“Yes, of course.”
“Take us there. Just a quick stop, then continue to the airport.”
Victoria whispered in his ear, “It’s been a wonderful weekend. What’s in that club?”
“You heard me? I wanted to surprise you. It’s a historical building I want to see,” he said, hiding his guilt. I hate lying to you, darling, but I must protect you, he thought.
The taxi stopped. Alexandre adjusted himself, then glanced sideways. There it was: Ronald’s photo on an advertisement, just as Boris had said. That was the place where Lenel had mentioned the fires and mimed writing a book moving his hand. I hope Victoria doesn’t notice, he thought, relieved that she was looking away.
“Not much else here, but I can take you to a museum nearby,” the driver said, resuming the trip.
“We should go, or we’ll be late,” Victoria intervened, staring out the window. Alexandre sensed her unease.
“What is wrong, darling? Why that face?”
“Nothing, just a little tired,” she said, struggling not to collapse. What is happening? Why lie to me? I cannot stand it! she thought.
Two days later in Cambridge, Victoria returned from classes alone. Night had fallen. She walked slowly, tears falling and thinking, Why is Alexandre lying to me? Why didn’t he mention Ronald’s photo in the taxi?
Her distress traced back to a note she found in his suit pocket the morning after Ronald’s funeral. She had never searched his belongings before. When Alexandre showered, she intended to remove Franco Gambino’s card. Instead, she found a note marked with a red kiss:
I’ll wait for you tomorrow, Monday. Come incognito, alone, on foot, and without a phone.
70