Trafficked, p.21
Trafficked, page 21
I don’t have the heart to tell her that the police stopped actively looking for Anna over fifteen years ago, and instead turn on BBC News 24, even though I know she won’t find what she’s looking for. Something else is bothering me though: haven’t found out where they took her.
The screen fills with red as the ending report cuts back to the newscaster in the studio. She has the most ginger hair I’ve ever seen and a lurid pea-soup-green suit jacket that makes her resemble a leprechaun. Someone in the wardrobe department needs shooting, as it clashes with the bright background behind her. There’s no doubt I’m watching Kirstie Greenacre, who cornered me at the hospital on Thursday.
‘There you go,’ I say calmly. ‘No news about Anna.’ I allow her eyes to dance over the screen to confirm what I’ve said, before continuing. ‘What did you mean, the police don’t know where they took her, Mum? Who are they?’
Her eyes are darting as she reads the ticker tape headlines scrolling at the bottom of the screen, but she is lost in the programme. Rachel and I could explode in a puff of smoke and she wouldn’t notice.
‘We should probably just go,’ I say to Rachel, whose face is looking more and more concerned as she watches the screen.
‘No, wait, you need to see this; can you turn it up?’
Frowning, I increase the volume, turning my attention back to the leprechaun, but the screen splits, leaving her on the left, and a grey-haired man with a navy shirt and salmon-coloured cravat on the right. My eyes widen as I realise who I am looking at.
‘Thank you for joining us this morning, Monsieur Lebrun,’ the news presenter says, and he smiles in acknowledgement.
‘Avec plaisir.’
‘It’s four days since you received the news that your daughter Aurélie had been found in Poole; what have the last four days been like? How is your daughter now?’
Remy’s smile widens a fraction more. ‘She is still in some pain, and recovering from her injuries, but I am pleased to say she should make a full recovery. We feel blessed that she has been returned to us, and I am just so thankful that we have her back.’
‘It’s a story that really has captured the public’s attention. Missing for thirteen years – you must have all but given up hope that you’d ever see her again?’
He shakes his head gently, but the smile remains. ‘Non, I think we always knew that she was still alive; my wife and I would talk about her every day, hoping that the power of our longing would travel across the airwaves to her. She must have heard our voices and come running. It truly is a miracle!’
My eyes haven’t left the screen. I cannot believe what I am watching, and yet there is a part of me not totally shocked to see Remy being interviewed via a video call on the British news. I’m trying to work out where he is, as the mirror on the wall behind him doesn’t look like the hospital.
‘Has Aurélie been able to tell the police much about where she’s been for all this time?’
‘Unfortunately, I am not allowed to discuss the police investigation, but suffice to say, she is helping them with their enquiries. I am hopeful that the police will find the people responsible for keeping her from us for so long. We have missed so many of her formative years, and we are keen to make up for lost time as quickly as possible.’
‘I’m sure, I’m sure. And you told me before we came on air that your daughter has been released from the hospital now too, which is a sure sign that she is making good progress.’
This is news to me. I can only wonder if that was what Jack was called to the hospital for. I did message him last night to see whether he was staying down here somewhere or had headed back to London, but according to my phone he hasn’t seen the message yet. I don’t want to think about where he stayed, or with whom.
‘We are glad that she is here with us in this beautiful hotel, and we intend to treat her as a princess until such time as we are allowed to return home to Paris.’
‘And you have an announcement to make as well, I understand?’
‘Ah, oui, that is right. For many years I have had a dream of returning to public office, but my heart has been broken, and I did not feel I could commit the rest of it to what the role requires. However, with my heart now mended, I have unfinished business with diplomatic matters, and so, as of today, I would like to tell the French people that I intend to run for President at the elections in 2022.’
There is more than a glint of excitement in his eyes, and I can’t help the nausea rising in my throat at watching him cash in on his daughter’s miraculous return. I’m just grateful he hasn’t thrust Aurélie in front of the camera too.
‘And there are plans afoot to share the details of Aurélie’s horrifying experience too, is that correct?’
‘Yes, of course, we think it is important for the world to know that there are some truly horrific monsters out there, which is why the bestselling writer Emma Hunter has been interviewing Aurélie for her next book.’
My heart sinks, and I can feel Rachel’s gaze on me. ‘Did you know he was going to—’
‘No,’ I say dismissively. ‘I had no idea, and I’m not happy having my name dropped like that. I haven’t even officially agreed to write any such book.’
My neck is clammy as the heat rises to my face.
Remy’s smile stiffens to that of concerned diplomat. ‘Parents should know that they cannot be complacent when caring for their children. Did you know that there are approximately 210,000 reported incidents of missing children each year in the UK alone? That is a frightening statistic, and whilst most are found and returned safely, there are many who are not. We are lucky to have our daughter back in our lives, and we want to use her tragedy to benefit others.’
Spoken like a true politician, even if the sentiment is true. I switch off the television, as I can’t bear to watch any more of it.
‘Have they found her then?’ Mum questions. ‘Is Anna safe? When can I see her?
