by V Clifford
Playing dead would buy her a little time to think what to do next, but he kicked her hard in the back, all the while cursing in Spanish or Portuguese. He heaved her onto her back and stood towering above her. Next, in what appeared like an act of defiance, he ripped off the mask and stared at Viv as if she should know who he was. She did have a flicker of recognition but couldn’t place him.
He yanked her to her feet and hauled her back into the shed, shoving her back against the Massey Ferguson.
The pain was agonising and she bit her lip, drawing blood. Then she shouted, ‘What the fuck is it that you want?’
To her surprise he spoke in perfect English. ‘Equity.’
She was flummoxed. What could he mean? ‘Equity? What’s that supposed to mean? D’you mean political, economic, sexual or what? And how the fuck do you think I can get it for you?’
He stood almost a foot taller than her, at six foot six inches, his arms folded, his feet apart. What she saw was over-compensation. It was excruciating for her to look up at him. Her vertebrae felt jammed into her neck and she moved towards him in an attempt to force him to step back. It didn’t work. He held his ground. She spat at him. Viv hated spitting more than anything, apart from a guy trying to intimidate her by standing in her personal space.
He didn’t move. ‘Nice. Lady-like.’ Sarcasm dripped off his lip as Viv’s saliva trickled down his leather jacket. Even she was disgusted by what she’d done, but not so much that she couldn’t concentrate on what her next move could be. As if he was reading her mind he said, ‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘Fuck you! You think I’m in the slightest bit worried about etiquette with this cracker.’ She pointed to her throbbing, bloody head.
He shrugged. Which did nothing to pacify.
‘Okay. So who the fuck are you? And what makes you think I hold the key to “equity”?’
He seemed unable to contain his anger. ‘You did nothing. Nothing for her. Nothing for the family. Nothing. And yet you got it all.’ Flecks of white foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. Never a good look.
Viv was confused. ‘Wait a minute, who are we talking about here? And what was I supposed to do that I didn’t?’
‘You know what I mean.’ His voice was cultured, and although not menacing, it had an aggressive edge. ‘The solicitor told you we’d contest it.’
Viv racked her brain for the last time she had seen a solicitor. She shook her head painfully as if this would bring something to light. She hadn’t seen one for at least two, getting on for three years. ‘Oh, my God. You mean Dawn?’
At the mention of her name, he drew his shoulders up, and gave the slightest of nods.
Viv sighed, trying to calm her indignation. ‘I don’t get it. You can’t have done all that you have,’ she pointed to her wounded head, ‘over Dawn’s legacy. You must be mad . . . Who are you anyway?’
He took a step towards her, leaving less than a foot between them. Bad move on his part. Viv, quick as a flash, raised her knee and connected all her rage with his groin. She watched as, in slow motion, and with crushing disbelief on his face, he curled up and dropped to the floor. She darted to the door and out towards the dunes. She glanced left, then right. If she could make it to slightly higher ground she would get her bearings. Out to sea she saw Fidra nearby and the Bass Rock, in the distance to the south. She ran north-east along the fairway knowing that eventually she’d come to Gullane or Aberlady.
If she hadn’t been in so much pain she’d have enjoyed trespassing on such magnificent spongy grass. She’d no idea what time it was but the sun was up and she was amazed that there wasn’t any activity on the course. She’d played a few in East Lothian but didn’t recognize this fairway, surely a par five judging by the distance she was running. On a hole like this she’d have been into double figures.
When she reached the next tee she spotted a litter-bin emblazoned with a crest and, ‘the nineth’ written on its side. This hole would likely be the furthest from the clubhouse. After a quick poke around inside the bin she found a broken pencil with Knights something embossed on it. Another clue, but needn’t mean she was actually on Knightsfield. She smirked. If it turned out to be the case it was the most misogynist course in Scotland, so she wouldn’t exactly be welcome in the clubhouse if she did eventually find it. To the left of the tee she climbed another slight but rough incline where she’d get a better view inland. She looked back, nervous of her attacker’s pursuit, but there wasn’t a soul around. What was going on? Knightsfield was one of the most famous courses in Scotland and with such exorbitant fees she imagined it being played round the clock.
‘Think, Viv. Think.’ Why would it be empty? The only reason she could think of was that they were preparing for a tournament. Then she remembered seeing an advert on TV for a memorial championship. A grand building with windows facing out over the course was a good bet for the clubhouse. It sat way in the distance; she was as far out as she could be. To its right a bank of trees shielded a row of houses with red pan-tiled roofs. She had to decide which buildings it would be best to approach. She didn’t want more hassle than she’d already had. There must have been a reason for him to take her to that particular shed. She continued in the direction of the grand, Edwardian, two-storey building. She’d reached the green of the eighteenth when she heard the gunning of a machine. She watched as a man on a gang-mower reversed out from a series of smart new wooden barns in the trees, and made his way down one of the fairways.
She shouted, ‘Hi there!’ But he didn’t respond. With ear defenders protecting him from the racket of the diesel engine, he was oblivious to anyone around. She tried again, this time waving her arms as high as she could bear to. She got within twenty feet of him before he cut the engine to a lower rev.
