Yeah, you’ve still got it Ben, my boy.
Benjamin had it all: the incredible career, the trophy wife and gorgeous kids, an impressive home. Inevitably, he also had the mistress. She was a good kid; he was fond of her. And thanks to her, he felt young and invigorated again, ready for his meeting with Vladimir Tarkovsky.
All he had to do was get the Russian businessman to sign on the dotted line, and Ben would be able to get away with everything. No one would ever find out the truth.
The internal line on his phone rang. It was his PA, announcing that Mr Tarkovsky had arrived. Benjamin crunched a couple of Rennies antacid tablets, rolled his seat back, so he could stand easily. Wait for it, wait for it…
In came the Russian. Benjamin counted a beat before looking up from what he was pretending to peer at on his computer screen. Gave a slow but wide smile of welcome that he had practised enough in the mirror to know it oozed confidence and charm.
Tarkovsky was an intimidatingly large man, with a waistline that had to be equal to his height. His black hair was dead straight, and looked strangely solid on his head, like Lego hair. He sported a moustache that reminded Benjamin of a 1970s porn star, though it was handy to disguise the fact he constantly breathed through his mouth. He may not have film star looks but, from the cut and cloth of his suit to the watch he wore, he dripped wealth. Benjamin was determined to show Tarkovsky that he was at that level, too.
After pleasantries came the pitch. Benjamin’s accountancy company was small enough to guarantee personal services and complete discretion, but big enough and experienced enough to be able to handle all of Tarkovsky’s business ventures, from oil to rail.
As he spoke, Benjamin leaned back, gesturing expansively. He was a man in control.
Tarkovsky gave a rumbling laugh that set the apron of flesh tucked into his trousers jiggling. Even the best tailors in the world can only disguise so much.
‘You want to represent all my businesses? No, no, no, Mr Thomas, you have misunderstood me. You are pitching only for you to take on my building company here in the UK.’
‘Pitching? I thought you’d made up your mind you wanted us,’ he said disingenuously.
The Russian gave the tiniest of gestures with one hand, turning it palm upwards. ‘There are no decisions made yet. The building industry here can be a colourful affair sometimes, and I need to know that my accountant has creative flair as well as efficiency. You understand me?’
Benjamin moved slightly, feeling the sands of his confidence shifting beneath him. He fiddled briefly with the cuff of his shirt. Adjusted it until his watch was visible. That was better.
‘I understand exactly the kind of business you could put our way, and I can assure you that Thomas & Bauer are more than up to the job. Another benefit of this company is that we can move swiftly when required, and I’m sure you would find our flexibility an asset. Let me grab a pen and make some notes on what you want,’ he added, and looked around. ‘Oh, it’s over by you, just let me get it.’
‘I am out of time – or rather you are,’ Tarkovsky said. Despite his words, the Russian picked up the silver fountain pen and passed it over.
Benjamin prayed he knew quality when he saw it; that he would realise it was a Montblanc. He reached for the pen with his left hand, his eyes never leaving Tarkovsky’s as he thanked him. The men broke eye contact at the exact same moment, and glanced down together to make sure their fingers didn’t brush awkwardly. Benjamin saw the man’s glance linger briefly on his Rolex Datejust II; that was seven grand well spent.
Oh, yeah, he knew how the big boys rolled.
A watch like that spoke for itself, and for its owner – it screamed taste and money. It yelled that Benjamin was a winner.
Nothing attracted success more than success.
‘If you have to leave, Mr Tarkovsky, then I won’t detain you. But… if I may extend an invitation to you…’
Minutes later, the Russian swept from the building. But not before arrangements had been made for he and Benjamin to go clay pigeon shooting together that Sunday. It was a typical British country sporting event that Benjamin hoped would impress him. After the door had closed, he let out a huge breath and nodded to himself. It had been touch and go, but his charm had won out in the end. He was getting there. He gave a delighted chuckle. He really was going to pull this off – and get away scot free.
