stella was heading out.

  “Don’t be too long, eh?” Phoebe yawned.

  “I’ll try not to wake you.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m used to the curve of your body now.” A shy little grin twisted the corners of her mouth. “I look forward to bedtime when I can pull you close.” Phoebe was lying on her side and indicated the space in front of her. “You belong here,” she said. “In my arms.”

  In that moment, something in Stella broke. Snapped completely. The fraying thread she clutched so tightly, the thin cotton-like tendon that linked her to reality, albeit a fragile link, gave way. She had fallen headfirst in love with Phoebe Lancaster. This was suddenly very serious. Up until that moment, Stella had been moved more by Phoebe’s actions, rather than her words. Although always improving, Phoebe often struggled to articulate how she was feeling. Stella experienced a warm sensation build in her stomach and it filled her with happiness. This time, Stella was lost for words.

  “Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?” Phoebe filled the silence.

  Stella checked for her wallet, phone, and room key. “No. What?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Phoebe, what?”

  Phoebe pointed to her cheek. “Kiss?”

  Tomorrow loomed. For a brief moment, Stella had let it slip her mind. Now, staring down at Phoebe, Stella wanted to cry, beg, and magically
transport them beyond tomorrow morning, to safety. Instead, she swallowed hard, crossing the room to gently kiss Phoebe.

  “Don’t be long, lover.”

  Stella rushed for the door. She had to escape. She waited for many moments in the hall, gaining composure, before crossing the courtyard to the bar and ordering a double vodka.

  The group were understandably in good spirits. Adrenaline and alcohol was a sure-fire combination for a fun evening. Thinking back, it felt surreal and difficult to believe one tour could contain so many undesirable incidents. What wasn’t difficult to believe was the terror she felt in Corfu. Now, less than a fortnight later, she was preparing to don a disguise and follow her lover through Lucerne in an attempt to keep her safe from God-only-knows who. This unknown factor was Stella’s greatest worry. Her preparation had been the best she could hope for under the circumstances, but was it enough?

  At midnight, the crowd began to thin. Stella looked on in amusement as all the single girls chasing Russo slowly departed one by one. He was busy playing cards with a group of boys, uncharacteristically focused on winning poker rather than scoring a girl for the night.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  At six in the morning, logic told Stella that it was highly unlikely Phoebe would be meeting her son so ridiculously early, but there was no way she could sleep again. Her heart raced as nervousness gripped her.

  It was too late now for any more studying, planning, or scheming. All that remained to do was worry.

  Determined not to be caught off guard, Stella rose at seven and silently showered. She was unwilling to let Phoebe out of her sight and sat in the uncomfortable wicker chair opposite the bed and watched her sleep.

  Her unoccupied mind clicked through bad scenario after bad scenario. Her phone provided some distraction. She played cards, deleted old and unwanted contacts, played hangman until the three-letter words became unbearable, texted her mum—even though she knew she probably wouldn’t reply until later—and although she despised Sudoku, she managed a game or two of that. Finally, when Stella was close to climbing the walls, Phoebe woke.

  “What are you doing?” Phoebe wiped sleep from the corner of her eyes.

  “What? Nothing. Why?”

  “Are you just sitting there watching me?”

  “What’s wrong with that? I like you. I’m allowed to look at you.”

  “You like me?”

  “Uh-huh. You’re okay.”

  “Really? Just okay?” Phoebe propped herself on one elbow, her pyjama top revealing much of her cleavage.

  “Well.” Stella moved to the edge of the bed. “I suppose you’re better than just okay.” She poked her finger toward Phoebe’s top, pulling it down further and leaning forward to take a peak.

  Phoebe brushed her away. “I think you have to really like someone before you can have free, unobstructed access down their top.”

  “Okay. I really like you.”

  “How much?”

  “Loads. More than you’ll ever know. Want me to show you?” Stella winked.

  “Nice try. But I need to get up. Stuff to do today.” Stella frowned “Now, come on.” Phoebe kissed Stella deeply. “I promise to make it up to you tonight.”

  “Tonight? Don’t for one second think we won’t be back here immediately after lunch.”

  “You’re awfully demanding. I assume you’re waiting to eat breakfast with me? Last supper perhaps?”

  The bottom felt like it fell out of Stella’s stomach. She ushered Phoebe into the bathroom and paced back and forth, attempting to refocus on the task at hand. As Phoebe hummed under the running water, Stella mentally recapped her plan.

  At breakfast, neither of them ate substantially. Stella drank two coffees and poured a third before reminding herself that being distracted with an unrelenting desire to pee, was ill-advised. Worried now that she had already drunk too much, she buttered cold toast and forced it down in the hope it might act as a sponge.

  “Well.” Stella rose from her chair. “I have some errands to run for Janet.” She rolled her eyes as part of the routine. “So, you’ll ring me, yes? At about midday?”

  Phoebe appeared lost for words at the abrupt departure, but only momentarily. The brief wave of surprise was soon replaced with her usual composed demeanour. “By midday. I promise.”