I drop onto the bedspread beside her, and take her hands in mine. ‘No, Mum, I’m sorry, they haven’t found Anna. Not yet, but I’m doing everything I can to find her for us. Okay? I won’t rest until I know exactly who took Anna and why.’
Her eyes remain fixed on the television’s black screen, but I can’t be certain she heard a word of what I said. Pulling her into a hug I repeat the words in a whisper into her ear, praying that they will find a way through the fog of confusion permanently swirling around her brain.
‘I will find her, Mum, I promise.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Then
Poole, Dorset
Pulling the duvet up and over her chin, Aurélie only allowed her eyes to peek out at her father’s stern face on the television screen in the corner of the room. It wasn’t much bigger than the room at the hospital, but at least the bed was larger; not that she’d managed to get much sleep, as the mattress wasn’t as firm as she was used to. Eventually she’d given up and had pushed the duvet onto the carpet and curled up on top of that instead.
She’d been quick to get back up onto the mattress when she’d heard her mum’s voice telling her father that she would check if Aurélie was awake yet. She’d pretended to be fast asleep, and had been grateful that Solange had made no effort to wake her. Despite the door to the room being closed, she’d heard them moving about out there since before seven. She hadn’t understood what all the fussing was about until she’d heard her mum criticising him for arranging a television interview so soon.
At least he hadn’t asked her to appear beside him; it wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d bundled into the room, squashed up beside her and filled the screen with the pair of them. She had her mother to thank for avoiding such an atrocity.
Solange hadn’t managed to save herself, however, and now joined her husband to the right of the news presenter’s window. For a woman in her mid-fifties, Solange looked good. She’d often said she’d been blessed with youthful-looking skin, and she wasn’t wrong. Whilst it looked less taut than it once had, there would be women half her age out there green with envy right now. Wearing a dull-blue crêpe dress, she had lost none of her model’s poise, pointing her chin up to stretch the skin from her neck and jawline.
‘We are joined now by Solange Lebrun, Aurélie’s mother and still a style icon years after retiring from the catwalk. Solange, tell us how you felt the moment you walked into that hospital room and were reunited with your only child.’
Remy would have instructed her on how to reply to such questions: speak factually, avoid too much emotion, only lower your guard a fraction.
‘I thought it was a dream at first,’ Solange replied. ‘Then there were many tears, some of sadness for our lost time, but most of pure joy and love. She is the part of my life that has been missing for too long.’
Aurélie didn’t doubt a word of it, recalling snippets of what life had been like before that day. Whilst she had spent many years desperately trying to cling to happier memories, there had been bad times too: the days her mum wouldn’t rise from bed, the tumbler of pastis and bottle of pills not far from her on the dressing table. The image of her parents so close together on the screen was not in keeping with how Aurélie recalled the days before she was taken.
The sound of someone frantically knocking at the door fired in her mind at that moment. Her mother wasn’t home – away on some modelling jaunt perhaps? – so it was just Remy and Aurélie at the apartment in Paris. The rain was hammering against the window while Aurélie had read a book at the dining room table, but that had stopped when the knocking began. Her father had told her to continue, but she’d snuck to the doorway to see who had disturbed their evening.
A woman in a drenched overcoat had been waiting, her face panda-like where her eye makeup had run down her cheeks, but it wasn’t obvious if that was a result of the rain or of some other accident.
‘You cannot be here; my daughter is home.’ He’d spoken rapidly, the anger not far from the edge of his tone.
‘But I had to see you, my love. I missed you.’
He’d looked back towards the doorway, and Aurélie had stayed out of sight, but she’d still heard his response.
‘You know I love you too, but now isn’t a good time.’
‘But you said you were going to tell your wife the truth about us… You said we could be together.’
‘And I meant what I said, but you have to understand it isn’t easy for me. It isn’t just about telling my wife… I have a daughter too.’
‘And what about me and our baby?’
Aurélie hadn’t understood at first; it certainly wasn’t her mother at the door, and she wasn’t aware of any other brothers or sisters.
‘I will tell them before he or she arrives; okay? I promise, we will be together soon.’
Aurélie shook her head at the memory – repressed for God knew how many years – but now causing her to feel light-headed. All their talk of her going to a boarding school and her not wanting to go, had that been because her father was planning to divorce Solange? But if that had been the intention, how was it they were acting so affectionately for the televised interview?
‘You both stepped away from the public eye after she was taken,’ the newsreader continued. ‘Remy, you have already spoken about a desire to return to politics; Solange, do you have any similar plans to return to the world of fashion?’
What sort of a question was that to ask?
Solange maintained her poise. ‘I gave up that life a long time ago, and it is too late for me to return. Besides, my daughter needs me, and she is all I need to bring joy into my life.’
Was that barb aimed at Remy, following his announcement? Was she not on board with his proposal to run for election? Had she ever been on board with his chosen profession? Had she pushed him to step away after the abduction?
‘Given your years of experience and a growing trend towards changing the shape and face of modelling, are you not tempted to run the catwalk again?’
‘Aurélie is my only priority.’
