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  Now the buildings were made of cedar tiles with slate roofs, and cobbled pavements heralded the changing nature of the area’s businesses. Ski shops, jade and jewellery emporiums, boutiques and a smart industrial-themed café lined the street opposite, attracting more and different people.

  Reaching through the tatty curtains, she opened the window. Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with fresh air warmed with sunshine. Sounds from the street were no longer muffled, the clarity resonating with her new mood. She watched Nick’s scooter buzz up the street and park at the bottom of the steps just under her window.

  “I see you, Lizzie,” called Nick as he unhooked her carton of prepared Jenny Craig meals.

  Caught out, she recoiled, letting the curtain swing back in front of her. Idiot, she thought. What if someone snapped you with their phone, what then?

  Her good mood was gone by the time Nick had thumped his way up the stairs and flung open the door, surprised to see her standing, back to the window.

  “I never get over how tall you are, Lizzie,” he said, opening the carton and loading the meals into her fridge.

  “Tall genes,” she said, shortly. “I used to be taller, but life happened.”

  “It’s only one leg that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re a bit like Long John Silver. Maybe a parrot?”

  Lizzie looked at the epitome of healthy youth in front of her, not sure whether to hit him, yell at him, throw him out or just ignore him. What the hell did he know about pain and suffering? She reached over and picked up an orange, hurling it at his departing back. Nick ducked and it flew over his head before smashing into pulp on the street below.

  “Next time, I won’t miss,” she yelled through the slammed door.

  “Nice to see you too,” came the laughing reply.

  Lizzie looked at the mirror at the back of the room. A woman smiled back at her.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Maggie went into the quiet restaurant hoping for a moment alone with Kate. She was on her way to the Bide-a-Wee Rest Home to collect Mr Paget, an ex-teacher who had taught many of the town’s residents at primary school. Mr Paget had been renowned for impressing the importance of neatness and manners on his pupils. He had died quietly in bed at the age of ninety-two, without a fuss, as consistent in death as he had been in life.

  Elka was sitting at a corner table with a man Maggie recognised as a local lawyer. She looked up guiltily.

  “Thank you, Arthur,” she said, shuffling the papers spread out in front of them into a messy pile. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  Arthur shoved the documents into a folder, which he tucked firmly under his arm, then left, nodding to Maggie on his way out.

  “Hi,” Maggie said, deciding to ignore what was obviously none of her business. “Is Kate here?”

  “She’s in the kitchen. I was meaning to tell you – I’m sorry, but I can’t do our walk tomorrow. I’m so busy getting everything organised in the restaurant, I need the morning to myself.” And as if to prove how busy she was, her mobile phone and the restaurant phone rang at the same time, clamouring for her attention.

  “No problem,” mouthed Maggie as Elka answered the restaurant phone. “I’ll call you later.”

  She walked through to find her daughter and the other staff eating soup at the kitchen table before the lunch crowd arrived. Kate was now very obviously in the last stages of a healthy pregnancy. She sat on her chair, legs wide apart, her tummy bumping up against the table. Her rosy hue highlighted the sparkle in her eyes. Working was doing her no harm whatsoever, in fact she was positively thriving on the stimulation, and on the support of the team.

  “Mum, come and have some soup – leek and potato. And Marco’s made the most delicious bread.”

  One of the kitchen hands who’d finished gave up his seat to Maggie relishing the opportunity to have a quick cigarette outside while Kate was occupied. The others soon made their excuses, leaving mother and daughter to talk.

  Maggie helped herself to a bowl of steaming soup and sat down. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” she said, between hurried mouthfuls. “I have to collect Mr Paget, and then I have a burial at two. I wanted to know when you were planning to stop work.”

  “Another two weeks, I’m thinking,” replied Kate. “The baby isn’t due for another month. Marco’s going to take over the kitchen until after the birth. Elka tells me they can share the workload while I’m off. Don’t worry, it’s all organised – truly.”

