Page 54 of Someone in the Water

Frankie

My heart booms in my chest. I’m dog-tired but also fizzing with the energy that fear creates.

Am I really doing this? Prowling the hotel in the dead of night?

Especially after spending the last few hours alone in my room, my mind going to darker and darker places after Lola made it clear that she feels safer with Patrick than me.

But I can’t think of a better plan. I need to get away from Corsica – from this hotel, from Dom and what he might know. From whoever is threatening us. And that means finding Lola’s travel documents.

I know there’s only a slim chance they’ll be in the office.

If Dom has them, they will be hidden away in his house in Sartène.

And if Jack took them, they will probably be in Salvo’s old house where he lives now.

But if one of the Paoli family took them – Raphael, Anna, Patrick – then there’s a chance they’ll be hidden in the office, especially with the postman delivering them to reception.

I know it’s a long shot, but I need to try.

I edge down the last few stairs. There are security guards who work through the night, but hopefully they’ll be outside, protecting the perimeter rather than checking what’s happening inside the hotel.

I wait at the corner of the reception area with my excuses ready, but it’s deserted, and my heart slows a beat.

The lights in the area are switched off but there’s enough ambient light to see by.

I tiptoe over to the desk then slip behind it and push on the office door handle.

I allow myself a silent sigh of relief as it opens.

There’s one window in the office overlooking the front driveway, but the heavy oak shutters are closed, so I turn on the desk lamp.

Its weak beam gives me just enough light to search by.

My hands shake as I open each of the three desk drawers in turn.

The top drawer is full of office staples – pens, paperclips, Post-it Notes – and the bottom drawer is empty except for a half-drunk bottle of Pastis.

The middle drawer takes longer to search.

It is full of paperwork – loosely filled cardboard wallets in pastel shades – and I flick through them, searching for Lola’s envelope.

By the time I get to the last wallet in the pile, I’ve run out of hope, but my fingers slow when I realise what I’m reading.

A legal document from a solicitor’s firm in Porto Vecchio, the words testament authentique written across the top.

As I scan for words I can translate, I realise it’s a copy of Salvo’s will.

This is not what I came for. Salvo’s final wishes are none of my business. But this is the man who fucked up my life. Who made me think I was crazy, and somehow responsible for my friend’s death. Alive or dead, I don’t owe him anything.

It’s written in French, so I can’t understand most of it.

But there are some names I recognise, and numbers too.

It says that Salvo owned thirty per cent of Hotel Paoli when he died, which is less than I might have expected.

But it’s who he’s leaving his share to that’s the real surprise.

He has bequeathed it all to Anna. Why would he do that?

And how does Raphael feel about it? Twenty-one years ago, Anna was like Raphael’s puppet – or puppy.

Now she acts like she’s in charge. And according to Salvo’s will, she now owns a major share of the hotel.

Is this all because she took the reins after Izzy’s death or is there more behind his loyalty to her?

I look back at the document, scan more writing I don’t understand, then turn the page.

On the second sheet, there are handwritten scribbles in the margin next to one clause.

Scrawling black ink with three exclamation marks at the end.

I concentrate on the words I recognise. It looks like Salvo owned a one-half stake in a vineyard in Sartène, and he’s leaving it all to one person.

But the benefactor is no one in the family – which means neither Raphael nor Patrick have inherited anything significant.

I squint at the name for a second because it looks familiar. Then I gasp.

Nicole Bassot.

That’s Izzy’s mum’s name.

It can’t be a coincidence. Salvo has left his share of a vineyard to Izzy’s family.

Why would he do that?

I drop the document on the desk and lean back in the chair.

I only saw Salvo once after Izzy drowned, for a few minutes at the police station, but I will never forget our conversation, or his demeanour.

He didn’t seem upset about Izzy’s death at all – just acted as though it was simply her fate – so why did he leave this part of his estate to Izzy’s family?

I look back at the document. I don’t know what Raphael’s handwriting looks like, but I wonder if those angry scribbles are his, and what his father leaving him nothing might do to his mental state.

With shaking hands, I tidy up the document, slip it back into the folder, and return all the paperwork to the desk’s middle drawer.

But there’s a filing cabinet against the wall with four square-shaped drawers that I should search too.

I push onto my feet and pull open the top drawer.

But as I’m rifling through more files, my mind keeps wandering back to Salvo.

I knew him for less than six months. And in that time, I only spoke to him four or five times.

And yet I’ve let him become this invisible but omnipresent force in my life, a constant thorn in my side.

But Salvo remembered Izzy in his will. Was he more human than I gave him credit for?

Twenty minutes later, I’ve checked all the possible hiding places for Lola’s travel documents and accepted that they aren’t in the office. I’ve achieved nothing.

I switch off the light, edge open the door, and return, defeated, to my post outside the staff accommodation block. And I pray for at least a few hours of dreamless sleep.