‘And are there any plans to take Aurélie back to the beach in Worthing to see if she can recall anything about that day?’ the newscaster pressed.
‘We haven’t made any decisions about that yet,’ Remy replied cautiously. ‘Right now, we just want her to recover physically and then emotionally. We will arrange some counselling for her as soon as we return to Paris.’
Another memory stirred at the back of Aurélie’s mind; Pandora’s Box had been opened, and suddenly fresh light was being cast upon the far recesses of her mind.
She was no longer in the hotel room, but back on that beach, the warm sand slipping between her toes as she ran from the pavement towards the crashing waves at the water’s edge.
‘Stay where we can see you,’ her mother called after her, but Aurélie was too excited to listen and only stopped when the sea’s froth instantly cooled her toes. This wasn’t like the seas she’d become accustomed to in Marseille, Sicily and Corfu. This water was colder, harsher on her skin, and she quickly hurried back onto the dry sand, welcoming the warmth on her soles.
Her parents had set up base about halfway back up the beach: two flowery-coloured fold-out chairs, a beach towel secured by a handful of rocks found nearby, a windbreaker, a large plastic cooling box containing bottled water and fresh fruit. Mum had said they would be here until at least early afternoon, though Dad had said he might need to head back inside to check emails at lunchtime.
They’d bought her castle-shaped buckets and a plastic spade, and once they were seated she began to attempt to build castles, but they failed miserably. Then her dad had spoken to her about the wet sand required for such structures and she hadn’t looked back. Hours must have passed, now all blurred, until the beach was much fuller, and it was almost impossible to see a patch of sand undisturbed.
Her mum had stood and said something about going to fetch a book, but Aurélie had only been half listening, and then Dad’s phone had started to ring. Now she could remember him looking at the dial, but not answering it. But then it had rung again, and his face had looked concerned as he’d stared back at the number, before glancing down to check she wasn’t paying any attention.
‘You should not have called me,’ she now heard his voice say in the memory.
He turned away from her, trying to keep the conversation quiet while she clawed and dug out the moat.
‘No I have not told her yet… Yes, I do understand what is required…’
She sensed he was speaking to that lady with the panda-like eyes again, only now his voice was crisper in the memory.
‘Don’t threaten me… Do you know who you are speaking to? I am not some brainless junkie. I am… You will get your money…’
Had Aurélie really witnessed this phone conversation, or was her imagination plugging the gaps? It felt as real now as if she was physically on that beach thirteen years ago.
‘I swear to God, if you hurt her…’
Aurélie sat bolt upright in bed. Had her father been on the phone to the kidnappers when she’d wandered down to the sea’s edge to collect the water for the moat? Had they been watching the whole time, and were threatening him for some reason? Had she really lost the last thirteen years because of something he had done?
Pushing back the covers, she stormed to the door and pulled it open, but they weren’t in the main body of the suite; clearly they were undertaking the interview from the confines of the room they’d shared last night. She was about to push open their door and accuse him to his face when she spotted his mobile phone on the large round table in the middle of the room. It had a blue light flashing in the corner, and as she picked it up, and typed his date of birth into the passcode reader, she saw the notification that he’d missed a call from Emma Hunter.
Pressing redial, she put the phone to her ear. ‘Miss Hunter? It is Aurélie Lebrun. I need to speak to you about my father. I think he is the reason I was taken.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Now
New Forest, Hampshire
I wasn’t expecting to hear Aurélie’s voice down the phone, and certainly not as frantic and anxious as it sounded. My instinct is to go to the hotel and listen to what she has to say. Rachel told me not to bother reaching out to Jack and Cavendish, but I’ve had enough of feeling like I’m treading on eggshells. Aurélie reached out to me, not them, and yet I still send Jack a message to tell him where we’ve been called to.
The hotel is on a former country estate in the middle of Hampshire’s New Forest, and several miles north of Poole and Weymouth; certainly not somewhere you would find unless you went looking for it, and maybe that’s why the Lebruns chose it. In fact, as we come up the long gravel drive towards the building, I’m reminded of the trip I made with Lord Fitzhume when we attended the Priory Hospital to visit his recovering daughter; this place has a similar feel of wealth and prosperity that I’m not accustomed to.
‘What do you think she’s going to tell us?’ Rachel asks as we hunt for a parking space as close to the entrance as she can find.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I answer honestly, though as soon as Aurélie mentioned her father’s possible involvement I couldn’t help thinking about that guilty look in his eyes when he’d attended the public appeal for information all those years ago. I’d all but dismissed the possibility that he could somehow be involved – what kind of father could allow his daughter to be taken? – but now my mind keeps asking questions that I can’t answer: why was he on the phone, and not watching Aurélie? Why didn’t he offer a reward for information about her or to encourage her safe return? Why didn’t he raise the alarm as soon as he saw she was missing?
‘It would certainly make for a sensational opening to your next book: Presidential candidate embroiled in own daughter’s abduction and abuse.’ Her eyes are wide, imagining the headline and her name on the byline. ‘Sorry,’ she eventually says, when she spots me staring. ‘Force of habit. I promise I won’t report on anything without your agreement.’