  Maggie had no choice but to accept Kate’s assurances. Her daughter looked healthy, and she knew the midwife at the medical centre was checking her regularly.

  She finished her soup and looked over to see if there was any more, but was interrupted by the staff filing noisily back into the warm kitchen, wreathed in the smell of fresh cigarette smoke as they got ready to go to work. Kate took Maggie’s empty bowl over to the dishwasher as someone called “Chef!” in a loud voice. The first orders were coming in.

  “We’ll talk soon. Thanks for the soup.”

  On her way out, Maggie blew a kiss to Elka, who was filling in for Brian as maître d’. She looked relaxed and totally in her element as she welcomed a table of four well-dressed American tourists. Maggie glimpsed Ben sitting in a corner, head down, reading his phone messages, but he didn’t see her. Her heart always beat a little faster when he was around. She still hadn’t figured out if it was because she was excited, or embarrassed. What she did know was that it wasn’t getting any better, despite their so-called friendship.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Two days later, Elka hadn’t arrived at their meeting point by the normal time. It was unusual – her penchant for punctuality was well known. She deplored lateness, rarely giving anyone a second chance if she was kept waiting. Maggie stood alone on the corner, feeling a little silly as delivery trucks rumbled past on their way to supermarkets. Between the trucks were occasional carloads of skiers, hoping to get up the mountain before the snow turned to slush in the spring sunshine.

  After ten minutes, Maggie decided to jog up the hill to Elka’s cottage. She was curious, but also conscious of how busy Elka had been lately. That was probably why she hadn’t appeared. Maggie remembered the cancelled walk from the day before, but was sure Elka hadn’t said anything about missing today as well. Maybe she hadn’t listened properly, or maybe Kate was supposed to have passed on a message and forgot.

  Stopping outside the cottage, she peered over the fence to see if Elka was home. The front door was slightly ajar, so she opened the gate and walked down the gravel path, hoping the noise of her feet on the stones would elicit a response. At the door she could hear the voice of a breakfast TV host interviewing a visiting musician. She must be home. The door swung inwards, so she called out, fully expecting to hear Elka’s voice shout an apology followed quickly by an offer of coffee.

  Maggie took off her shoes, leaving them by the door, and padded down the hall to the back of the house, where two years ago Elka had knocked out walls to create her dream kitchen and living area, from which two sets of French doors opened onto a sun-drenched courtyard filled with lavender and standard bay trees.

  The room was empty. She found the remote and turned off the TV. The sound of the kitchen clock, ticking away seconds, filled the silence.

  Maggie looked around at the gleaming appliances lined up on the dark granite bench. The fridge started humming quietly in the corner, almost but not completely drowning out the clock. The living room, with its white linen sofas and red brocade cushions, was neater than she’d ever seen it. Persian rugs on the polished floors had been recently vacuumed and straightened. Fresh spring flowers arranged en masse in a huge crystal vase dominated a marble side table. Elka took enormous pride in the home she’d created from scratch, and this morning it looked perfect. There was no trace of dust or dirt anywhere. Even the windows were polished to transparency. It was if some cleaning wonderwoman had been in, attacked every surface then disappear
ed after arranging the flowers.

  Something was missing, and for a few moments Maggie couldn’t put her finger on it. She took a deep breath and realised … there was no smell of cooking, something she automatically associated with Elka’s home. The only aroma came from the flowers.

  “Elka?” called Maggie again.

  The clock ticked. The fridge hummed.

  Maggie walked back down the hall, opening each door in turn. The bathroom, the guest bedroom, and Elka’s small study were all as spick and span as the rest of the house, and all were empty.

  When Maggie reached the door to Elka’s bedroom, she hesitated, overtaken by dread at what she would find when she opened the door. Slowly turning the handle, she inched it open and looked inside.

  Elka was lying face down in her bed under a mess of bedclothes, the pillow stained green, her hair in disarray, matted with fluid. On the bedside table a row of empty containers sat beside a glass, a dried yellow crust on the bottom.

