The Wolf Who Cried Boy

6. Bridget

I had just thrown a jersey over my head the next morning when I heard a knock at my door and was startled when the door burst open. "Daisy, you'll never believe it." Paul stood in the doorway beaming like a kid at Christmas. "Mom and Dad are taking me shopping this morning."

"How did that happen?" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them. I hadn't meant to sound incredulous but I was in complete shock.

"Well," Paul muttered taking my question as an invitation and marching in to sit on my dressing table chair. "When I went to the kitchen for breakfast this morning, Mom noticed me and asked me why I wasn't wearing a jersey." In spite of his height, Paul was swinging his legs back and forth like a small child. "I told her it's because I only had two jerseys and I'd worn them both already – I've worn one twice. So, Mom said we were going to go and get me some more clothes. Isn't that nice of her?"

I smiled at the childlike story. "That's great, Paul." Paul beamed and I tried to make my next instruction casual. "While you're in town, just ask your mum and dad to take you to the bank to get a bank statement. A bank statement. Will you remember?" He nodded and jumping up he nearly skipped to the kitchen while I followed feeling anxious.

"Pansy says I should go and get a – a bank statement while we're in town," Paul muttered to his mother who was pouring him coffee.

Mrs Valise groaned. "Can you never remember the poor girl's name? It's Rosie, not Pansy." Mrs Valise turned to me and smiled. "That's a very good idea, lovie. It might give us a better picture of Paul's finances before the accident."

I hadn't intended the visit to Paul's bank to be an opportunity for his mother and father to suspect him of anything sinister. Still, at least Paul's parents had agreed to take him. I was also surprised when I heard that Mr and Mrs Sauvage were tagging along. But, the more I considered them accompanying the Valise family, the more I decided that the whole idea was a good idea. At least with Mr and Mrs Sauvage, Mr and Mrs Valise would be sensible. They would prevent any nasty little scenes from occurring in public.

"Well, you'll have the place to yourself this morning then," Mrs Knight smiled over her toast. I turned my head curiously to her. "We're also heading out," she pointed to herself and her husband, "back to the Cow Shed. We saw some preserves that we've been thinking about ever since. So, you'll be on your own then."

I turned to look at my parents, wondering if they were planning an outing as well. "So, it'll just be the three of us this morning then," Mum said, winking at me. I smiled back at her feeling a sudden sense of contentment. It had been a while since I'd had my parents all to myself.

Feeling perfectly happy with the world, I waved Paul and his parents off as they left through the front door. "Good luck," I said, more to Paul than to Mr and Mrs Valise. To me, it seemed that he would need the luck since his parents had been tackling him at every occasion they got. When the door slammed, I turned back to the kitchen and sat at the table.

"I'm making flapjacks, dear," Mum said and I watched her take out a bowl to mix the batter. "Would you like another cup of tea." I still felt a little as though I was being treated like I was ill but I accepted gratefully anyway and settled into my chair to watch Mum mix the batter.

"So Pumpkin," Dad said after we'd been sitting for a while. "How's the job?" I suspected this would be coming. Even in your own family, people tend to go for those obvious questions.

"Oh, you know," I said non-committedly. "It's alright, I guess."

I looked up at Dad. He had one eyebrow raised sceptically. "That doesn't sound very convincing. Aren’t you happy in your job, Pumpkin?"

I sighed. "I mean," I said trying hard to sound cheerful. "Don't get me wrong. I love being a vet and looking after animals. But," I paused. "It's just the people – the owners – that cause the trouble." I had intended to say no more and Dad didn't ask. But, as I opened my mouth to breathe, the words just came spilling out.

"Take a few weeks ago, for instance. This lady brought her dog in and told me she thought he was blind in one eye. So, I examined the dog who was getting on for eleven years and told her that he was blind in one eye. She asked me what there was to be done about it and I told her that there wasn't much. I mean, dogs are just like people. As they get older, their eyes also deteriorate just like people. But, you can't very well give a dog a pair of glasses." I took a deep breath and continued to waffle.