Thirteen
Mummy’s face was going a funny colour as she listened to the other person on the phone, which had been ringing when they got home. She looked like Mouse had looked that time she had drunk a bottle of pop too fast then gone on the trampoline, bounce, bounce, bounce, until her belly had bounced right out of her mouth and Mouse had had to have a sit down for the rest of the afternoon while Mummy stroked her forehead and watched Paddington with her.
The little girl watched as her mum ended the phone call but continued to stare into space, not moving.
‘I think you need to watch Paddington,’ Mouse decided.
Mummy’s eyes came into focus as she returned from the place her mind had been hiding. She looked at the eight-year-old as if seeing her for the first time.
‘What was that? No, we can’t watch a film right now. We have to get Ruby from school.’
Mouse wrinkled her nose. ‘But why? She always walks.’
Instead of answering, Mummy told her to put her coat on. She used her angry voice, but like the anger was in the distance, not close by, not at Mouse.
So, the girl shrugged and did as she was told, grabbing her rucksack, too. Jumped into the back of the car and did her seatbelt up, hating that she still needed the stupid baby booster cushion.
The traffic was terrible. It moved slower than her school pet, Tony the tortoise. Mouse tried to show Mummy the prize she had won in pass the parcel at the school party, but she said she was too busy. She spent a lot of time hunched over the wheel muttering what Mouse was sure were bad words. Sometimes she hit the steering wheel. Sometimes she slumped back in the seat as if she didn’t know what to do.
Mouse jiffled uncomfortably. She had a bad feeling that Ruby was in Big Trouble. What had she done this time? Ruby was always in Big Trouble. Mouse only got into small trouble, thank goodness.
‘Come on, quick, quick,’ Mummy said the second they parked.
Mouse scurried along, taking two steps and sometimes a hop for each one of her mummy’s long strides. She felt as though she was streaming out behind her like a cartoon character, feet off the ground. If she let go of her mum’s hand she would be lost in a speed cloud and a pinging noise.
Ruby’s school was loads bigger than her own. The corridors seemed to stretch on and on as if they had no end, and Mouse’s legs were starting to ache from all the hurrying. But suddenly her mum stopped in front of a desk and said: ‘I’m here to see Margaret Dudgeon. I’m Ruby Thomas’s mother.’
The lady pulled a face. She tried to mask it, but she looked like she’d found a sprout hidden underneath her mashed potato and accidentally eaten it. Yucky. From her gritted teeth, she was still trying to swallow it as she told Mummy to go in.
‘You sit there, and wait for me, okay?’ Mummy told Mouse.
She nodded back, sitting up straight to show what a good girl she was going to be.
She soon got bored, though. The school smelled strange, not like the Playdoh smell of her own school, which was much smaller and prettier and friendlier somehow. There were bubbles under the paint on a couple of the walls, and the corners looked dusty. She didn’t like it here. But she pulled her book out and started to read, glad she had thought to grab it before they left. As long as she had a book, she didn’t mind waiting, even if she was in a yucky place. Besides, the words helped to block out the raised voices coming from the door, across which was emblazoned a single word: Headteacher.
‘Absolutely no proof, Mrs Dudgeon. You didn’t see my daughter do anything wrong, and no one else has said it was Ruby—’
‘It’s clear exactly what s
he did. Everyone is too frightened to come forward. Mrs Thomas, your daughter’s reputation…’
The voices faded to a murmur.
Ruby was definitely in Great Big Trouble.
Fourteen
‘Relax. You’re like an old woman.’
Benjamin stuck his feet up on his desk and put his hands behind his head, while Jazmine glared at him. He wasn’t worried, though; he knew how to handle her. They might be business partners on paper, but it was he who was really in charge, making all the key decisions Jazmine lacked the balls to take.
Ha, she literally lacked the balls. Benjamin smirked inwardly at his joke.
Jazmine was his sensible, steadying influence, but she sweat the small stuff and didn’t have the Midas touch that Benjamin had because he was all about the big picture. That was why they made the perfect business partners, balancing each other out. Most of the time.
They were an odd coupling at first sight. People had been surprised he had gone into business with a hairy-legged lesbian from Dagenham. That’s what his rugger bugger pals had said, anyway, when they first found out, even though there was nothing butch about the brown-haired accountant, with her elfin features, glossy pixie crop, and fitted suits. Sometimes, he was willing to admit, his friends could be complete idiots.