  The dining room had started to fill up. Stella surveyed at least half her crew. “I can’t kiss you here, sorry.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I understand.”

  The knot in Stella’s stomach tightened. “You stay safe, okay.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

  “By midday, honey. I promise.”

  Stella had nothing else to say, but everything to lose. She forced a smile and returned to the room.

  The instant Phoebe was out of sight, adrenaline surged through her, and she focused one hundred percent on the task at hand. She had no idea exactly how long Phoebe would take to make a move but wasted no time in gathering her pre-packed satchel and rushing from the hotel. It wasn’t even eight thirty, but Stella wasn’t taking any chances.

  Stella knew the street well, crossed the road and slipped through her favourite arcade before weaving her way back through the adjoining alleyway, effectively sneaking through the rear of the shops on the arcade front.

  “Hey, Stella. What are you doing back here? What’s wrong with the front door these days?”

  Excellent! It was Maxwell, café owner and long-time friend. Maxwell’s had provided a much needed escape on many occasions when she first began touring. She had sought solace there long before she learned to substitute alcohol for soft drink, long before the client-free evening was scheduled in Corfu, and long before she realised taking time out in a hotel bar was deemed an open invitation for absolutely everyone to invade your personal space and quiet time. It was Maxwell who’d first said to her, “Stop babysitting those people, Stella. They are grown adults.” He’d also added, “And stop drinking so much. You drink like a grown man, yet you must have the liver of a child.”

  Yes, Maxwell was exactly who Stella had hoped to see. “Ah, Maxwell, you handsome man. I have a big favour to ask, and I’m in a big hurry.”

  Stella had the lie already planned; she was playing a trick on Russo and needed to use the bathroom. She would change into her disguise and take up a vantage point in the front of the café. She told Maxwell she had to wait until the signal came from her crew before rushing out the door. Hook, line, and sinker, Maxwell swallowed it and became excited to be part of the setup. “I’ll bring you coffee, Stella, make you look less obvious.”

  Within seconds, Stella emerged from the bathroom looking like a young boy, her chest expertly flattened by the bandage, her earphones in place, and her shorts slung comfortably low.

  Maxwell ushered her to a window table and, inhaling deeply, Stella attempted to control her exhilaration and anxiousness all at once. She glanced at her watch and sighed. Since leaving breakfast, it had taken less than ten minutes to be in place. Her eyes remained on the hotel entrance as she stuffed her mobile phone into her left hand shorts pocket. She removed a small canister of pepper spray from the backpack and secreted that securely in her waist band, fearful it may look suspicious elsewhere.

  As per advice obtained on the Internet, Stella had changed her mobile ring tone. It was advisable to have your phone on silent, but she preferred not to in case Phoebe needed her. There was no guarantee, in the heat of the moment, that she would feel the thing vibrate silently in her pocket. Her hands needed to be free, so holding it was out of the question. Phoebe had heard Stella’s phone ring numerous times, and recent studies indicated that people identified ring tones of friends and family, sparking recognition in their mind and an association to the person whose phone was ringing. The last thing Stella needed was her phone to go off near Phoebe and the recognition of the ring tone draw attention to her.

  Stella was completely over-thinking the situation. She shifted the backpack on the chair next to her about ten ti
mes in preparation for a dash out the door. She could do nothing now but watch and wait, praying that Phoebe hadn’t slipped past her already.

  Stella waited.

  And waited. She constantly glanced at her watch. Eight forty-five came and went, and Stella watched her untouched cup of coffee go cold. Eight fifty-five, and Maxwell slid a ham and cheese croissant in front of her, laughing that perhaps the joke was on her. Ten past nine, no movement, although Stella could have done with a visit to the bathroom, except now it was out of the question. Nine thirty and Stella’s phone startled her, her leg knocking the table, spilling the cold coffee. She groped like a mad woman before pulling the phone from her pocket. She was disappointed it wasn’t Phoebe but answered, her eyes refocusing on the hotel entrance. “Hey, Russo. What’s up?”

  “Well, don’t sound so happy to hear from me.”

  “I’m thrilled, trust me.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Look, have you had breakfast? Fancy a slap up treat at Maxwell’s? My shout.”

  Maxwell’s? Shit! Think! Then, as if miraculously in secret agent mode, Stella replied, “No thanks, buddy, not today, and you don’t want to either. I just walked past Max’s, and a whole bunch of our lot are packed in there. I’d give it a miss if I were you.”

  Russo sighed. “Little bastards. Why can’t they be satisfied with the hotel? Oh well, I might stay in bed for another hour or so then, hit the cafés for lunch. Ring me if you’re at a loose end. Although by then, you and Miss Lancaster might be gazing into each other’s eyes over some very sticky fondue.” Russo laughed at himself.

  “Bugger off, Russo.”

  “Love you too, babe.”

  The line went dead.

  Stella settled back and resumed her wait.

  Jesus, I’m not cut out for this. She seriously began to wonder if Phoebe had snuck out another way. The thought of being nowhere near Phoebe when she met up with Sebastian caused a nauseating ache in her already knotted stomach.