"So, the woman said she'd heard about this surgery for dogs where they basically repair and replace any aspect of the eye that was faulty until the eye is fully functional again. I said I'd heard about it too. It's still in its experimental stages and it isn't doing to well because there are so many risk factors. Not to mention that some parts of an eye like the nerves can't be replaced. I told her I wouldn't recommend that kind of surgery because of her dogs age. The surgery can take as long as eight hours or more. I wasn't sure her dog could take it.

"Then, you know what she says to me? She tells me that maybe I should go back and finish my veterinary degree. Next thing I know she's got lawyers involved because she claims that I'm guilty of animal cruelty and malpractice."

In my mind's eye I was looking at Mrs Anderson. She was the very epitome of controversy. She was a tall lady with long, thin features. Her head was a oval which was pointed at the ends. It matched her long, pointed nose and long, thin lips. She appeared to be an animal lover and a modern woman apart from the fox draped around her neck. It must have been almost an antique, though it looked in perfect condition. I felt positively sick just thinking about the poor animal that shouldn't have been a fashion accessory.She seemed like the Sauvages - quiet and subdued - but I had quickly learnt that she was the type to complain about anything.

They say that some people resemble their dogs and I've seen dogs who look very much like their owners. Mrs Anderson dog was not one of them. He was the Smith and van der Merwe of dog breeds: a little brown and white Jack Russell. Jack Jack - that was the ridiculous name she had given him - had a sweet, happy face with rounded features that seemed entirely opposite to his owner. He sat on my examination table panting happily, his tail spinning in circles like a windmill. His eyes looked bright but we're milky from blindness.

"I'm just not sure this a good idea, Mrs Anderson," I explained with one hand fondling the back of Jack Jack's neck. "He seems perfectly healthy and happy otherwise and I really don't want to risk his life unnecessarily."

It was usual whenever I mentioned a risk to the animal's life for the owner to gasp in horror and agree to do whatever I suggested to protect the life of their precious pet. But, I watched as Mrs Anderson pursed her thin lips, her long eyebrows that just curled at the edges drawing closer together. "But, you just said Jack Jack was perfectly healthy. How could this operation be a risk to his life?"

I took a deep breath. It was not unusual for owners to ask these sorts of questions. "An operation like this - with the amounts of anaesthetic needed to put him out for that length of time - can put an inordinate amount of strain on even the healthiest of hearts. And Jack Jack is an older dog. There's no other problems with him and I think it may be best to just leave him."

I could see Mrs Anderson face go dark like the sky before a massive thunderstorm. "You say that Jack Jack's healthy, that he has no problems, she started off quietly. "But, he does have a problem. He's blind. That's why I've come to you. You're a vet. You should be able to fix him. So do it." The last words came out more as a scream that even startled Jack Jack.

I gripped the little dog slightly, giving him firmer strokes as I tried to keep my voice as calm and level as I could. "Unfortunately, not even vets can fix all ailments, Mrs Anderson." I tried to give her my most sympathetic gaze.

"Well, then," she responded, beginning to bristle like an angry cat. "Maybe you should go back to vet's school and finish your degree."

Her words stung like hot, angry tears on my face. But, I tried to remain calm and professional. "Mrs Anderson, if Jack Jack's life depended on this operation, of course, I would have no hesitation. I would do it as soon as donor organs could be delivered." I ran my fingers though Jack Jack's short fur to try and calm me down. "But, we might actually be placing Jack Jack in more danger with this operation. It's risky.

"And, I've known many blind dogs who are perfectly happy and well despite their blindness. Dogs adapt just like humans do. I had a dog in here the other day for a kennel cough booster. He was blind but you wouldn't have known it. He came in here with his labby friend and, I'm telling you, he walked into my office behind his friend like he had perfect vision. My nurse was surprised when she heard that he'd been blind for five years."

Mrs Anderson stared at me through the slits of her eyes. "So, are you saying you refuse to do the operation?"

I looked down at Jack Jack who seemed quite oblivious to the fact that we were discussing his fate as he panted happily, his windmill of a tails still going strong. Feeling pity for the little dog and guilt that I was losing business, I shook my head. "I'm sorry. It's just too risky."

