The Betrayal by Kate Furnivall

Author:Kate Furnivall [Furnivall, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

FLORENCE

I find my sister. She is prowling back and forth, tense as a tigress among the foliage, hidden under the poplar trees at the boundary of the airfield. I come up behind her and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She is so focused on the handful of buildings and hangars huddled at the far end that she is unaware of what is right behind her.

‘Florence! What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you.’

She looks a mess. A dress that resembles a shapeless black shroud and such dark circles under her eyes they twist my heart.

‘Have you been in a brawl?’ I indicate the purple bruise on her cheek.

‘Yes.’

‘For God’s sake, Romaine, you have to cut back on the drinking.’

But she is not listening. She is elsewhere. Barely conscious of me. I follow her line of sight and find it concentrated on one brick building at least two hundred metres from us. People are coming and going in and out of it.

‘What’s in there?’ I ask.

‘Offices. A bar. Storage.’

‘If it’s so interesting, why don’t you just wander in there?’

She says nothing and for a long moment all I hear is a jangling sound. It could be the wind stirring the silvery leaves above our heads and the flutter of flags along the top of the brick building. Or it could be her thoughts. Crashing into each other. A spindly old aeroplane takes off with a roar. It seems to bring Romaine back to me. She turns her head and frowns at me.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asks again.

‘I told you. Looking for you.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘I am good at looking.’

I move close to her. I catch a faint hint of perfume on her, so faint it is barely there, but I recognise it because I use it myself. It is Joy by Jean Patou. It doesn’t make sense. Who has she been with who wears such expensive perfume?

‘Roland told me,’ I say, ‘that you came to our apartment looking for me the other day, but then you disappeared. I came to the airfield to find you because you weren’t at your house.’

Her muddy eyes seek mine, and maybe it is because I have caught her unawares, but the barriers are down. Her eyes are naked and defenceless. And full of pain.

‘What is it, Romaine? What has happened? Why are you out here among the trees, spying on what is going on at DeFosse airfield?’

‘I’m searching for someone.’

‘Who?’

I think she is not going to reply. She shudders and I wrap my hand tight around hers.

‘Léo Martel,’ she whispers. And then louder, ‘Léo Martel.’

‘Come then. Let’s go and find him.’

I stride forward to cross the airfield, drawing my sister with me. Reluctantly she emerges from the shadows.

She leads me from building to building, from office to office. She knocks on doors, she asks questions.

‘Have you seen Léo Martel today?’

‘Have other people been asking after him?’

The answers are always the same. ‘No, sorry, Romy. If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re chasing him.

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