Jazmine stopped pacing in front of him and pulled up a chair instead, leaning her elbows on his desk and pushing her glasses up her nose slightly before doling out a glare that skewered him.
‘I really don’t like this, Ben. We don’t need this Russian’s business—’
‘Since when is it about need? We land this, and we’ll make a fortune. It’s called expansion, it’s called good business practice.’
‘Not if we lose clients because they don’t want to be tarnished by his reputation.’ She smacked his foot. ‘Oy, I mean it. We’ve taken years to build up a list of decent, reliable people who run totally legitimate businesses. You know Tarkovsky’s reputation – don’t bloody play the innocent, Ben, I’m not falling for your “butter wouldn’t melt” look.’
He opened his arms wide. ‘Who? Me? Never. Seriously, you’re worrying about nothing. I’ll admit that Vladimir does have a certain… reputation, shall we say. But his operations in the UK are totally legit – or don’t you trust me to have done my homework on this?’
‘You don’t have the contacts to have done the right kind of homework on this sort of man.’
‘Unlike you.’
Jazmine jerked away from him as if he’d poked her with a cattle prod. She didn’t like to be reminded about her past, the dodgy estate she had grown up on, surrounded by thieves and drug dealers. Most of whom she was related to.
‘All right, yeah; I know what I’m talking about when it comes to dodgy geezers,’ she conceded after a pause. ‘This guy makes me twitchy. If you’re determined to get into bed with him then maybe I should ask around a bit, check he is legit. I’ve fought hard to get where I am, to leave all that crap behind, Ben. I’m not going to be dragged back into it because you want to become the next Rockefeller.’
‘Actually, he was mainly in oil but—’
‘Don’t change the subject.’ Her words were loud and sharp. Her cockney accent sounded rough beside Benjamin’s softer, more gentrified tones. But then, she hadn’t been pulled up constantly by her father about ‘speaking properly’. Not a day of Benjamin’s childhood had passed without some comment about ‘the common Essex accent’ he had apparently been developing, and that must be stopped at all costs.
‘I mean it, Ben. I want you to listen to me on this. He beats people up if they cross him – maybe he even does worse.’
‘That fat bastard? Couldn’t if he tried.’
‘People like that don’t have to lift a finger. They give an order to someone lower down the food chain.’
‘Seriously? You’ve been watching too many Bond films. You’re going to let us lose money because of rumours? I’m not walking away from a brilliant deal, unless you’ve got some kind of proof of your allegations. Well, have you?’
‘No, but—’
He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward so he could meet her gaze. Said softly, sincerely: ‘Come on, Jaz. When have I ever steered you wrong? I swear on my life, this is a great move for us. It will take us to the next level.’
She didn’t say a word. Didn’t look away, either. Benjamin did what he always did best: took a gamble.
‘Look, I’m feeling on top of the world here, and you’re bursting my bubble. If it really means that much to you, though, I’ll let this go, even though it goes against everything I think. It seems a shame when I’ve virtually landed him, is all. Especially as he really is all above board. But I’ll give his PA a call.’ He lifted his phone up for good measure. ‘Tell her that I’m cancelling our shoot on Sunday. He’ll think we’re a bit rude, but so what.’
Jazmine’s hand rested on his, stopping him from dialling. She peered over her glasses at him. Scrutinising.
‘You really have checked him out.’
‘I really have checked him out. Honest.’
He gave a grin. His cheeky chappy one, he called it.
‘Hey, a bloke like this, giving up his time at a weekend; he wouldn’t do that unless he was definitely going to come with us. That’s a massive coup. Just imagine the looks on our rivals’ faces when they hear.’
She gave a smile. It was reluctant, but it was there.
‘It could be nice to rub Watson & Co’s nose in it. Cheeky buggers have been crowing ever since they nicked that café chain account from us.’
‘Yeah. So, you going to let me do what I do best? Schmooze this whale?’