Mrs Anderson looked as though she was ready to blow. Her face grew as maroon as Mr Valise’s had on occasion. She stepped towards me and snatched her dog from the table. "Very well," she said with her jaw set. Jack Jack yelped at the sudden burst of moment and I felt an icy chill run down my spine - as though someone had dumped a glass of cold water down my back. "I shall know how to act." And with that she walked out.

I wasn't sure what she had meant with that final statement. It sounded very like a threat. But, what could she do? I told my boss, Dr Joubert, all that had happened but he simply reassured me. "Some people can get a little crazy when it comes to their pets. I wouldn't worry about it."

And for the next few days, I didn't worry about Mrs Anderson or her threats. But, before the week had ended, Dr Joubert called me into his office. I shut the office door behind me and went to stand near his desk, my hands folded meekly behind my back. Dr Joubert was sitting in his desk chair leaning away from his computer. He held up a pencil which he twiddled between his fingers.

"Mrs Anderson is threatening you -and this practice - for animal cruelty and malpractice,” he began casually, as though he might have been telling me some minor practice news. She's claiming that you're refusing to to provide her dog with adequate care in the form of the surgery he needs." I opened my mouth but Dr Joubert stopped me with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry, Rosie. This practice has had to deal with accusations like this before. We've already written back to Mrs Anderson's lawyer stating that we will not take her accusations seriously - and neither will any legal body, for that matter - without proof that Jack Jack's life would seriously be at risk without the surgery. I have a feeling she will drop her complaint after a second opinion."

I had felt a large lump grow in my throat as Dr Joubert spoke. It made it difficult to breathe and I felt a little lightheaded. At Dr Joubert's words that Mrs Anderson and was likely to drop her accusation, I felt I could breathe out again.

But, he continued. "However, I feel it may be best for you, if you were to take a little time off work for a few weeks, just until this little hiccup is sorted out. I know accusations can be stressful and I'd rather you weren't burnt out completely. Better to take some time off and let the dust settle."

"Oh, sweetie," Mum gasped staring at me over the top of the stack of flapjacks she was carrying as I finished my story. "What happened? Are you in trouble now?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. Dr Joubert said it's probably best to stay out of it. Let Mrs Anderson's lawyers and the practice lawyers handle it. He said that, even if Mrs Anderson found a vet who was willing to perform the procedure, that they still wouldn't be able to claim that Jack Jack's life would have been threatened without it. Plus, we have all the medical journals to prove how risky the procedure is.

"I've read the studies on that sort of surgery. In fact, I'd read a study only a few nights before when I was staying over at the surgery. I didn't like the results. More than half the animals died and three quarters of the ones that survived showed no improvement. Not very good statistics, in my opinion."

But, it seemed Mum was only half-listening. "What do you mean a few nights before? You haven't been staying at that surgery over-night?" I nodded. "For goodness sake! Don't they have people for that? Caretakers or something, who can stay over-night so the vets can go home and rest?"

"I don't do it that often," I protested. "Maybe a few times a month." I saw Mum's eyebrows dip in annoyance. "Besides, I had a cat who had just come out of surgery. She hadn't reacted well to the anaesthetic and I was worried. If something had happened, the caretaker wouldn't have had the first clue what to do. The cat could have died."

"Well," said Dad calmly, trying to break the tension that had suddenly erupted between Mum and me. It looked as thought Mum might reprimand me severely for over-night stays. "I'm sure you're happy to be able to have a few days off."

Mum seemed all at once to deflate. Her eyes no longer looked angry and her jaw slackened. "Rosie," she mumbled. "Your father and I have a confession to make. "We, well, we kind of knew that you were having a few problems at work." My eyes grew wide in surprise. But, Mum plunged on. "Dr Joubert called us a day or so before we invited you, probably around the time when you were dealing all that legal nonsense. He said you were having a hard time at work and he was hoping that when you took your leave around now that we might convince you to have a proper holiday – get away from it all. That's the real reason we invited you to Chateau Cherise. We wanted you to have a break."

At that moment, I should have been angry at my parents. I should have felt irritated and betrayed. They'd colluded with my boss. Brought me to Chateau Cherise under false pretences. Treated me like I was weak. But, I wasn't angry. I actually felt grateful and relieved. My parents cared enough to swoop in and take me away when I needed it most. It gives you a warm fuzzy feeling to know that people care about you that much.

