Getting Lost Page 5

  “This doesn’t count as a first nighter, you know?”

  “Don’t rub it in, Casanova.”

  Stella laughed, inappropriately proud of her long-standing record. “Remind me who’s in that room?”

  “Genevieve.”

  Stella struggled to put a face to the name. “Nope, not ringing any bells.”

  “Fifth row behind me in the coach yesterday. New Zealand, blonde…”

  “Ah, yes. Now I remember. Good work, tiger.”

  “Thanks, chief. Gotta go. Shower’s stopped running.”

  The line went dead.

  Stella refocused as they entered the station. Pippy gripped Phoebe tightly through the crook of her elbow, and although Phoebe stood tall, oozing confidence, Stella sensed she wasn’t as relaxed as she might have first appeared. Pippy seemed oblivious, but Stella was convinced Phoebe looked awkward at the touch.

  In Paris, time was of the essence, and travel on the Metro was a fast, cheap, and easy solution, but not without its share of problems. “The underground is full of thieves and pickpockets, so be careful,” Stella warned everyone. In the middle of summer, Paris, including the underground, was thriving with tourists. “Keep together as much as possible,” she said, deliberately eyeing Phoebe and Pippy. “That’s right, nice and close, girls,” she muttered under her breath.

  The instant the vending machines produced their tickets, everyone enthusiastically leapt upon the escalator, descending toward the platform. All except Matt who was incapable of any enthusiastic movement at all. “Wait for me at the bottom,” Stella yelled, counting them off to ensure she hadn’t lost anyone. Her eyes fixated on Phoebe’s tight backside. She wore navy blue shorts, and the fabric was pulled tight as she stood descending the escalator with her hands in her pockets. Stella was attempting to ignore the fact that Pippy’s arm was still threaded through Phoebe’s, and focus on more pleasant things. When Stella glanced up, her eyes locked on Phoebe’s. Phoebe winked. Stella almost died.

  The platform was crowded. Stella could spot an inexperienced pickpocket a mile off, but a skilled thief blended in. Conscientiously, she swung her satchel to the front and subtly motioned for the rest of the group to do the same. Stella had never witnessed any violence on the Paris Metro, but as always, she remained alert. The excited group, especially Pippy, cavorted dangerously near the edge of the platform, ignoring Stella’s advice to step back. Matt, who was still wearing his sunglasses, was the exception. He was too unwell to mess around in any capacity. The train was on time and only four minutes away.

  As the clock ticked down and a hint of draft swelled in the tunnel, the platform began to crowd and Stella motioned to the group to come and stand by her against the wall. They all stepped back toward Stella, but as the waiting commuters grew in numbers, her entourage were jostled closer to the edge, not the wall where Stella waited. Pippy danced around Phoebe, whose expression was impossible to read.

  Stella’s heart began to race as a group of eight youths surrounded Stella’s group. Among the throngs of people, these teenagers appeared to blend in, but Stella guessed by their strategic approach that they were an organised gang of thieves. The draft became stronger as warm air was pushed through the tunnel by the incoming train. Stella yelled to her group, but the din of people surrounding them smothered her voice with ease. It was becoming hot and sticky as the platform disappeared with swarms of commuters.

  She knew the drill, and her group were a prime target. When the train pulled up, the young thieves would link arms and push as many people onto the carriage as possible. Surrounded by these thugs, her group would gently, so as not to create panic, become pushed together so tightly they would remain unaware that those nearest the thieves would be pickpocketed and robbed.

  The draft became stronger, and Stella rushed forward to warn her group, yelling at them not to board the train, to wait for the next one. All at once, everyone seemed to surge toward the platform edge as the warm wind pumped through the tunnel. Stella struggled desperately to navigate a path to her group, but before she could reach them, a chorus of screams erupted from their location at the front of the platform. A wave of panic rippled through the crowd, and soon everyone was screaming and retreating as Stella forced herself forward. The rumbling of the incoming train and frantic screams filled her ears. As she burst through the withdrawing crowd, she caught sight of Pippy, sprawled on the tracks, her group, stunned onlookers.