  The rest of the room was perfect. Wardrobe doors were shut, the curtains were open. The fountain Elka had discovered in an Arrowtown junkyard and restored to its former glory, was trickling water in the formal garden outside the window. More flowers were arranged in bowls on every surface in the room, the perfume unable to mask the bitter smell coming from the bed.

  “Oh, Elka. How could you?”

  Maggie walked over to the bed and, despite knowing it was hopeless, felt for a pulse. There was none. Elka, eyes shut, lips blue, was cold to her touch.

  Maggie climbed onto the bed beside her friend and curled against her back, one arm over her body, and lay there. The fridge clicked off, the ticking of the clock filling the house with noise until slowly, the sounds of the fountain crept into the bedroom.

  “What am I supposed to do now, Elka?” she asked quietly. “We were going to grow old together.” She reached up and stroked Elka’s hair, over and over again.

  “The baby – you’ll miss the baby,” she murmured. “We were looking forward to it, you and me. Oh God, Elka, how am I going to tell Kate and Nick? We all love you, we always have. You know that, don’t you? You did know that.”

  Maggie raised herself on one elbow and examined Elka’s face for a reaction. Nothing. She pushed her, hard. Harder than she meant to, and Elka flopped over, green slime dribbling from her slack mouth onto the sheet. Gagging, Maggie turned away and sat on the edge of the bed. It was then that she started to cry. She didn’t cry quietly; she wailed, she roared, she screamed her rage and stamped her loss, and finally she flung herself on the floor and sobbed in the perfect room in the beautiful house.

  Later, repulsed by the smell of stale whisky from the glass on the bedside-table, she sat up and wiped her face. She took out her phone, dialled 111, and waited.

  When Ben arrived just after the police and ambulance, Maggie was sitting on the window seat in Elka’s bedroom, looking out at the sunshine sparkling in the waters of the fountain. People walked in and out of the room, but she didn’t pay attention. To them this was just another job: a middle-aged woman commits suicide. She heard them muttering to each other that it looked like suicide. The coroner would need to be involved, a post-mortem arranged and the funeral director called, except Maggie was already here.

  She heard Ben say quietly to the constable that perhaps another firm should be involved, because Elka had been her best friend. At that she stood up. “I’ll do it. I’ll look after her. She would have wanted me to.”

  Ben looked at her intently, then shrugged and told the constable it would be all right.

  “Suicide, Doc?’ the constable asked, his back turned to Maggie.

  “Probably, but can’t be sure.”

  The constable sighed.

  “I’m not sure what half these bottles had in them, sorry,” said Ben. “The labels are in German so I’ll need to get them translated. The coroner’s office can decide if they need a chemical analysis.”

  “Right, I’ll go back to the station and make the calls. Have you seen a note?”

  Sitting on the dressing table beside the door was a small stack of envelopes, numbered and named in large florid handwriting. Maggie was surprised Elka hadn’t drawn a huge arrow on the mirror directing everyone’s attention to them.

  A paramedic picked up the first envelope and handed it to Ben, who took the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it, before sliding it into a ziplock bag passed to him by the constable.

  “It’s addressed to you,” Ben said, holding it out to Maggie.

  DearMaggie, she read to herself.

  I had to do this. I need the death that I want, not the one nature was going to give me. I want to go now, while I can. I needed you to find me, not a stranger. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure how I’d look when it was all over.

  I know you are hurting but it will pass. Don’t judge me Maggie, and don’t be sad or angry. Understand instead. I couldn’t tell you what I was going to do for so many reasons.

  The operation wasn’t a success. The cancer has spread from my ovaries to almost every part of my body, and I had maybe a few months left

  I didn’t choose the indignity of this horrid disease. Despite my German backbone, I’m not good with pain and I did this – selfishly – because it is best. For me.