But, more than that, I now knew why the residents of Chateau Cherise had been treating me with such care. They all knew about my troubles and they rallied around me. And Dr Joubert words about burn-out came back to me. Were they worried that I might have a nervous breakdown? That was why they had spoken kindly to me and brought me gifts and generally treated me with more affection that they had treated Paul.

Paul. His name recalled to me all the many times I had questioned why everyone was being so kind to me and so contemptuous to Paul. I now knew the answer to the former riddle. But, the latter still bothered me. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. "There's something I still don't understand." Mum and Dad both looked up, each with a flapjack poised at their lips. "I get now why everyone was being so nice to me. You all thought I needed a bit of extra love. But, why was everyone being so mean to Paul."

Mum and Dad exchanged a meaningful look. "Pumpkin," Dad said trying to keep a tone of anger out of his voice and somewhat failing. "I know you feel sorry for Paul. You've always been a kind-hearted girl and we love for it."

"But, Paul doesn't deserve all your sympathy," Mum continued sitting down beside Dad. "And I wouldn't be too angry at Regina and Tom either."

"Why?" I asked matter-of-factly.

Mum sighed. "Well, Paul has done a lot of things to upset them in the past. I don't know all the ins and outs. Only what Regina has confided in me. But, I know Paul has lied to them, tricked them. After all they've been through, I'd also be hard-pressed to trust someone like Paul, if I were them." Mum shook her head. "They've had a bad time with, Paul. Make no mistake."

Dad nodded in agreement. "Tom nearly got thrown in prison because of his son a few years back – something about fraud and something in Tom's name. Anyway, it was only through Mr and Mrs Sauvage that he managed to get off. I'd also be sceptical.”

I listened to my parents' words and yet I couldn't believe what they were saying. I understood that perhaps Paul had messed up and done a few things wrong in the past. Heck, I'd been unable to hold my own against a delusional dog-owner. But, Paul was sick. How could his parents not let go of their resentments for the sake of their son's health?

I was about to ask my parents this very thing when I heard the click in the lock and Mrs Valise shouting "We're home."

The Valise family walked into the kitchen looking red-cheeked from the bracing cold outside. I was pleased to see that they were all smiling and appeared to be in a jovial mood. I felt relieved that the shopping trip, at least, must have gone well.

"Oh, Rosie dear," Mrs Valise addressed me with a smile that now seemed uncharacteristic since Paul was standing only a metre away. "Would you do me a favour? Would you take this to Paul's room" – she held out a plastic shopping bag – "and help him put his clothes away. "You know what men are like with that sort of thing." She smiled still more broadly and gave me a cheeky wink as Mr Valise protested slightly.

I stood up and took the bag from Mrs Valise. Paul was already halfway towards the door as I followed him. But, I happened to glance back at Mum and Dad, still sitting at the kitchen table. Both stared at Mrs Valise with the same mixture of confusion and annoyance. I continued walking a sudden and slight feeling of trepidation which I couldn't explain.

"So, how did the shopping trip go?" I questioned Paul as we walked into his room. I was impressed to see that his bed had been made, his curtains were open and only a pair of pants hung over the chair in the corner.

"I think it was alright," Paul said handing his shopping bag to me and taking a seat in his chair. "We wet into a lot of shops and I tried on different things. Mom said she wasn't happy about how few shops there were, though. She said we might have to make a trip into Pietermaritzburg – visit some bigger, better shops, you know."

I nodded, taking a new bright orange jersey and folding it before placing it on a shelf and heading back to the shopping bags on the bed. "It sounds like your shopping trip went well then, if your mum wants to take you on another one." I smiled as I lifted up a pair of denim jeans and headed to hang them up. "Did you get the chance to talk to your parents about the move?" I wasn't sure Paul would even remember our discussion with Mr Thomas about his move overseas.

"Mm," Paul said. I looked at him and he was nodding. "Mom said that I never spoke about selling my house or moving." I felt a bubble of disappointment rise up inside me as I let Paul's new jeans hang and walked back to the shopping.

"But, you know, if I am going to move, I think I'd like to move to Germany. I've always wanted to visit Germany."

