by V Clifford
‘How are you? Didn’t expect to see you here. Although I’m delighted that you are.’
‘Thought you were going to China?’
‘Yes, well . . .’
Taking hold of her arm he steers her into the dining room, just as Jinty marches over with a drink.
‘I see you already know Max.’ Then she looks up at his hair, ‘That explains it. I’ve always thought he looked rather well groomed for an Edinburgh financier.’
‘Yes, Jinty, my secret’s out. Viv cuts it at the office.’
‘Bet he doesn’t serve good coffee?’ she says, turning to Viv.
‘No, he doesn’t, and his iron maiden receptionist is never likely to offer. It’s been . . . what is it Max, how many years?’
‘At least a decade in the property we’re in at the moment. It wouldn’t have crossed my mind to offer you a coffee.’
Jinty smiles and licks her finger, marking one up for her, then slides off through the crowd. If Max steers her any closer to the window they’ll be on the outside sill.
‘Max, what the heck are you up to?’
He looks round furtively to see if anyone is within earshot, then whispers, ‘You haven’t told anyone about the explosion, have you?’
‘What do you think?’ Viv is aware the papers had run a story about a suggested gas leak, as a cover, but there had been no mention about her car being blown up. ‘Of course I haven’t mentioned it. Juliet Muir would have me drawn and quartered.’ Jules didn’t get to hear anything about it. Everyone knows who she is – in fact it’ll be a first if she’s not here. She manages to get invited to everything that Edinburgh has to offer, public or private.
Max is running his fingertip round the top of his glass, making a squeaking noise, which is beginning to irritate Viv. She eyeballs him and nods at his gesture. He stops and whispers, ‘Have the police had you in again for questioning?’
‘Yes, Max, they have. They’ve been very thorough. How about you?’
She’s surprised when he says yes.
‘More than once. That guy Marconi seems to think there’s a connection with something else he’s working on.’
‘Did he say what?’
She guesses correctly this time.
‘When I asked, he gave me the runaround. National security kind of stuff. Didn’t convince me or the woman who was with us.’
Viv wonders if it was Sal, but erases the thought. No reason for a profiler to be in an interview about a city blast. Come to think of it there’s been no need for a profiler on anything that Sal’s involved in so far. ‘What did she look like?’
This is out before she realises. She flushes as he describes Sal Chapman as, ‘Small, good looking, feisty. Got the impression she was a country girl. Don’t know why, but she didn’t strike me as one of you city slickers.’
Viv can hardly believe that Max uses words like ‘feisty’ and ‘slickers’. He’s been watching too many old movies. Men only think women are feisty when they disagree with them. The next step up for such a woman in Hollywood terms would be ‘ball breaker’. She doesn’t imagine Sal has any notion of being either of those, but it comes with the territory of being female and good at your job. Max keeps looking round, nervous; there’s got to be more to it than just whether Viv has mentioned the incident. He stands in front of Viv as if he’s trying to block her from view. Or is it viewing? Viv, definitely tetchy now, tries to sidle along the wall, but an ancient tapestry prevents her progress.
‘Right, Max, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing, as long as no one knows about the blast.’
He’s trying for ‘confident’ but ends up with comic. Eventually Viv puts her hand on his broad chest and pushes him out of her space.
‘It’s getting too hot in here. I’m going to get some air.’
She can feel his eyes on her back as she heads towards the back door. The smokers are clustered around the fountain just a few steps outside. They needn’t be. Jinty isn’t anti-smoking in the least – in fact she’s likely to come and herd them in so that she can get a nicotine fix without the earache she receives when having a fag herself.
Leaning on the doorframe Viv wonders how long she has to stay before it’s not rude to leave. She doesn’t think ten minutes counts. Then, feeling someone’s breath near her ear, she ducks and turns to see the blonde she spotted earlier standing as close to her as she can. The perfume she’s wearing is musky and likely to give Viv a headache if she gets too much of it. Viv moves outside to let the woman pass, but she doesn’t appear to want to. There’s something familiar about her. Her tan, real or otherwise, looks perfect. Her clavicles stand proud beneath shoestring straps, and remind Viv of the hind end of a cow that’s past its birthing years.
