Take My Breath Away

by Martin Edwards

  Nic stifled a groan. So easy now to see it coming. ‘Ali Khan?’

  ‘My goodness me, you are well informed.’ Mickey frowned, but then a calculating light came into his small eyes. ‘Expect an announcement within twenty-four hours. It’s not big news, admittedly. There’s an obvious synergy between our businesses.’

  ‘So what was going to happen to Jazz?’

  Mickey clicked his tongue. ‘There are always casualties when a firm moves on, Mr Gabriel. Thrust has plenty of in-house resources at Tottenham Court Road. They didn’t need an incompetent freelance to help them run a tiny legal list. I’d been consulting Creed about redundancy.’

  ‘Who was advising you?’

  ‘Ben Yarrow, as it happens. Ugly little chap, but mustard as a lawyer. I asked Jazz to come in to see the two of us last week, said I’d briefed Ben that I wanted to be generous. He would be sorting out the details of the severance package. Making it tax-efficient, that sort of thing.’

  ‘How did she take it?’

  ‘How do you expect?’ Mickey pursed his lips. ‘She made a number of comments that were entirely unwarranted. Not to mention unwise. I’m a good friend, Mr Gabriel. Personal loyalty is my Achilles heel – but I can be pushed too far.’

  His voice had dropped and for a few seconds his chubby pink cheeks lost their colour. ‘However, for Jazz, I was prepared to make allowances. We went back a long way together. For old times’ sake, I wanted us to part as friends. I told her I’d ignore what she’d said. She was due to come back to Creed with her answer by noon yesterday. Of course, she never made it to the deadline.’

  ‘What did Jazz say?’

  Mickey flapped a hand. ‘Oh, stuff about some conspiracy against her. Wild allegations about Creed. Nothing specific, it was all pretty hysterical. I told her to shut up before she embarrassed herself any more in front of poor Ben Yarrow. I must say, he took it well. He realised she was a sick woman, but as soon as he expressed his sympathy, she began to rant at him. All very sad.’

  ‘So you didn’t pay any attention to what she had to say?’

  ‘Of course not. It was nothing but tosh. I tell you, she didn’t even expect me to take any notice. She said as much. I hate to say so, but it’s even crossed my mind that what happened to poor Jazz was no bad thing. She didn’t have much left to live for. Perhaps her death was a blessing in disguise.’

  Some disguise, Nic thought as he wandered amongst the gravestones at Highgate that afternoon. He leaned against a cherub-heavy tombstone. The cemetery was amongst his favourite places in the city, one of the few parts of London where he felt almost at home. He’d rather not dwell on what that said about him, but he liked wandering alone through the labyrinth of curving paths, pausing in peaceful corners in the shade, reading eulogies to the dear departed.

  He hadn’t believed in God since the day he’d seen his mother’s broken body, but he understood why people needed something to cling to. Something stronger than logic and man-made laws. Like his own belief that his father was not a murderer. Every day it was there, at the back of his mind, the gnawing awareness that everyone else had thought the case cut and dried. People liked there to be a reason for things, to have them explained. To them, the myth of the Questing Beast would make no sense at all. With Dylan, as with the others, the story seemed so simple. Amy Vinton was a tragic avenger, exacting belated justice on the man responsible for the death of her sister. Sure, but the last few pages of the script were missing.

  Advocacy. He was certain now, this was all about advocacy. People talked about the science of advocacy, the technique of persuasion, but that was in itself a kind of advocate’s devilry. Teach-yourself books told tyros how to do it, but they came no closer to revealing the secrets than texts about necromancy or any other black art. Face it, Dylan was right. Litigation is like sex. The best advocates are as sensitive to mood and timing as infinitely skilled lovers. The closing speech pulls everything together, brings the case to a climax. At last the truth is laid bare. Or, at least, as much of the truth as the advocate wants the court to believe.

  Too many people dead before their time. He realised that he’d started clenching and unclenching his fist. He was no longer calm. Too many people sacrificed. Dylan Rees and Amy Vinton. Matthew Creed and Bradley Hutton. Jazz Delahaye and even Darrell Bergen. Their deaths angered him, but they also made him shiver, even in the heat. He didn’t want to join them, and become, like his mother, one of the dead-too-soon.