I nearly dropped the red polar fleece jacket I'd just retrieved from the bag. My eyes felt as they were bulging and my heart fluttered slightly. "Paul, that was your dream when you were little, in primary school. Did - did you just remember that?" I asked quickly, turning to face him.

Paul gasped and his jaw dropped slightly as his eyes bulged as well. "I – I guess I did. It just sort of flashed into my head. I wasn't really thinking about it." He sat up a bit straighter. "Quick, talk to me about when we were little. Maybe I'll remember something else.”

"Ok, ok," I suddenly felt flustered. "Do you remember when we were in Grade Two and Mrs Dixon made us talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I told you I wanted to be a nurse because I wanted to help people. And you told me you wanted to be a…"

"Pilot," Paul ended. “Because I wanted to be free and travel all over the world.

My whole body tinkled with delight a the prospect of Paul remembering. "And Mrs Dixon said you should be a travel blogger – that way you could go wherever you wanted."

"But, I still wanted to be a pilot," Paul enthused. "And I wanted you to be an air hostess so you could come with me."

We were both laughing out of pure joy now. "I can't believe this. I can't believe this. I'm remembering. I'm remembering."

I tried to calm myself. "Well just take it easy. Don't try too hard to remember too much all at once."

Paul nodded also trying to be calm. "I'll try, Poppy."

In that moment, the excitement that had risen up in me like a playful Great Dane had quelled in an instant. Paul had remembered. He'd remembered secret discussions we had had as children. Secrets we'd told in my doll's house. But, he still couldn't remember my name.

I returned to the kitchen a few minutes later ready to give everyone the good news. But, the moment I stepped through the doorway and saw everyone including the Knights sitting over coffee together, the kitchen went eerily quiet – as though they had been speaking about something they didn’t want me to hear.

"Want some tea, lovie?" Mrs Valise asked rising from her chair and going to get a cup before I could reach the cupboard. "Let me get that for you," she said quickly.

I sat down and wondered why everyone was so ominously quiet all of a sudden. Had something happened I didn't know about.

Hutchoo!

I broke the silence with a sudden and dangerous sneeze.

"You alright, Pumpkin?" Dad asked.

I nodded.

But, as the morning wore on to afternoon, I began to grow concerned that maybe I wasn't alright. I kept sneezing loudly at unfortunate moments and every time I did, my head would ache.

As we got to supper and Mrs Sauvage presented us with coq au vin, I was feeling quite flat and not very hungry. But the rest of Chateau Cherise seemed to be lively and enjoying themselves. "We're heading off to Pietermaritzburg tomorrow to get Paul some more clothes," Mrs Valise declared as talk turned to tomorrow's activities.

Mum put her knife and fork together. "Well, we'll be down there too but we'll be busy – no time for shopping."

"You're not working, are you?" I asked, feeling some of my energy drain away with that simple question.

"Not really, dear," Mum said placing her hand on my arm. "There's a hospital down there that has a very large psychiatric ward. And one patient at the moment is considered a most fascinating subject" – Mum's eyes lit up as she said this. "We're going to have an interview with him – just add our professional opinions to the pool, you know." I nodded.

"Well, count us in," Mr Knight beamed.

"You want to meet their psychiatric patient?" Mrs Valise asked incredulously.

"Certainly not," Mrs Knight responded. "But there is tale of a new machine they have there. They say that it allows one to see soft tissue – tendons, ligaments, muscles, nerves and such – without cutting the person open. We're dying to see if it works."

For a moment I felt normal again. "Oh, can I go too then?" I pleaded with my father. "I'd love to see that."

"Count us in az well," Mr Sauvage chimed in before Dad could respond.

"Patient or soft tissue?" Mrs Valise asked.

"Neither," Mrs Sauvage responded matter-of-factly. "There's a man who's just suffered the loss of both his legs because of an accident involving a drunk truck driver. He wants compensation and we're going to get it for him."

The rest of the evening was spent in animated discussion over the various reasons we were going to Pietermaritzburg in the morning.

But, as the sun rose coolly over the mountain that morning, I knew that I would not be going anywhere. "Oh, Rosie!" Mum declared as I shuffled into the kitchen. "Look at you! Bleary eyes. Red nose. Flushed face. You have a cold, my darling." Mum turned to Dad who was still drinking his cup of coffee. "Maybe we shouldn't go today."

