limo took us into the city by a very roundabout route. Charlie the driver blamed what he called the Big Dig, which, he told us over his shoulder, had been going on in Boston for more than ten years. “By the time they’re all done, they’ll be tearing it all up again and starting over, yes, ma’am,” he said as we drove past yet another construction crew attacking the frozen earth.
I watched two bargelike white Ford Crown Victoria cabs jostling for position in traffic alongside us, and craned my neck up at the somber brown stone and brick buildings. The snow flurries that were still falling made it all seem alien and slightly distant.
I tried not to think about the last time I’d been in America, sweating in the Florida heat. I couldn’t even prevent a tiny jerk of alarm when a pair of full-dress police cruisers came flashing across an intersection in front of us, their sirens yelping in and out of sync with each other.
Relax. They’re not after you,
I told myself.
Not this time.
T he Boston Harbor Hotel, when we reached Rowe’s Wharf, was a magnificent building with an impressive arched rotunda next to the discreet entrance.
The hotel lobby was as grand and tactfully opulent as the outside led me to expect, all marble archways and huge paintings of harbor scenes from days gone by Even the wallpaper was padded. Again, Madeleine had made the arrangements so that the bags were whisked up to our rooms with the minimum of fuss. Simone herself grew more quiet and tense with every passing minute, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden elevation in luxury.
I had the room next to the one Simone was sharing with her daughter. By dint of closing the outer doors onto the corridor and leaving the inner doors open the two rooms could be connected together, but still leave both Simone and me some privacy.
Once the staff had finished unsettling Simone still further in their efforts to put us at our ease, I left her flicking through the hundreds of TV channels, searching for cartoons for Ella. I went into my own side and shut the door behind me. The room had a picture window that offered a breathtaking panorama across the snow-speckled harbor below, and a double bed the size of Canada. Suddenly I missed Sean.
For once, I wished Madeleine had given our accommodation a bit more thought. Finding something at the top of the tree is easy. Finding somewhere a bit less majestic, a bit more in keeping with Simone’s current lifestyle, would have been more time-consuming but might have been a better move. She might be a millionairess on paper, but she had a long way to go before she got her head round the idea. It seemed ironic that I was probably more used to staying in places of this caliber than she was.
I dug my briefing pack out of my bag, turning my back on the view, and dialed the number for the private investigators’ office first. Their answering service clicked in. I left a message asking them to call me and gave my UK mobile number, including the full international code. It seemed easier than relaying messages via the hotel switchboard.
I checked in with Sean, too, thankful to be able to reach him right away on his mobile, even though it was late evening at home.
“I don’t like it that they didn’t turn up,” he said. “We’ll chase it at this end, but it’s well past close of play over there, so there’s probably nothing you can do other than sit it out until the morning. How’s Simone doing?”
“Nervous,” I said. “I think perhaps we should have stayed somewhere a bit less plush.”
“Mm. Well, you could always try retail therapy,” Sean suggested. “If she doesn’t fancy the haute couture of Copley Place, take her bargain hunting at Filene’s Basement instead.”
“Since when did you get to know your way around Boston so well?” I asked, aware of a tinge of jealousy at the image of Sean buying gifts for some shadowy previous lover. Someone who came both before and after me. There had been a break
I watched two bargelike white Ford Crown Victoria cabs jostling for position in traffic alongside us, and craned my neck up at the somber brown stone and brick buildings. The snow flurries that were still falling made it all seem alien and slightly distant.
I tried not to think about the last time I’d been in America, sweating in the Florida heat. I couldn’t even prevent a tiny jerk of alarm when a pair of full-dress police cruisers came flashing across an intersection in front of us, their sirens yelping in and out of sync with each other.
Relax. They’re not after you,
I told myself.
Not this time.
T he Boston Harbor Hotel, when we reached Rowe’s Wharf, was a magnificent building with an impressive arched rotunda next to the discreet entrance.
The hotel lobby was as grand and tactfully opulent as the outside led me to expect, all marble archways and huge paintings of harbor scenes from days gone by Even the wallpaper was padded. Again, Madeleine had made the arrangements so that the bags were whisked up to our rooms with the minimum of fuss. Simone herself grew more quiet and tense with every passing minute, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden elevation in luxury.
I had the room next to the one Simone was sharing with her daughter. By dint of closing the outer doors onto the corridor and leaving the inner doors open the two rooms could be connected together, but still leave both Simone and me some privacy.
Once the staff had finished unsettling Simone still further in their efforts to put us at our ease, I left her flicking through the hundreds of TV channels, searching for cartoons for Ella. I went into my own side and shut the door behind me. The room had a picture window that offered a breathtaking panorama across the snow-speckled harbor below, and a double bed the size of Canada. Suddenly I missed Sean.
For once, I wished Madeleine had given our accommodation a bit more thought. Finding something at the top of the tree is easy. Finding somewhere a bit less majestic, a bit more in keeping with Simone’s current lifestyle, would have been more time-consuming but might have been a better move. She might be a millionairess on paper, but she had a long way to go before she got her head round the idea. It seemed ironic that I was probably more used to staying in places of this caliber than she was.
I dug my briefing pack out of my bag, turning my back on the view, and dialed the number for the private investigators’ office first. Their answering service clicked in. I left a message asking them to call me and gave my UK mobile number, including the full international code. It seemed easier than relaying messages via the hotel switchboard.
I checked in with Sean, too, thankful to be able to reach him right away on his mobile, even though it was late evening at home.
“I don’t like it that they didn’t turn up,” he said. “We’ll chase it at this end, but it’s well past close of play over there, so there’s probably nothing you can do other than sit it out until the morning. How’s Simone doing?”
“Nervous,” I said. “I think perhaps we should have stayed somewhere a bit less plush.”
“Mm. Well, you could always try retail therapy,” Sean suggested. “If she doesn’t fancy the haute couture of Copley Place, take her bargain hunting at Filene’s Basement instead.”
“Since when did you get to know your way around Boston so well?” I asked, aware of a tinge of jealousy at the image of Sean buying gifts for some shadowy previous lover. Someone who came both before and after me. There had been a break
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