  Advocacy. All that talk about the advocate’s art was misleading. It suggested a civilised, gentlemanly skill, reminiscent of all that nostalgic pre-war crap about the advocate as a priest in the Temple of Justice. The temple was more like a mausoleum in this cemetery, where gargoyles leered at images of the saints, where reason, mercy and discretion fought a losing battle against sentiment, prejudice and fear. Persuasion so often took on a sinister guise. When you bent another person to your will, who could say where it might lead? Flattery, blackmail, even murder.

  Shaving for the second time that day, he nicked his chin a couple of times. It shocked him to realise why his hands weren’t steady. Within an hour, he would be seeing Roxanne Wake again. It gave him a buzz to think of looking at her, listening to her speak. This wouldn’t be like the research he’d done for Crippen. Roxanne bore no resemblance to any other lawyer he’d ever known. He was sure that she couldn’t care less about driving a Porsche or ski-ing holidays in Aspen. She had killed, killed brutally and yet seven years later, here she was, alive and well and working under a false name for Will Janus.

  Why Creed, of all firms? Had the partners chosen her, or had she chosen them? Soon he would have all the answers he was seeking, but even that was not the reason why his skin was pricking, why it took him longer than usual to button his shirt and straighten his tie. Something drew him to her, a fascination that was partly sexual – might as well admit it, even if only to himself: from the moment he’d seen her in Joel’s room, she’d stirred something deep inside him – and partly the temptation of the dangerous unknown.

  Not that she was dangerous any longer, he told himself as he slipped on his shoes. Lightning never struck twice. On the phone she had sounded calm, but that must be an act. He’d seen her fear when it dawned on her that she’d been recognised. He held all the cards. With one word, he could finish her career. She had so much to lose.

  He dialled a cab. This evening, for once, he would not trudge along the London streets to his destination. Tonight was special, and yet he had no idea of how it might end. With the two of them in bed together? He imagined her bare arms around him, hugging him to her breasts. The picture he’d conjured up shocked him. He’d never gone in for one-night-stands. More often than not, like Phil, women sought him out rather than the other way around. None of the affairs lasted. This was different. He did not know her at all. Although he knew what she had done, he could not guess her thoughts. Yet none of that mattered. He could not wait to see her again. In the confessional of his mind, he must acknowledge it. He wanted her for himself.

  At last the cab arrived. Traffic was bad and they crawled along the streets leading to the centre. The driver provided a running commentary on the iniquities of those in government who cared nothing for the poor downtrodden overtaxed motorist, allowing jams to build year after year while asleep in the back of their chauffeured limousines. Nic replied in monosyllables. To kill time, he was rehearsing in his head what he might say to her. None of it seemed right. There was sweat on his forehead and his stomach had tied itself in knots.

  He’d booked at an Italian restaurant near Trafalgar Square, a place where he sometimes met people he was interviewing for the magazine. He’d decided that Roxanne would hate somewhere trendy and exotic, the sort of place where Grant used to take Cassandra. Because he had set off early, he arrived just on time, despite the gridlock. The street was packed with people sitting at the tables outside the bars and cafes, laughing and drinking. He shared a joke with the maitre d’ and was led to his
usual table at the back. It was near the kitchens, but he didn’t mind. He liked the cooking smells and, besides, he and Roxanne would be out of the earshot of fellow diners.

  Roxanne was nowhere to be seen. Ten minutes passed. Nic’s spine felt thin and brittle as he kept shifting in his seat to glance over towards the door. He had been so sure she would turn up. He didn’t see what else she could do. She couldn’t take the risk of provoking him. She was at his mercy.

  Suddenly he spotted her in the doorway, wearing a halterneck minidress that showed plenty of flesh. She didn’t have a tan, like the other women dining, but now she was there, he could not imagine why anyone would give the others a second glance. To Nic she looked cool, elegant, formidable. A cross between a gazelle and a praying mantis.

  Their eyes met at the same moment the maitre d’ touched her arm and asked her to follow him. Nic could not read her expression. He stood up and smiled at her and she made a slight dismissive movement with her shoulders. Something told him that neither of them would ever forget tonight. His heart beat faster. This was the first time he had ever dined with anyone who had taken the life of a fellow human being. To everyone else, she was a pretty young woman, out on a date. He noticed a group of city traders watching her progress as she shimmied between the close-packed tables. She turned heads, did Roxanne Wake.