  It was all happening too fast. The headlight of the train grew threateningly. Then, jolting out of shock and into action mode, one of the thugs rushed past Stella and leapt onto the tracks, scurrying toward Pippy who appeared to be out cold. The train horn blew, long and loud. The deafening screech of brakes pierced the air and filled the cavity. Without warning, the horrific events taking place altered from seemingly supersonic speed, to super-slow motion. Stella watched as the young thug hauled Pippy up, grabbing her under the arms. The muscles on the lean man’s arms rippled then became taut and bulging as he lifted the weighty girl. He glanced up toward the oncoming light. Stella followed his gaze. He wasn’t going to make it. Pippy was too heavy, and he was running out of time.

  With a burst of energy, he almost lifted Pippy into a standing position, poised to propel her toward the safety of the platform. The train was slowing, only a matter of metres away now, but it couldn’t possibly stop in time. Some others, including Stella and Phoebe scrambled forward, screaming for Pippy to wake up. Stella willed the young boy to save himself or else they would both die. At that moment, as if the same thought entered his mind, an expression of astonishment spread over his face as Pippy, groggy and clearly disorientated, took some of her own weight and assisted in his last-ditch motion, launching, mid-air, from the path of the train. Stella, Phoebe, and the other would-be thieves all scrambled to drag Pippy and her hero back to the safety of the platform. So close was the scrape, the train struck Pippy’s lower leg with a sharp crack on the way through.

  Pandemonium erupted. The minutes following the incident were a hazy mishmash of fear, panic, relief, and deafening noise. Stella remained in a state of shock until she sat in a Paris police station, viewing CCTV footage of the accident, surrounded by detectives. The horrified expression upon Pippy’s face as she fell backward sent chills down Stella’s spine.

  Chapter Five

  It was almost seven o’clock by the time Stella climbed into a taxi en route to meet the group for dinner. Janet was on the line the entire journey.

  “What the fuck is going on over there? How’s that Canadian idiot?”

  “She’s American, Janet.” Stella sighed.

  “Same fucking continent. Same fucking difference in my book.” Janet laughed at her own perceived wit.

  Stella wasn’t in the mood for Janet, but the sooner this conversation began, the sooner it could end. “She’s fine. Her leg’s a mess, though, apparently nothing a couple of months in plaster won’t fix.”

  “And what about the others, the idiots in the tunnel with you, did they get to see one fucking sight of Paris?”

  It was completely expected that Janet wouldn’t give a damn about anyone’s health and well-being, as long as the tour continued with as little fuss as possible.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. They were out of the station by four this afternoon.”

  “Four? It’s seven now, what the hell took you so long then?”

  “Paperwork and waiting for the all clear to leave.” Stella just wanted to go to bed.

  “Those French twats. They eat snails. Doesn’t mean they have to fucking act like them. Did you tell them you had fifty bloody dickhead tourists to babysit?”

  “Yes, Janet. I told them.”

  Janet mumbled more expletives before continuing. “So, how many have we lost?”

  “Just the three cousins at this stage. Depending on how soon Pippy’s parents arrive, two may join us again down the track.”

  Janet sighed. “This tour had better fucking improve, Stella, you hear me?”
>
  “Yes, loud and clear.”

  Janet hung up.

  It had been a long and exhausting day. The police interviewed everyone involved, watched the CCTV footage from all available angles, and concluded, given the evidence, that the cause of the fall was undetermined. No one seemed to know precisely what happened, Pippy included. Through hysterical tears, lasting beyond what was normal human behaviour, Pippy could shed no light on how she fell. She recalled, with ease, the moments leading up to the fall, but could understandably only confirm that one minute, she was upright, the next she wasn’t. Megan had her back turned at the time and saw nothing. CCTV confirmed this. Matt was too vague to offer any help whatsoever, and he appeared paler than ever. The couple from Perth, Heath and Emma, were too excited to be going on the underground for the first time, so their attention wasn’t on Pippy. The would-be thieves were intermingling with everyone, but appeared too busy positioning themselves for their strategic manoeuvre to even notice Pippy. Only Phoebe remained. Calm, cool Phoebe. She appeared to be the only one not in shock, not intimidated by the police, and the only one Stella wished hadn’t been anywhere near the damn accident. Unfortunately, Phoebe could offer little in the way of explanation, but her expression, captured clearly on the CCTV, was disturbing. Unless Phoebe had perfected a look of indifference, verging on smug satisfaction, something felt terribly wrong.

