Page 21 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)

Paul Brett emerges from under the water, and Joanna smiles at her handsome husband.

Joanna and Paul are drinking the promised Champagne in the promised hot tub, on the terrace of an ‘Executive Lodge’ nestled in the woodland grounds of a grand country-house hotel. Those grounds are so big that, while the hot tub is in north Dorset, the breakfast buffet is in south Somerset.

‘Are you worried though?’ Joanna asks. ‘About Nick?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Paul. ‘Not really my world, all that.’

Joyce had rung Joanna an hour or so ago and, after a lengthy diversion into porcelain cats, had told her about the bomb under Nick’s car.

‘He’ll text me any minute,’ says Paul. ‘It’ll be a training exercise or something. Testing for weaknesses in their system.’

‘In The Compound?’ Joanna asks. ‘I’m not really sure I know what it is?’

‘Cold storage,’ says Paul. ‘Instead of storing secrets on computers, where hackers can get to them, you stick them in a safe room underground that’s impossible to rob. It’s very popular.’

‘An underground bunker where you can bury your secrets?’ says Joanna. ‘Popular with criminals presumably?’

‘I suppose so,’ says Paul. ‘Or maybe hedge funds?’

Joanna sticks out her tongue.

‘Everyone’s got secrets, haven’t they?’ says Paul. ‘That’s how they’ve stayed in business all these years. They’re very thorough, Nick and Holly.’

‘And you’ve heard nothing from Holly this evening?’ asks Joanna. ‘Dinner with those four can be an ordeal.’

‘Holly can handle anything,’ says Paul.

‘Can she now?’ asks Joanna. ‘Why haven’t I met her? I’ve met most of your friends. And her being so wonderful and everything?’

‘One of those things,’ says Paul. ‘Just hasn’t worked out that way.’

Joanna downs her Champagne and reaches for another bottle.

‘Is she beautiful, and very much in love with you?’

‘No,’ says Paul.

Joanna pops the Champagne cork.

‘No, she’s not beautiful or, no, she’s not very much in love with you?’

‘Neither,’ says Paul. ‘She’s perfectly acceptable-looking as women go, and, impressive though she is, you’d have to be an entirely different magnitude of woman to consider falling in love with me. You’d have to be a maniac of some sort. Or a monster. That sort of a woman.’

Joanna will spend a couple of hours online this evening being the judge of that .

She smiles. ‘Sorry to tease you. I’m looking forward to meeting her.’

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ says Paul.

‘I’ll curtsy when we meet,’ says Joanna. ‘And say how delighted I am to meet my husband’s most perfectly reasonable-looking friend.’

She fills Paul’s Champagne glass.

‘When did Nick ask you about Elizabeth?’

‘Morning of the wedding,’ says Paul. ‘I’ve told him stories about your mum, about the gang. He wanted to know if they were true.’

‘I’m afraid they are,’ says Joanna. ‘They’ll help if they can, I know that.’

They slide a little further under the bubbles.

‘This is the stuff,’ says Paul.

‘You know hot tubs are an absolute soup of bacteria,’ says Joanna.

‘Happy honeymoon, darling,’ says Paul, and they clink glasses.

Paul’s phone buzzes on the side of the hot tub. Paul and Joanna look at each other. Paul reaches over, dries his hand on a towel and picks up his phone. He gives a broad grin.

‘I told you,’ says Paul. ‘Didn’t I tell you? It’s Nick.’

‘Thank God for that,’ says Joanna. ‘What does he say? Why didn’t he ring instead?’

Paul it’s me. I have to lay low for a while but don’t worry, I’m safe.

‘Jesus,’ says Joanna. ‘Where is he? Message him back.’

Paul types.

Can we help? Anything at all?

‘I’ll tell Mum he’s got in touch,’ says Joanna.

Another message comes through.

No need mate, just wanted you to know I’m alive.

‘Ask him to ring,’ says Joanna. ‘Elizabeth will want details.’

Paul sends another message to Nick. Joanna starts typing a message to her mum with the good news. Nick replies to Paul.

Can’t ring this evening Paul. Will explain all soon.

‘In fact, I’ll ring Mum,’ says Joanna. ‘They might still be with Holly. Everyone will want to know.’

Paul holds a finger in the air. ‘One second.’

Joanna waits.

‘He never calls me Paul,’ says Paul. ‘You know that, he calls me Paolo. I call him Nico. We have done since university.’

That’s true. It’s embarrassing, but the sort of thing you ignore at the beginning of a relationship, and hope will become cute eventually.

‘Well, he’s calling you Paul now,’ says Joanna. ‘I mean, it’s a serious situation – perhaps he thinks Paolo is a bit flip?’

‘Or perhaps it’s not him,’ says Paul. ‘Is that crazy? Perhaps someone has got hold of his phone?’

Joanna thinks, Champagne in one hand, mobile phone in the other.

‘Ask him something only the two of you would know,’ says Joanna. ‘Anything. As silly as you like. Just something that would prove it. Put your mind at rest.’

Paul nods and starts typing.

Nico, just want to be cautious here, I know you’ll understand. What was the name of your first car? The Vauxhall Nova?

‘We called it the Babe Magnet,’ says Paul to Joanna, a little apologetically.

‘And was it?’

‘Not so much,’ says Paul. ‘Not so much.’

There is another ping. Paul reads out the reply.

Sorry mate, what is this? A test of our friendship? I’m letting you know I’m okay, and this is what I get?

‘Well, I don’t love that,’ say Joanna.

‘I don’t love it either,’ says Paul, typing again.

Come on Nico, I just need to make certain it’s you. Play the game.

‘There’s zero reason, if it’s really him,’ says Joanna, ‘why he wouldn’t just tell you.’

‘Agree,’ says Paul.

Another ping.

Jesus Paul. When I need you most, you pull this? We both know the name of the car. Stop messing around and let people know I’m okay.

‘It’s not him,’ says Paul.

‘It’s not him,’ agrees Joanna.

‘Which means someone has got his phone,’ says Paul.

‘And whoever has got his phone has got him,’ agrees Joanna. ‘I’m ringing Elizabeth.’

There is another ping. Another message from Nick.

I’m sorry if I’ve offended you Paul. I thought we were friends, but I can’t trust you. Signing off for good now.

Joanna and Paul look at each other. Joanna taps at her phone. ‘No answer from Elizabeth. I’ll try Mum.’

Paul sends another message while she does. It bounces straight back.

‘Jesus Christ,’ says Paul. ‘Who sent those messages?’

‘No answer from Mum either – where are they?’

‘Screenshot the messages,’ says Joanna. ‘We have to find Nick.’

‘Screenshotting them,’ says Paul. ‘I’ll send them straight to the police.’

Joanna puts her hand on his.

‘Honestly? God bless the police, but it’ll be quicker all round if we just show them to Elizabeth.’