THIRTY

Jack phoned me as I lay spread-eagled inelegantly on my back like a stranded lobster. My neck had started to ache and I wondered if it was because of the overhead fan; but if I turned it off I grew red and overheated immediately. His voice pulled me back to the world I had left, a world that seemed as far away as the moon. ‘How are you doing, Nik?’

‘I’m fine…just exceedingly hot.’ I heard my own voice sounding short and tetchy with a sharp edge, as if Jack had woken me or taken me away from something I was doing.

‘Did I wake you, darlin’? I thought this would be a good time to catch you…when you were probably resting…’

‘It is. Take no notice of me…I’m just irritable, Jack. I can’t stay cool and it’s no fun being me in this heat.’

‘I’ll bet it isn’t. I worry about you, Nik. What—?’

I interrupted quickly. I did not want to talk about Saffie. ‘Tell me what’s happened with you. Did you get the yacht insurance sorted?’

‘More or less. But you know what insurance companies are like. It should be all right in the end but the Aussies made a terrible mess of the yacht. There’s a hell of a hole in her stern…’

‘Were they pissed?’

‘Well, of course they deny it. At least I have their hefty deposit which they’ll forfeit.’

‘Good. How are you, darlin’?’

‘Missing you. Wishing you and bump were safely home.’

I smiled at the wistful tone in his voice. ‘It won’t be long. Jack, I don’t think there’s much more they can find out about Saffie…about how she died. We’re never going to know what happened. I think Fleur and I both realise that.’

I heard Jack hesitate. ‘Could they establish the cause of her death?’

‘They think she suffocated.’

He was silent. I knew he wanted to ask how they could possibly know that. I knew he was thinking that it was probably the most palatable cause the police could come up with.

‘I’m sorry, Nik.’

‘I know…Listen, this call will be costing you…’

‘You are taking care of yourself?’

‘I am. My mother is here, remember?’

‘How are you two getting on?’

‘Oh, we’re all right. Jack, I miss you too, you know?’

‘I’ll ring you tomorrow. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ I said. “Bye, Jack.’

I turned my mobile off and raised myself into a sitting position and drank some tepid water. I longed to sleep but I had begun to dread the nights and I wanted to keep myself awake so that I would be so tired by the time I went to bed I would crash. I pulled the Hundertwasser book towards me, idly flicking over the pages. It was mildly irritating that Fleur knew more than I did about him when there was one of his buildings just down the road from us.

I opened the book at random, flicking through his history and his paintings. His only formal artistic training was a three-month stint at the Akademie der Bildenden Kunste in Vienna in 1948. Was this why Fleur had found him appealing: Hundertwasser and his self-trained eye?