  Trust I am happy. I am happy. I have lived a wonderful life. I am grateful. You and Kate and Nick have been part of that. There’s no one in Germany. My parents were the only people I cared about, and they died.

  Forgive me, be happy for me, and when you are ready, follow my instructions in the letters. I have taken care of everything.

  Envelope 2 is the suicide note for the police.

  When I see Betty, I’ll tell her all the news, and we will watch you from wherever we are.

  My Last Advice. Open your eyes to what is right in front of you. Grab life with both hands and live it. You can do it only if you leave your fear behind.

  All my love forever,

  Your friend

  Elka .

  “Envelope 2. That’s the suicide note,” she said.

  The constable picked it up with obvious relief. “Once you tell me what’s in those bottles, Doc, I’ll let the coroner know.”

  The paramedics left after expressing their condolences to Maggie, and the policeman excused himself, going outside to wait for the photographer. They heard the snick of the front gate closing.

  “Tea?” said Ben.

  Maggie nodded and they walked down to the kitchen.

  “There’s fresh milk in here,” said Ben, looking in the fridge.

  “But she took her tea and coffee black,” said Maggie.

  “I know,” said Ben. “She must have been planning this for a long time. I bet if we looked, we’d find a list.”

  “I bet we wouldn’t. The last item on the list would be to destroy the list.” She paused. “Did you know?”

  “That she was going to kill herself? No. But I knew about the cancer. I was waiting for her to tell you. I begged her to talk to you, but she’d stopped listening to me. She refused to discuss it after her final trip to Dunedin. She wouldn’t let me tell a soul, and she rejected every offer of help. Why do you think I had so many meals at the restaurant? It was the only way I could talk to her and see how she was.”

  He handed her a mug of tea, and she huddled against one end of the huge sofa, cradling it her hands, unable to look up, unable to drink the tea. Ben sat beside her, took the mug and put it on the coffee table. He opened his arms to her and she leaned forward into the comfort of his chest. His warmth and strength soothed her, but not for long. Anger and bewilderment reached inside, gripping and twisting her heart. Struggling, she broke free.

  “I could have looked after her. She knew that, but still she killed herself. How could she do that? How could she leave me, how could she not trust me? Did I mean nothing to her? Did we all mean nothing?”

  Questions tumbled from her, rage with Elka curdling her voice before she remembered. “Oh God. Nick, Kate.
I have to tell them before someone else does.” She patted her pockets for her phone, but she’d left it in the bedroom. She looked at Ben, suddenly lost. He took his phone out and gave it to her. She looked at it as if she didn’t know what it was. “Ben?”

  He had no answer to the questions in that one contorted utterance of his name. Tears sprang into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m so sorry.”

  For the second time, Maggie found herself in his arms. This time they were both crying – for their sadness, the pain of Elka’s leaving, of being left, the grief and the fear of the unknown. And Maggie cried because next door, Elka waited, and she didn’t know if she could bear it.

  The phone beside the sofa rang. Ben let her go and she reached over and picked it up.

  “Kate? Yes, it’s true. Where are you? Is Nick with you? … He isn’t? Where is he?”

  “Tell her I’ll come and get her,” said Ben. “You try and find Nick.”

  “Did you hear that, Kate? Ben is coming to get you.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Nick heard the low murmur of the district nurse’s voice as he climbed the stairs to Lizzie’s flat. It was another beautiful morning; the sun was shining and the last of the snow had melted on all but the highest peaks across the lake. Leaves peeped bright baby green out of buds on bare branches, bringing fresh colour to the town, lifting it out of the drab grey of winter. With the warmth, people wearing T-shirts, their pale skin bared to the sun, had come back to the outdoor cafés and onto the streets. There was a new buzz in the town.

  Helen – by now Nick knew the nurse’s name – had been speaking quietly, but as he stepped into the doorway at the top of the stairs he heard her say “suicide”. Lizzie gasped. “Not Elka.”