Cuba: An International Thriller (The Flense Book 4) by Tanpepper Saul

Author:Tanpepper, Saul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brinestone Press
Published: 2020-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty Eight

She regretted taking her anger out on Monsieur Abramson. She didn’t honestly believe people never changed, but when it came to her own father, it was easiest to assume he hadn’t, because every time in the past she thought he had, he’d betray her again, and it would hurt even more. There were only so many times you could have your trust shattered before it could never be repaired.

So why was she sitting here in her tiny, rundown apartment, once again considering that maybe — maybe — this time was different?

She leaned back against the couch cushion in her billet. A stray shaft of the day’s last sunlight from the window behind her illuminated the photograph he’d given her. She remembered the day in the image well, or parts of it, anyway. She remembered walking with her mother and a very young Jacques, still in training pants, as they played at the kids’ beach. Her father had been at a conference across the lake, a little corner of Geneva called Versoix. On the very last day of their stay, he took them there to a small French restaurant, and Jacques had refused to eat anything but pommes frites dipped in melted vanilla ice cream. He was the only one able to enjoy the day. The rest of them were still unsettled since a very drunk and obnoxious Stefan Nordqvist ruined their holiday by publicly shaming Gaétan.

Did she think she’d find something to comfort her in an old photograph from more than twenty years before? Or assurance? Did he? Why had he even kept it? It couldn’t be that sentimental. They had a thousand more photographs like it, although many had been lost in the fire at the guesthouse at Chèvrefeuille. The fact that he couldn’t even remember the name of the lake correctly, or the date, made her wonder if he was remembering a past that never really happened, either.

She slid her thumb across the rough surface, feeling the creases and wear on the old paper. It was faded in places where it had been exposed to light. Why had he kept this one out of all the other choices? And why give it to her? Was it because hers was the only face showing?

She didn’t realize right away that it had been altered, and even when it began to dawn on her that it had been, it took a long time to figure out how exactly it was different.

The fountain is missing.

She’d been fascinated by the Jet d'Eau, Geneva’s famous towering water spray. It was situated just off the shore and should have dominated the view. But it wasn’t there.

This isn’t Geneva, she thought. She flipped the image over and regarded what he’d written. Where was this Lac Marie, and why couldn’t she remember it?

But it was Lac Léman. She knew it was. There was Versoix and the tall building with the French restaurant at its base.

Maybe the fountain was shut off in that moment.

But she knew that that was also incorrect.

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