‘We haven’t met. Zoe Whiteman.’
She offers a boney, long fingered hand that isn’t as youthful as the face, and Viv reluctantly shakes it.
‘ Viv, Viv Fraser.’
‘Oh, I know who you are. We thought you might be here. Max and Sonia are great chums of ours.’
Viv puts two and two together and tries to move into the garden, but the woman has a discreet hold of the back of her dress. Viv turns abruptly, hearing fabric tear.
‘Back off, lady, before we embarrass our hostess.’
Viv says this through tight lips, but is aware that the blonde has taken hold of her dress again. Viv turns again, this time throwing her champagne at the woman. She leaves her standing and barges back through the crowd. On reaching the front hall she spots Jinty and waves. Jinty shouts, ‘Viv, don’t go!’
There’s something in her tone that makes Viv halt. Jinty’s eyes tell her all she needs to know. The crowd parts to let them through. Viv can’t have been the only one to catch her panic. All eyes are on them. Jinty whispers something and Viv thinks she hears ‘Whiteman’. ‘In here.’ Jinty pulls Viv by the arm into a tiny cloakroom, which is also home to the washing machine and a glass case containing two eccentric stuffed stoats dressed in little girls’ frocks. Jinty is breathing heavily and Viv touches her arm. ‘It’s okay. Everything is okay.’
‘That’s what you think. Rod is going mad out there. Max and Sonia Scott rang up and asked if they could bring a friend along. I said no problem, but apparently she’s married to one of Edinburgh’s richest dirty men, Leonard Whiteman. Rod can’t be seen to have anything to do with him. We can’t have her in the house. What did she say to you? I saw her cornering you.’
‘Well, she didn’t really say anything. She just grabbed my dress and it ripped when I tried to break free.’
Jinty turns Viv round to look at the damage.
‘It’s only the seam. By the way, it’s the first time I’ve seen you in a dress; it suits you. But what would she want with you?’
‘God knows, but she’s pushing her luck if she thinks she’s found a shrinking violet. I had to throw my drink at her before she’d let me go.’
‘My God. I bet you think . . .’
‘Whatever I think it has nothing to do with your hospitality. You’ve never given me any cause to doubt you. But Whiteman is another story. What do you think is going on with Max and Sonia if they’ve become friends with those unsavouries? And why did they want to bring her here? I need to speak to Max again. Are you okay?’
‘Yes. I’ll be fine. D’you think she’ll head off now that her frock is wet?’
‘I don’t imagine she’ll want to hang around, but it depends on her mission. Let’s go and find Max.’
The crowd has thinned a little and their movement is easy until a red-faced Rod shouts, ‘Jinty, where the hell have you been?’
Realising that he’s captured the attention of almost everyone, he tries to lighten up, but as soon as he’s up next to Jinty he whispers through gritted teeth, ‘Get her out of here.’
Jinty looks at him, aghast.
‘What . . . Viv ?’
‘No, the skeleton in silver sequins. Get her out!’
This is going to be difficult for Jint
y so, in an attempt to aid her friend, Viv reaches for another glass of bubbly, saunters towards Mrs Whiteman and feigns a trip. This time Mrs Whiteman lets rip in an accent that is definitely more Mordun than Morningside, ‘You fucking bitch!’ Too loud. The room has fallen silent. She puts her head down and makes toward the front door, throwing over her shoulder, ‘You’ll regret this!’
Viv’s no doubt she will. She looks round and catches Jinty’s eye, who mouths, ‘ I - O - U, thank you.’
Viv blows her a kiss and puts her hand up in a phone sign. They both nod and Viv moves into the outer hall, battling to get through a knot of people trying to identify their coats. They’ve obviously had enough entertainment for one evening. Max and Sonia are among them. Viv looks at him, her expression indicating unfinished business. He gives the slightest shake of his head and looks at the back of his wife’s head. Viv’s beyond caring. ‘Later Max. We’ll speak later.’
The chill hits her as the wind funnels along the street from the east. Her short jacket barely covers the tear in her dress. A taxi pulls up and she gives him the address.