  They didn’t shake hands. She was keeping her distance. He guessed her plan was let him make all the running. He didn’t have a plan, except to keep talking and just see what happened. He felt a pang of remorse. He hated hurting people. Feared it. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, despite what she had done. Or was it, he asked himself with a stab of self-loathing, because of what she had done?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Roxanne woke at five and couldn’t get back to sleep. She should have been exhausted, but her head was buzzing. In fourteen hours she would be seeing Nic Gabriel. She could not face going in to work. Contracts and collective agreements, policies and procedures, none of them mattered any more. A world existed beyond the law and she was about to step back into it.

  Chloe’s peaceful face was turned to her. Without make-up, her complexion was blotchy, but it didn’t matter. Was Chloe serious about killing Nic Gabriel? She was a romantic with a reckless streak who would sacrifice anything for love. Herself included. But Roxanne could not let her do it. She owed it to both of them to deal with Nic herself.

  The clock on the bedside table ticked loudly. As the minutes crawled by, Roxanne found images of Grant Dennis crowding together in her head. Grant laughing with her, Grant kissing her, Grant hurting her. The final scene crept back into mind, making her squirm. Grant on fire, Grant in agony, Grant staggering away to hurl himself to his death.

  At last the alarm rang and Chloe stirred. Roxanne shook her by the shoulder and, when she had come round, told her that she meant to take the day off work.

  ‘Good idea,’ Chloe said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I’ll call in sick as well.’

  ‘No need.’ Roxanne touched Chloe’s side. ‘I know what must be done.’

  ‘Forget it. I’m not leaving you alone,’ Chloe said. ‘Not today of all days.’

  ‘It’s sweet of you,’ Roxanne said. ‘I know you’d do anything, but…’

  ‘I would, too.’ Chloe’s jaw jutted out. ‘Believe me. Anything.’

  Roxanne squeezed her lover’s hand. Chloe might think she understood murder, but she didn’t. No one did, no one who had not committed the act. The emptiness when you’d ended someone’s life, there was no imagining it, it resembled no hunger even she had ever felt.

  People on the train and in the street were bad-tempered, quick to take offence. Everywhere they went, petty arguments kept breaking out. Chloe said it was the weather, the British couldn’t cope with extreme heat. Neither of them cared. They were wearing summer dresses with nothing underneath. Chloe’s idea. She said her last boyfriend had persuaded her to try going around minus underwear and she’d found she loved it. It gave Roxanne a buzz, too, stealing a sidelong glance at her lover’s curves beneath the thin cotton dress. She’d not been so turned on since the early days with Grant.

  At Marble Arch, they paused at a bookstall and Chloe flicked through the women’s magazines. ‘Look at this,’ she called, pointing to Roxanne’s horoscope. ‘“Today’s stars. Mars and Uranus make this an unforgettable day. You have to make an important decision. Trust your instincts and be brave.” Many a true word! Are you nervous?’

  Roxanne shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about tonight.

  ‘Let’s go to Harrods,’ Chloe said, putting a hand on Roxanne’s rump, rubbing it gently through the wispy dress. ‘I’ll treat us to a smoked salmon lunch. How does that sound?’

  Roxanne laughed and said it sounded fine, although a bottle of mineral water was all she wanted. She picked at her food. The hunger pangs were constant, but she told herself it was a good thing. The gnawing in her stomach would help to keep her wits about her. If she were to make it through the evening, she would need to be alert. Right now, she didn’t want to talk about it, but Chloe had other ideas.

  ‘I ought to be jealous. What happens after you’ve had dinner? Suppose he takes advantage, asks you back home with him, what then? You can’t just say no.’

  ‘Listen.’ Roxanne leaned across the table and took Chloe’s hand. ‘The less you know, the better. Okay?’

  Chloe tried another tack. ‘What are you going to wear? It needs to be great. A man like that, he’ll be used to having the best-dressed girls on his arm.’