"Do," I protested through a blocked nose. "You can' sday ad hobe mecause I'b sick. Go. I'll be finde here.”

It seemed even Paul didn't want to leave me on my own that day. But, I kept protesting that they would miss out on all the things they wanted to do, all the meetings they had to have, until I had managed to convince them all.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in bed with an extra blanket covering me, a box of tissues by my side and a selection of water, juice and tea on my bedside table as I heard the goodbyes and the front door slam shut. I sat back against my pillow with my eyes closed, savouring the quiet stillness of Chateau Cherise. I had been desperate to go to the hospital to see the new machine. But I knew Mum was right when she told me I couldn't go. I was far too sick to be wondering around a hospital. At least Mrs Knight will tell me if and how it all works, I thought, remembering Mrs Knight's promise.

But, I had only been lying there for a few seconds when I heard the unmistakable ring of the doorbell. For a few seconds, I continued to sit with my eyes back, hoping that my mind was playing tricks on me. But, when the doorbell rang loudly the second time, I swung my legs out of bed and stumbled out my room feeling dizzy and drowsy.

"Alrighd. Alrigh'. I'b cobing," I muttered as the ringing became more forceful.

I opened the door to a rather unusual-looking man. He looked a bit like something out of The Matrix. He wore a long black trench coat over a pair of jeans and his eyes were shielded by a pair of sunglasses, which he hastily removed and shoved in his pocket as I opened the door.

"Miss Chesterton?" He questioned without saying hello. I nodded. "Name's Bridget." I stared at him curiously as I'd always considered Bridget to be a girl's name. He held out what looked like a wallet with an ID tag inside which read: Inspector James Bridget. There was a funny logo on the side I didn't have time to make out. "May I come in?" he asked pulling the collar of his trench coat up a little higher.

I wasn't sure I wanted to invite another stranger inside, it being the third time in four days. But, I had no desire to stand in the cold listening to what this man had to say and the ID card and strangely police-like look about him made me to afraid to refuse him. I stepped aside and he strode over the threshold and into the TV room as I shut the door behind him.

The man stood precisely where Mr Thomas and Mr Henry had sat giving me a sense of de ja vu. "Miss Chesterton," he addressed me when he knew I was listening. "Is Mr Paul Valise at home?" His accent sound foreign. I couldn't place it but it wasn't any form of South African accent.

I shook my head as I moved over to the couch. "No," I said trying not to sound nasal. "His parents took him into Pietermaritzburg this morning to buy some clothes."

Inspector Bridget nodded. "Miss Chesterton, can you tell me? Do you know where Paul was on the 12th of June of this year?" He looked at me with a steely gaze.

I thought for a moment. "Yes," I answered sitting down. I was getting tired already. "He was in hospital."

"In hospital, you say," Inspector Bridget muttered. He sat down and removed a notebook and pen from his top pocket and began to scribble. "And did you actually see Paul in hospital or did he simply tell you he was?"

"I saw him," I responded feeling suddenly this inspector guy was accusing me of something. "I visited him every day. Paul was definitely in hospital." The inspector merely nodded and continued to write. "What is this all about?" I asked, wanting to know why I was being interrogated.

The inspector looked up. "Miss Chesterton, have you ever heard of a company called 'Elliot'?"

"The law firm in Johannesburg?" I responded. "Of course." I remembered Mrs Sauvage once mentioning them at one of my parents' parties.

"Mm, the law firm – a corporate law firm operating in sixteen countries around the world and worth several billion dollars," he said holding his pen above the paper.

I sat expectantly, waiting to offer more. "Recently, Miss Chesterton, Elliot's had a spate of theft and crime that have cost them millions. A few weeks ago, Elliot found out that millions of dollars had been siphoned out of their account without their knowledge through various means."

"What means?" I asked, feeling suddenly curious.

The inspector didn't seem phased that I was asking questions. "Well, first they discovered that certain assets had been sold off without the company's knowledge. In particular, a collection of rather important artworks had been taken. They had no idea how since the office in which these artworks were showcased is locked at night. A thief couldn't get in. It had to be an employee. The thief was pocketing all proceeds from the sale – making a fortune, probably.