She laughed. ‘Okay. As long as you can guarantee me he really is legit.’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Fifteen
Dominique rubbed at her temples, trying to dislodge the buzzing swarm of bees in her head that were forming a furious headache.
In front of her stood Ruby, arms folded, face defiant. Leaning against the kitchen counter and rocking back and forth in a cocky manner that reminder Dominique of her husband.
Her cheating shit of a husband, she reminded herself.
‘You did hit this Jayne Seward, though. Didn’t you? I know it, the headmistress knows it, the entire school knows it even though all the pupils seem to have been temporarily struck blind. If just one of them confirms the head’s suspicions, you’ll be expelled.’
‘Big deal.’
‘It is, actually, Ruby. Why did you hit that poor girl? Why won’t you even apologise?’
‘I’m not sorry. And I’m not going to lie and pretend I am. I’m not like you, Mother; I’m not a doormat, saying what I think people want to hear and letting everyone walk all over me just to keep the peace.’
Ruby had always been the funny one. The smart one, ready with a quip, or an interesting question. Sometimes it was annoying, especially when, around the age of four, it had felt as though every other word out of her mouth was ‘why’? But it proved what a sharp, enquiring mind she had. She had been known for her smile and was followed around by a flock of friends, but everything had changed when she started at that private school.
Dom had hated her going there, and was ashamed she had crumbled to Benjamin’s snobbery about sending her to boarding school. Although in front of Ruby she had seemed to back Benjamin, behind closed doors she had fought hard that Ruby be allowed to go to the local comprehensive as she had asked.
In the end, when Ruby was booted out, it had been something of a relief. Dominique had been convinced that her daughter would go back to her real self now that she’d got what she’d asked for. She hadn’t. Dom was slowly realising this nightmare child before her, full of hatred and disdain, might be the real Ruby. She wanted to ask her daughter what had happened. She wanted to get back her little girl, full of smiles and sunshine and constant questions. But she didn’t have a clue where to start.
Perhaps Ruby was right.
�
��I’m not a doormat,’ Dominique said, ignoring the doubt in her mind. ‘I only want to know why you hit that girl. We’re lucky no one is pressing charges. Do you realise how close you came to expulsion? It’s only because none of the pupils will admit who did what, and because it’s so close to Christmas, that you’ve got away with this.’
‘Worried what people will think? I could tell you a thing or two, if you’re really interested. Things that would make your hair curl, Mother.’
The bees in Dominique’s head seemed to be stinging her brain repeatedly, the jabbing, stabbing pain and agony that made her jaw clench until words were hard-pressed to escape.
‘Oh, Ruby…’
She needed to lie down, not argue. She needed to clear her head. Even her vision seemed misty. Benjamin’s mistress, his betrayal of his family, what was she going to do? And now Ruby in trouble again, for beating someone up.
‘Look at you. You can’t even be bothered to listen to me. Then you expect me to talk to you. You’re pathetic.’ Ruby spat the venomous words then stomped from the room.
Dom watched but didn’t have the strength to go after her. Instead, she pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, and slumped into it. Folded over the table and pressed her forehead against the cool wood, trying desperately to marshal her thoughts.
She could only deal with one thing at a time, she decided. She would talk to Ben about Ruby, but she would hold off doing anything about Kendra. She refused to have her hand forced by some little tart; the mechanics of how to end her marriage was too big a choice to be rushed into. Decisions must be made first, things put into place and set in motion before she could give Benjamin a heads-up.
She looked at the large black-and-white photo on the kitchen wall. It was her family before Ruby started withdrawing and attacking everyone. Mouse had her arms wound around her mum’s neck, legs wrapped monkey-like around her waist, as she waved at the camera. Ruby was on Benjamin’s shoulders, a big grin on her face. They had been lost in Barcelona, and Benjamin had made locals laugh with his appalling attempts at Spanish. Ruby had taken charge at one point, confidently announcing that she knew the way, but would only show them if they all did the conga – that had caused a few funny looks being thrown their way. They hadn’t cared. Getting back to the hotel had taken for ever, but they had loved every second of their adventure.
Her Last Secret Page 5