  Roxanne hadn’t even given it a thought. She preferred to play things by ear. One more reason, maybe, why she would never make it in the law. Instinct was no substitute for a comprehensive skeleton argument.

  ‘I’m not much of one for posh clothes,’ she said. ‘Cassandra Lee was different. She loved spending money on stuff she might only wear once in her life.’

  ‘Cassandra wasn’t such a fool,’ Chloe said dreamily.

  ‘She only ever thought about herself,’ Roxanne said. ‘You’d have hated her.’

  Chloe squeezed Roxanne’s hand. ‘You’re always too hard on yourself. Me, I feel sorry for Cassandra. She only did what a lot of other people would have done, in that situation. She was a victim, there’s no shame in that. It wasn’t her fault.’

  Roxanne snatched her hand away. ‘I don’t want to talk about Cassandra Lee.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Chloe was meek. ‘Clothes, then. Like I said, you need to wow him. Not just any old dress. I’m going to treat you.’

  It finished with an unexpected squabble. Chloe found a halter neck minidress and persuaded her to try it on. Gucci, ultra-glamorous, perfect in every way except for the price. Even Cassandra would have thought twice about asking Grant to fork out for it. But Chloe was in raptures and, on impulse, announced that she would buy it for her. At first, Roxanne assumed she was joking. But Chloe kept insisting.

  ‘I can’t let you do that,’ Roxanne said. ‘Honestly, it’s sweet of you, but please forget it.’

  ‘I’m buying it, and that’s that. Whatever you say. Even if you walk away from here, I’m paying for it. Trouble is, it’s too small for me, so you’ll have to take it. You can’t stop me, so why not get used to it?’

  Roxanne was aghast. ‘But the money. You can’t possibly…’

  ‘Listen to me.’ Chloe put her mouth to Roxanne’s ear. ‘My ex, he wanted to part on good terms. He put some cash into my account, sort of a goodbye gift.’

  Hush money, Roxanne thought, but she kept her mouth shut. Had Ben been afraid she’d embarrass him, wreck his marriage, maybe even his career?

  ‘I won’t tell you how much he gave me, but it was enough to make your eyes water. More than I’ve ever had to my name in my life. I could have gone on a cruise, but I’m glad I waited till I met you. There’s no one I’d rather spend his loot on. Even when I’ve put my plastic back in my purse, I’ll have a few quid left over.’

  In the end, Chloe prevailed. Roxanne watched her
signing the credit card slip with a flourish. She was beginning to realise how strong Chloe was. Her secret was simple: she never took no for an answer.

  Outside, car and taxi horns hooted furiously at every minor infraction, sweating tourists jostled each other as they swarmed along the pavements. Roxanne felt her forehead burning. Her lips were dry and sore. They had a grapefruit juice in a cafe in Dean Street, just to cool down. Roxanne blinked at the tang in her throat. As long as she kept up her intake of fluid, lack of food wouldn’t bother her. Tomorrow, she would begin to eat again.

  Chloe sucked the last dregs noisily through her straw and said, ‘You’re off home to get ready soon, then?’

  She was solicitous, Roxanne thought, like a boxer’s second. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘He’ll aim to put you at your ease, soften you up.’ Chloe cast her eyes down and added, ‘Ready for the kill.’

  ‘I told you before,’ Roxanne said. ‘I’ll make sure there’s no need to worry. Depend on it.’

  ‘Well, if you’re confident you can take care of yourself – and things…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a gorgeous dress.’ Chloe paused. ‘You’ll knock him dead.’

  They said goodbye in Soho. Roxanne needed to get back to Leytonstone and said she was going to pick up the Tube. Chloe started to say something, but Roxanne stopped her.

  ‘It will be okay.’

  ‘You’ll give me a ring?’

  ‘When I can.’

  Roxanne gave her a peck on the cheek and turned away. For a moment she wondered if she would ever see Chloe again, but she told herself not to play the drama queen. Before heading for the Underground station, she stopped off at a sex shop in Wardour Street, the first time she’d been through the doors of such a place since a visit to a seedy fetish shop where Grant Dennis had an account. She knew what she was looking for and they had it in stock. A pair of bondage handcuffs in a gaudy package: Guaranteed escape-proof or your money back!