‘Cold night!’
‘Sure is. It sure is.’
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly with control. Holy Moly. What was all that about? What could Zoe Whiteman’s errand have been?
Home can’t come soon enough. As she turns the key she remembers she’s got company. Sighing, she plods up the stairs thinking through the possible connection between Max and Leonard Whiteman and hopes that it is as simple as the two wives meeting at the gym or the beauty salon. When she walks into the sitting room John is asleep. From the cupboard in the hall she fetches a spare duvet and a pillow. He stirs when she lifts his legs onto the couch, but soon settles back to sleep.
She changes into tartan winceyette pyjamas, bedsocks and a sweater and sets about finding out more info on Whiteman. Her laptop stirs into life as soon as she handles the keyboard. Deciding to type Max and Whiteman in the same search she’s a little surprised when a list comes up. She doesn’t scroll for long when, ‘Bingo!’ They both play golf at the Balfour, an exclusive club out on the west side of Edinburgh.
Viv has been there a couple of times, once to a funeral and the other time, invited at the last minute, to make up the numbers at a dinner. It was a memorable night not least because the female players had nowhere to change; only a tiny, but beautifully decorated toilet – the rest of the building was unquestionably designed by males for males.
She is staring at a photograph of Max, Whiteman and two other men grinning into the camera with their hands on a cup. Max must know him fairly well if they play in foursomes together, and surely can’t have avoided the rumours. He must know what Whiteman is. Is he choosing to ignore it? Or has he something to hide himself? They say there’s more business agreed on the course than off it, but what kind of business would they need to do so far out of earshot of anyone else? The club has a complete ‘no mobile phone’ policy, in the clubhouse or on the course.
The date on the golf article is five years ago, so they are not just recent acquaintances. Another article is on the Whiteman wedding, with a photograph of the family group. Zoe looks fresh and glamorous. Her father looks a lot like Whiteman: tall, broad and dark, though the father has a boxer’s nose. She and Whiteman have been married for a decade. Zoe was definitely in better shape then. Ten years of starvation hasn’t done her looks any favours; sure she’s still glamorous, but up close, the scraggy skin and brown spots tell a different story.
John stirs, mumbling. Viv glances over the back of the couch; he looks as if he’s dreaming. He can’t be more than twenty-five and yet his body has taken such a thrashing. Drugs both legal and illegal have taken their toll. This gives her something else to look up. Googling ‘Rehab near Edinburgh’, there are four possibilities. The first two, one in Ayrshire, the other north-west of Glasgow, are too far away, but one in West Lothian looks possible. The website is extensive but gives nothing away. By the time she’s read it she’s no more informed about what they actually do or what it costs than when she started. The last one is in East Lothian. The website would lead readers to believe they were going to a health spa. Maybe it is a health spa. Scrolling down, it ticks all the right boxes, but must cost a fortune.
John stirs again, this time waking and looking around him.
‘Hi. I didn’t want to wake you. The light in my bedroom isn’t great at night so I thought I’d do this here.’
‘I must have been out for the count. The whisky. Must have been the whisky.’
She smiles. ‘Must have been. Can I get you anything?’ Then, remembering just how limited the contents of her fridge are, she adds, ‘I’ll nip down to the shop and grab some bits and pieces. Anything you fancy?’
‘Could murder a bacon roll. Crispy bacon, not that barely cooked, slippery wet stuff they give you in hospital.’
‘You must be feeling better. When I saw you last you could hardly speak, never mind comment on the cuisine.’
Tucking her pyjamas into boots and pulling on a long raincoat she grabs her wallet and heads for the door. Before she gets there he shouts, ‘I’d love a razor. The hospital only had electric razors. Makes you feel manky.’
‘I’ve already got some. Check the bathroom cupboard. Help yourself to a shower if you can manage.’
‘Sure.’
On her return he’s in the shower. It feels nice to come home to someone else in the house. Even if he is a stranger. Viv hates living alone and yet the vibes she’s given to previous partners haven’t exactly made them feel wanted.
She turns the control of the oven and wonders if it will actually work tonight. When she sticks her hand in she can feel there’s nothing doing. Good old frying pan will have to do. By the time John has finished in the bathroom the smell of bacon is wafting round the flat.