And then, while they were digging into their financial records, Elliot discovered something fishy with their property assets. The company purchases flats and apartments for many of its employees. They get to keep and live in the flat for as long as they work for the company – kind of an employee retention scheme." Inspector Bridget explained as he waved his hand towards him. "The only things the employee would have to pay for would be water and electricity. That's where the wheels fell of the bus.

"See, the company noticed that the amounts they were paying for water and electricity didn't tally with the number of employees on their payroll. So, they did some digging and discovered that one of the flats in Sandton had been sold privately. Elliot was still paying for water and electricity but they no longer owned the property. It was a great mess. Especially when the new owners got their lawyers involved. They’d paid, you see, and thought their purchase was legitimate.

"And then they incidentally uncovered a plot. A few months ago, Elliot paid off a rival company to prevent them from taking on a rather large case that Elliott were defending. They found out that someone had instigated the whole thing from the rival company becoming aware of the case and getting involved, Elliott finding out about their involvement and the pay-off, which was more than the amount that Elliott eventually took on the case. The person who instigated the whole deal managed to pocket thousands."

My ears were beginning to ring as Inspector Bridget began to check off on his fingers. "That's a count of theft for each artwork, fraud and extortion. And the newspapers have already got their hands on some of the story. I need answers and I need them quickly.”

"And you think Paul was involved?" I asked over the ringing in my ears.

Inspector Bridget looked directly into my eyes. "Paul Valise was the personal secretary to the CFO until a few months ago. Even if he wasn't the person who stole the paintings, instigated the bribe or sold the house, he still has some explaining to do."

I wasn't sure what to say, what to do. What could you say when your childhood friend had just been accused of some heinous white-collar crimes? I opened my mouth to deny the accusations but something stopped me. I couldn't speak.

"Miss Chesterton," Inspector Bridget said after a moment's pause. "We know you have nothing to do with this business. We're aware that you’re a law-abiding citizen with an exemplary record. But, if you ever have any information that you suspect might be of use to us, don't hesitate." He handed me a card. "I'm stationed at the Harrismith Police Station."

There was another longer silence as Inspector Bridget stared at me. I felt the intensity of his gaze boring into me, as if willing me to reveal any secrets I may have. But, what could I tell him? I'd noticed nothing odd in Paul's behaviour, unless you count his amnesia.

"I – I don't think you'll find out much, even from Paul," I muttered after a moment. Inspector Bridget lifted one eyebrow curiously. "Paul has amnesia, you see. He can't remember his life before the accident. He's still battling to remember my name."

"Still?" Inspector Bridget quizzed. "What do you mean by 'still'?"

I looked at the inspector, wondering what he was trying to read into my casual statement. "He seems to be slowly regaining his memory,” I explained. "And, of course, he remembers what's been going on now. But, he has a mental block about my name."

"Mm." The inspector still looked curious but he closed his little notebook and stood up. "Thank you for your information, Miss Chesterton," he said moving towards the door. "Please, if you think of anything else, let me know."

And with that, Inspector Bridget said his goodbye and walked out of the house, leaving me with a strange empty feeling as I sat firmly fixed to the couch. What had I just heard? What was I just told? Could it really be true that Paul, my friend, Paul, was involved in fraud and extortion and theft? How? Why?

My mind drifted back to what Inspector Bridget had told me. There were stolen artworks, sold houses and misplaced finances. And suddenly I thought again about the painting that Mr Henry had bought and the house that had been sold to Mr Thomas. In all the time I was listening to Inspector Bridget, I had not considered these two strange occurrences. But, now they came flooding back to me along with waves of dread.

I stood up and ambled back to my room. My mind raged so over all my questions that my head began to ache and I felt sick. I got back into bed as a wave of nausea ebbed and flowed. Finally I pushed the nausea away by reasoning with myself. Paul had always been a good guy – not always romantically faithful but at least a decent sort of human being. Paul had always grown up in an honest household and among honest people like me. He wouldn't lie, cheat or steal just for money. He was far too honest for that. Paul was a good guy and Inspector Bridget was way off on even suspecting Paul.