He hauled the defenders off his head. ‘What . . . the hell . . . you shouldn’t . . .’
She interrupted him. ‘But I am, and I need your help. Where will I find a telephone?’
He jumped off the machine, and staring in disbelief at her blood-encrusted face, gulped back any further protest and pointed to a small building to the side of the main one. He walked ahead of her without speaking but gestured for her to follow. He took out a set of keys from his pocket and let them in the side door of what turned out to be the professionals’ shop.
He pointed to a telephone on a shelf behind the counter. ‘Help yourself.’
When she reached for the handset she began to shake uncontrollably and misdialled. Her second attempt got her straight to Mac.
‘Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to reach . . . ‘
She shouted into the phone, ‘I’m in the pro shop at . . .?’ She glared at the grounds-man.
‘Knightsfield.’
She nodded her thanks. ‘Knightsfield. Knightsfield golf course in East Lothian.’ Her voice began to crack. ‘Just come . . .’
‘I’m on my way.’
No sooner had she put the receiver back into its cradle than the door swung open. Her very unhappy assailant, puffed out and sweating profusely, propped his hands on his hips and gestured to the man who’d let her in, to leave.
The grounds-man hesitated, but after the other man’s aggressive nod towards the door, he edged out. A digital clock on the telephone confirmed the time as five past six. No wonder the course was empty.
‘What now?’ she said.
‘Well, I was hoping I’d be able to make you see my point of view.’
The door opened again and a woman, Sanchez’ secretary from the hospital, stepped in, pushed the snib on the lock, and stood with her back against the door.
‘What exactly is it that you want from me?’ There was no point in fannying about. She couldn’t face another beating. Her head was still thumping like a bass drum and her shoulder was beginning to seize up. The secretary looked as if she was about to speak but the man shot her a warning glance.
He continued. ‘The land. You got the land.’
‘Who are you exac
tly?’ Viv was intrigued. How did they know who she was? And how could they know about Dawn? Dawn had always been cagey about her friends and family. She recalled the meeting with her solicitor when he’d revealed what Dawn had left to her. She’d thought at the time that Dawn hadn’t left her all that she had without some ulterior motive. The solicitor had said the family were unhappy about the will. But he had added that Dawn had made the whole thing watertight and that most families were unhappy about something and not to give it another thought. On that advice, since she’d never met the family, and knew how much Dawn had hated them, she’d disregarded the family’s feelings about the legacy going to an outsider. Viv was grateful for having a significant nest egg to fall back on, but she had no inclination to dip into it. In fact, most of it had gone into trust, so her access to it could never be immediate.
He ignored her question.
Viv stared at him and nodded. Determined to goad him, she ignored her own discomfort at receiving the legacy. ‘I think you’ll find that I got everything that she possessed. But none of it was at my bidding. If she wanted me to have it and was adamant that the family got no part of it, she had a message. So what did you ever do for Dawn, or not do for her, to make her react against you? And when I say you, I really mean your wife, since you’re not family any more than I am.’
His head came forward. Viv knew the longer she spoke the more chance she’d have of the troops arriving.
He cleared his throat. ‘Dawn always said you didn’t want to be part of the family.’
This was news to Viv, since Dawn had never invited her to any family events, claiming that she would hate them. Although in the early days she’d said that she didn’t want to share Viv with anyone else, especially not her crazy relatives. Viv had heard this as the excuse that it was.
‘We’d like it back.’ The edge to his voice sharpened and the muscles in his jaw twitched.
He and the secretary kept glancing at each other. Viv wondered what their relationship was. Could she be the woman on the screensaver? She must be, otherwise she’d have done something to change it. And what about Geraldine? What part had she played in this? Was she simply used in order to get close to Viv? Surely he needn’t have gone to such lengths.
‘And who exactly is “we”?’
He stared, his dark eyes fixed on her. ‘The land belongs in the family.’
‘Yeah, got that. But who are you?’ As she said this something clicked inside her brain. ‘Oh my God, you’re . . .wait a minute ’til I get this right.’ She paused and looked. ‘But you can’t . . . you’re Sanchez? Shit! And which sister are you married to?’
He flinched, which was all the confirmation she needed. So he was Sanchez. But who the hell was the dead guy in his office? Then it struck her that if this pair were responsible for his death, they’d have no qualms about silencing her. Although if money and land was their goal, it was in their interest to keep her alive. Her best hope was to keep them talking. They’d first want to secure what they were after, but in order for that to happen, which it never would, but in theory, they’d have to get to her solicitor. This was a leap too far. For now she should focus on warding off any more injuries. Some serious negotiating lay ahead.
Dawn used to joke about her mother being like Mrs Bennett, always worried about how to marry her daughters off to wealthy men. Consequently, Dawn hadn’t come ‘out’ to her family, making the excuse that, as Catholics, they wouldn’t understand.
‘Okay, say I don’t want the money or the land and am willing to give it to the family, who actually gets it? Are you going to split it between the other sisters and their husbands or partners?’
A look of disgust swept across his face. ‘You’re mad. You think we’d go to all this trouble for the others. We have plans.’
‘Who’s “we”?’
He hesitated, but didn’t take his eyes off her.