He lifts his head and draws in a breath. ‘Smells like proper bacon. Even my poor gut is getting excited about it.’
The kitchen is small with a table intended for two Lilliputians, so she takes their rolls through to the sitting room on a tray where two ‘eco’ wall heaters are blasting out mega watts. She kneels on the floor in front of the empty fire surround, sorry that the smokeless zone prevents her from having a real fire. She hands him a plate.
He looks at her and says, ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this for me, but I’m really grateful. I’ve got money you know. Just don’t have access to it until I pick up the rest of my gear from the flat.’ Then, seeing the look on Viv’s face, he hastily adds, ‘No, not that flat. My sister’s flat. Don’t look at me like that.’
Viv, with eyebrows knitting, is about to ask why he’s here if he has a sister in town, when he interrupts her thoughts. ‘My dad has said if he ever finds out that I’ve been there she’ll be in the bad books as well. He has some idea that she’ll be contaminated by my behaviour. So that’s why I can’t go there. I’ve got her into enough trouble. My building society book is there. He hasn’t stopped my allowance yet, which is a miracle – it’s probably my mum who has managed to keep it going. If I phone my sis she’ll bring my stuff round.’
Viv doesn’t ask what trouble there was. There’ll be time for interrogations later. But she’s not sure about having a family reunion in her flat. ‘Good rolls!’
He nods his agreement. ‘Haven’t felt like food for a while. They kept me on a drip after the blood transfusion. I suppose they know what they’re about. But they’re not exactly promoting health with the food they serve. Everything’s processed. I’ve been brought up on Aberdeen Angus and veg from the garden. My mum always makes her own bread.’
‘Well, you’ll have to put up with what I could get. The gourmet section was closed.’
He looks at her and seeing that she’s taking the piss, smiles and apologises.
‘Beggars and all that,’ mutters Viv as she unpacks a few treats from a carrier bag.
‘This is great. No complaints.’
‘Just as well.’ She grins.<
br />
‘How was your drinks party?’
‘Eventful!’ She shakes her head and through puffed cheeks lets go of a lungful of air.
‘How come?’
‘Have you come across a guy called Leonard Whiteman?’ She stands poised, pointing the rolled up carrier at him as he leans back on the couch.
His face says it all. ‘You don’t want to get involved with him . . . Baaad news.’
‘Tell me about him. In what way is he bad news? Does he own Copa Cabana?’
‘Yes, he does, along with everything else that’s . . . I was going to say “gay” but I think he owns a couple of snooker halls as well. Tanning salons, nail bars. He even has a gym.’
‘So, plenty of opportunity for shuffling money and staff around?’ Viv makes the sign of inverted commas round ‘staff’.
‘I guess. I’ve never been involved with him. He hates Sandy.’
This gets Viv’s attention.
‘Why would he hate Sandy?’
‘Despite what you think, Sandy’s a good guy. He looks after young guys. Okay the flat’s a bit of a shambles, but it’s a lot safer than . . .’
‘Than what? Come on, John. There’s something really dodgy going on, and now that I’m in this far I’m going to find out whether you tell me or not.’
‘But if I tell you what I’ve heard I’ll be implicated.’
‘Implicated? Sounds heavy. In what?’
‘That would be telling now, wouldn’t it?’
‘Am I missing something here? Am I wrong, or are you close to death because of something that Robbie provided? Robbie who could be tampering with supplies that are coming from . . . You fill in the gaps, would you?’ She sits herself down at his side.
‘I don’t know for sure. But Robbie is definitely linked to Whiteman.’
‘Good, carry on.’
‘You know as well as I do that Robbie’s been inside. He’s got connections and Whiteman is one of them.’ Viv pulls her knees up, and hooks her arms round them.
He sounds tired, and Viv thinks it might be better to have this conversation over breakfast. ‘Why don’t you give it some thought and maybe the two of us can make some sense of the whole Andrew Douglas, Robbie Croy, Leonard Whiteman and whoever the hell else is involved, thing. If you move your butt I’ll make up the bed properly.’