  Of course the authorities, upon discovering who she was, singled out Phoebe to question intensely, but the event was available for all to see on the CCTV, and it provided no evidence that Pippy was pushed or tripped. Without a witness, the case was a dead end. A horrible accident. Nobody saw a damn thing.

  At dinner, it was only natural the group should be discussing nothing other than the accident. Phoebe, in Pippy’s absence, was on her own again, silently reading a book, extracting escargot from their shells like a seasoned pro. Stella felt sorry for her, but now two images flashed before her eyes. The knife in her hand at breakfast, and the look on Pippy’s face when she realised a train was coming. Was Phoebe responsible for that?

  Russo was sitting next to Genevieve, who appeared slightly put out when Stella slumped in the vacant seat next to him. He protectively rested his arm on the back of her chair. “Rough day, Stella, eh?”

  “You can say that again.” Famished, she ordered frog legs.

  He leaned in close, grinning. “Bit extreme, going to those lengths to get rid of her?”

  “Hey,” she joked half-heartedly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “Seriously though, how’s she doing?”

  “Fine.” Stella sighed. “She’ll be fine.”

  “So is it all sorted with the cops?”

  “Yeah, I think so. We need to call into the police station tomorrow morning so they can take copies of the passports of those concerned, then that should be the end of it for our part.”

  Russo was keen to change the subject, and while Genevieve was deep in conversation with others at the table, he lowered his voice. “Well, I had a rather pleasant morning, until I came to your rescue, of course.” Russo had rushed to the station upon hearing of the accident.

  “Did you, now?”

  “Hmmm…” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Let’s just say, she’s not as innocent as she may first appear.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know, a little less experience. I wasn’t expecting to have to perform. I like it better when they think I’m God.”

  Stella knew this was a joke, all to cheer her up, and she appreciated it. For all his bravado, Russo was no chauvinist. Coach driving through Europe with a constant stream of girls was his ideal job. He loved women, loved sex, but never took it for granted. He’d given a bloke a blow job once before, mainly to see what it was like, but it wasn’t his thing, although a threesome here and there was never to be balked at. When Stella first heard they’d be doing tours together, she marched straight in to Janet and demanded she reconsider. Stella had said she’d rather go on tour with Gary Glitter than Russo. Of course, Janet told her to fuck off, and begrudgingly, Stella and Russo began working together. Fortunately, Stella’s opinion soon changed, and she and Russo became best friends.

  “Drink?” Russo hovered a bottle of red over her wine glass. He was drinking water, but the rest of the table had ordered wine.

  Stella’s gaze shot over to Phoebe. “I shouldn’t, but thanks.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  She frowned.

  He lowered his voice. “I know you, Stella. After a day like today, you need a drink. Other than a failed liver function test, the only other reason you’ve denied yourself a drink in the past has been because of a woman.”

  Russo was right.

  Stella shook her head. “After what I saw today, the look on Phoebe’s face on the CCTV, I’m holding this attraction in check.”

  “I don’t trust her, Stella. I don’t think you should either.” Russo squeezed her shoulder.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  As the group moved on to the cabaret, plied with alcohol, the topic of conversation shifted from the day’s events, and for this, Stella was grateful. The return coach ride to the hotel was filled with raucous laughter, and Stella, eager to start the following day completely afresh and without the need to discuss the underground incident, moved through the coach and spoke to those involved.

  Megan, while initially rather shaken and teary, was simply grateful Pippy would make a full recovery. Heath and Emma had each other for support and were more concerned about Stella and how much longer she had been required to remain at the police station. Emma had suggested Heath stay with her after all the questioning, but there was no need. Stella took an instant shine to this lovely, thoughtful couple. An exhausted and pasty looking Matt appeared grumpy. Stella detected a hint of annoyance in his moody demeanour, as if Pippy fell to deliberately ruin his day. Overall, they appeared to be dealing with the event rather well, and all declined Stella’s offer to organise counselling, although she did mention she would be available to chat anytime, should they need to.