She persisted. ‘Plans to do what? Because people like you are never going to be satisfied. That’s the thing about jealousy, it’s insatiable. The more you feed it the more it wants. Look at you. Look at all the things you’ve done to get to this place in your head. But if you are who you say, you’ll already know this.’
This was no way to keep him calm, but she was on a roll and enjoying herself. The more she thought about what they were up to the more her fury rose. ‘You’ve clearly invented a sense of entitlement. You’re no more entitled to Dawn’s legacy than I am. Why should I give it up? If you had been given it, would you?’
He flexed his fists and took a step forward. The woman’s eyes widened. She’d obviously been reconsidering, but his answer looked as if it was coming in the form of another punch. Viv swallowed. There were many possible weapons around her, not least a golf bag full of clubs on her immediate right. She stepped towards them.
‘In your dreams,’ he sneered. The gang-mower started up, and Viv’s heart sank at the sound of the engine retreating.
Viv could smell her own anxiety. Her armpits were soaking but she distracted herself by thinking how ugly and contorted his face was with aggression. But now was the time to think about a strategy for surviving. The expression on his face didn’t engender any faith that she would emerge unscathed. He rubbed his crotch. This set off a tiny alarm bell inside Viv’s head.
‘She’s not saying much,’ she blurted out, trying to distract him from whatever instincts were rising in him. God alone knew what his next move would be.
He wasn’t biting and grabbed Viv’s wrists. She held back her reaction as his skin twisted hers. He pushed his face into Viv’s discomfort zone, and she felt his disgusting breath on her cheeks and kicked out at his shin.
‘Bitch! If only I’d managed to sort you on Friday night.’
‘You’d what? You’d have killed me, then what? Because you sure as hell won’t get any legacy if I’m dead. Your only hope at the moment is to keep me alive until Tuesday, when my solicitor will come back from the weekend. Even then he was the one who persuaded me not to give you anything in the first place, so why would he now? Besides the money is in trust and the land is leased. Nothing would happen quickly.’
He rubbed his crotch again. And with his eyes screwed up he sneered, ‘Shut your filthy mouth. You think that we haven’t thought any of this through? Well you’re wrong. My secretary here.’ He gestured condescendingly with his head towards the woman. ‘Will witness to your signing a . . .’
Viv swallowed and interrupted him. ‘Not on your fucking life!’ Proud of the depth of her own conviction she was ready when he took her right arm and twisted it up her back. A searing pain shot through her bicep. ‘Bastard. I don’t get it. You’re well known, well admired in your field. Why would you risk all of that for what I have?’
‘Because-it-doesn’t-belong-to-you. It belongs in the family.’ He stretched out the words, and pulled a little sharp scalpel from his inside pocket and held it up in front of her face.
Still unable to let it go, she countered, ‘But you know that’s not true. It does actually, legally, belong to me. That’s the way Dawn wanted it. I’ve no idea why she wanted it that way, but she didn’t want the family to have any of it. So why was that?’
He pushed her arm up her back and transferred the scalpel to the hand that was holding her wrist, and it nicked the side of her neck. This time she did squeal. Anyone this consumed by jealousy had lost their sense of reason. The intensity of his belief distorted everything. He could no longer see sense. Jealousy is known as the hungry emotion for a reason.
‘Her filthy habits got her involved with people like you. People who used her for who she was and what she had.’
This came completely out of left field. She hadn’t considered that his motivation was homophobia.
He continued. ‘She had no idea what you were after. But I knew. I’ve seen your girlfriend’s accounts. You’re a serial thief. Wheedling your way into women’s lives and stealing their money.’
Viv was mocking. ‘You’re fucking nuts. I had n
o idea what Dawn had. She was never generous with anything, except her sarcasm.’ This was the first time that Viv had said this aloud. She’d thought it many a time but saying it gave it a different quality, power, which spurred her on. ‘You know what I think? I think she hated you all. She hated you all enough to do what she did, to set you against each other. What else could she have meant by it? She knew I didn’t need her money. And I certainly had no idea about Sal’s.’
‘Liar! Liar! You’re a twisted liar!’
Viv tried to yank her arm out of his grasp but he had her locked and now the scalpel was perilously close to her jugular. She risked, ‘That’s rich coming from a sociopath like you!’
The secretary, dressed for a day on the hills, with waterproofs and a scarf, was clearly overheating. She loosened her zip but he threw her another warning look.
Viv turned her head towards the woman. ‘You’ll get nothing out of this. You do realise that, don’t you?’
The woman’s eyes flickered between Viv and Sanchez. The more Viv could plant doubt, the more likely the woman would be to turn against him. Whatever he’d promised her, there was no way he’d follow through. Viv had to make her understand this. ‘Surely you can see that you’ll never get away with this. He and his screensaver wife will be the only people who gain. You’re just a pawn.’ Viv, lying her pants off, because he would never get anything not least over her dead body.
He punched Viv in the side, where she had a not-so-old injury. She crumpled and felt bile rising in her throat. She swallowed furiously, unwilling to throw up over the plush carpet with its insignia of repeating knights with their bows pulled back. Well brought up to the last.