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From the photos, it was quite a contrast. No more mansion and Range Rover—instead, Athena is hailing taxis outside a concrete apartment block with washing flapping from the balconies.
“You found the address,” I say.
Dave passes me a scrap of paper across the breakfast table.
“She should be in, although Freddie hasn’t been around for a few days now,” he tells me. “I could come with you, if you like.”
“No. Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” I say, unable to imagine myself in any real danger visiting my former friend, whatever she was embroiled in. “If you’re there, she’ll think it’s about the fake sheikh thing, and the money.”
“Well, I hope that at least you know this isn’t about the money, for me. I paid Patrick what I think the painting is worth, and I’m not sad that I did. Right now, I just want to help you unravel what the hell’s going on. I’ll wait for you here, as I’ve got a few things to do, so please at least take my driver,” he says, loudly enough for his chauffeur at the next table to hear. The driver nods.
“Thank you, I’d like that,” I concede, feeling grateful for Dave’s concern.
“Athena should be at home now—from what we can tell, she never seems to leave the apartment before ten in the morning.”
I remember how Athena felt about mornings, so this isn’t a shock. I look at my watch—it’s already nine.
“If anything feels off, promise me you’ll leave immediately. My driver will be waiting outside the door, listening, just in case.”
“What is he going to do if—”
“You’ll be fine. He can’t pilot a helicopter, but he has other useful skills,” Dave says reassuringly.
Keeping to the speed limit is clearly not one of them. As we race up the eight-lane highway, Dubai’s skyscrapers and malls pass in a blur. The farther we get from the hotel, the less imposing the buildings become, until we eventually reach street after street of chaotic corner shops, shawarma cafés, and dimly lit barbers. So numerous and similar are the grimy apartment blocks here that I don’t realize we have reached Athena’s until the driver pulls up and steps out to open my door for me.
“This is the place,” he says, leading me over and pressing a random number on the intercom. “Delivery,” he says breezily, holding the door open for me once it clicks unlocked.
We take the elevator together, but he hangs back farther down the corridor as I knock. Athena opens the door in silk pajamas, looking momentarily shocked before composing herself. “Caroline! I was hoping I’d see you before you left, but this is a surprise. I wasn’t aware that anyone knew I’d moved—do come in.”
“Thank you. We have a lot to catch up on,” I remark.
She gives me an unconvincing smile, then leads me down a corridor stacked with packing boxes to a living room with a white leather sofa, a too-large TV, and very little else. She excuses herself to fetch some water for us both. While she’s gone, I look out between the blinds onto the balcony, where several sets of weights, a selection of men’s sneakers, and assorted sports equipment are scattered.
“He’s gone,” Athena says to my back, as she walks into the room.
“So Freddie has been living here?” I ask, meaning in Dubai, but also here, in this shabby apartment that they are clearly in the process of moving out of. She says nothing, lips pursed.
“All those years, he let his family mourn. Patrick used to meet the Osiris boys every year for a memorial. You pushed me away and let me feel guilty for decades that I wasn’t a good enough friend. And the whole time it’s been a lie? He’s been here, with you?”
Athena sighs, places two full glasses on a coffee table. “Take a seat, Caroline. You know, it’s funny. Whenever I’ve imagined explaining all this to anyone, it has always for some reason been you.”
I lower myself onto the sagging sofa. Athena settles down cross-legged onto the floor. She takes a sip of water.
“Do you remember, a few weeks before Harry’s party, you saw Freddie arguing with someone in a car? Well, it was someone Freddie owed money to.”
“A drug dealer?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
She nods. “From the very start of university, Freddie had always sold drugs. His dealer encouraged him to do it so Freddie could pay for what he was using—and he was using a lot. At Harry’s party, he had a car trunk full of Ecstasy pills and cocaine that he’d just driven to London to collect, to supply the Osiris boys. Look, I know you two never got on, but Freddie is a good person. He was just struggling back then, numbing himself with drink and drugs, and it got out of control.”
She delivers this with such conviction, manicured hands gesticulating, that if I didn’t know Freddie Talbot, I’d have bought it. Instead, the description of him as a poor, tortured soul made the bile in my stomach rise.
“But he never quite managed to sell enough to cover what he was using, or he gave too much away to his friends when he was drunk or high. The debt piled up. By his fourth year, he owed a lot of money. The interest just kept rising, and the dealer started to make threats about hurting him. Killing him. The only person Freddie thought might be able to come up with that sort of cash quickly, and who would care about him enough to do it, was Harry. Freddie asked him for it a few days before the party.”
“But Harry spent his whole life complaining about not having any money. Why didn’t Freddie just ask you?”
“He was too proud to tell me any of this. And anyway, he knew I had no access to that sort of money. My father was wealthy, sure. If it had been a handbag or a trip to Paris, I could have asked one of his personal assistants to buy it or book it. But clearing my boyfriend’s drug debt? In cash? Impossible. Daddy countersigned any amount over five hundred pounds, and Freddie owed a lot more than that. He knew there were things in Longhurst that nobody would miss for months, if ever—jewelry, silverware, first editions—and Harry knew where to look for it all. He could have helped his cousin come up with the money easily, had he wanted to, but—”
“Harry said no, obviously.” I am astonished Freddie thought the answer might ever have been yes. “He was asking Harry to steal from his own family.”