  Although desperately wishing she could return to her solitary seat opposite Russo, Stella knew she couldn’t ignore Phoebe, who was sitting alone toward the rear of the coach. Resigned to her fate, Stella approached cautiously.

  “Hi, Phoebe.” Stella’s voice failed her, rising in octaves. Jesus. Why do I react like this? She coughed and continued. “I was wondering how you were feeling after this morning?”

  Stella fully expected a sarcastic response, a snide remark, or both, but Phoebe offered nothing. With darkened eyes, she glanced from Stella to the empty seat beside her and back again. Stella warily sat.

  Phoebe adjusted her long frame to face Stella. “I was questioned for almost twice as long as everyone else today. Was that your doing?” Her voice remained steady and without tone. It unnerved Stella.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Did you alert them to my history?”

  “No, I didn’t.” It was the truth. Upon being accused of attempting to conceal Phoebe’s identity, Stella had argued with the police that there was no need for her to alert every single person she met to the fact that Phoebe Lancaster—a completely free woman with no criminal record—was on her tour and at the train station that morning. “On the contrary, I was accused of obstructing the police investigation by not alerting them to your presence.”

  Whatever response Stella was expecting, it wasn’t forthcoming. In fact, nothing further was forthcoming. With her trademark indifference, Phoebe turned away. The conversation was over.

  Chapter Six

  Much to Stella’s relief, the subsequent days passed without incident. Due to the tour’s busy schedule, she saw little of Phoebe, but thought about her almost constantly.

  Unfortunately, thoughts of Rebecca Dean’s death plagued Stella nearly as frequently. As promised, Janet arranged for some information to be e-mailed, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t alre
ady learned for herself. Rebecca Dean and Phoebe Lancaster kept a low profile personally. They appeared to avoid the publicity that often surrounded Oscar and his media outlets and there never seemed to be any scandal involving them. They were, it seemed, the perfect couple.

  Barcelona, one of Stella’s favourite cities, brought with it a renewed sense of enthusiasm. The second day in Barcelona was a free day, and although Stella woke feeling tired and achy, the sun was shining and she had things to do. The group had been armed with an information sheet and were left to their own devices, encouraged to explore the city, eat tapas, and simply relax and enjoy. Stella had been unusually cagey surrounding her movements for the day; she wanted to spend it alone.

  That afternoon, at Parc del Laberint d’Horta—the Labyrinth Park of Barcelona—a rare musical performance was taking place, and Stella had secured a ticket months ago. Although it wasn’t advisable to detach herself from the group for a whole day, after the trouble in Paris, Stella was looking forward to doing something of her choosing.

  Singing, with full band, including a string section, was Keira Hannigan, an Irish folk singer with the most amazing voice. Stella had seen her perform before, but to see her in the beautiful gardens that she’d been meaning to visit for some time now, was an opportunity not to pass up. Tickets had been limited, but some fast talking and two hundred Euros secured her a seat.

  It was fascinating, especially for Stella, who loved history, to visit Barcelona’s oldest park, and apparently, the most romantic place in all of Barcelona. The locals suggested the park possessed a calming and relaxing aura, which could be felt the moment you stepped through the gates, lending itself to lust, love, passion, and romance. Although she was excited to be attending the concert, the labyrinth maze, set in the picturesque gardens, was also a highlight. Stella enjoyed a challenge and had heard it wasn’t as easy to conquer as it first appeared.

  Public transport in many European countries was easy to negotiate with a little practice, but Stella wasn’t at her best after drinking sangria with lunch. Had she been honest, her cheeky drink had left her feeling a little drunk. Subsequently, she prematurely disembarked the bus at the wrong stop. By the time she hiked the remaining two kilometres in the full heat of the afternoon sun, Stella felt lightheaded and dehydrated. She rued drinking the sangria and chastised herself for forgetting her hat.