The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  “I will. Thank you, Mama. For everything.” She kissed her mother’s cheek.

  Marisol touched her finger to Luz’s lips, half an affectionate gesture, half a reminder. Luz understood.

  Chapter 15

  “Hey, Beatrice, I reckon you’re in there.” Kevin sidled up as Aguirre led the party back to the assembly point for tasting. And naturally, shopping.

  Jase wiggled his eyebrows and could not suppress a grin. “Play your cards right and you could be going home with more than a plastic cup. He couldn’t keep his hands off you.”

  Beatrice laughed at their semi-salacious teasing. “He is a gentleman and took pity on me, as an older lady on her own. I have to say, he really is a fascinating speaker. Didn’t you think?”

  “He were all right. But we didn’t get the personal touch, see? ‘Look at this, Ms Stubbs. Would you like to stand here, Ms Stubbs? This is a superlative view.’ Old Aguirre is on t’prowl.” Kevin’s impression was remarkably accurate. “Well, Beatrice, keep your hand on your ha’penny, that’s all I’ll say.”

  Tyler nudged her with an elbow. “I suppose we’re dumped now you’ve hooked yourself a Latino, hey? Typical woman. Three handsome blokes, all fit as a butcher’s dog, but no. She’s had her head turned by a more expensive vintage.”

  The lads’ protective loyalty amused Beatrice and distracted her from the obvious question. Why would Arturo de Aguirre go out of his way to be charming and solicitous to some dowdy old trout? Unless he knew, or wanted to know, something.

  The tour, the sunshine and one glass of white Rioja had finished the Danes off. The British couple headed straight for the shop, so only Beatrice and the boys were graced by the presence of their host. Kevin and Tyler kept exchanging knowing looks, but Jase, with good manners and genuine interest, engaged the man in conversation, allowing Beatrice to make her own assessment.

  The man had a presence you could not ignore. His voice sent vibrations through the wooden furniture, his expansive inclusion of everyone worked its charm on even the most suspicious and his anecdotes and incidental facts about the wine made the small group feel fortunate for his insight. Yet, for all his magnetism, it seemed his eyes were drawn to her. She sensed his gaze as she sipped, laughed and checked her watch.

  “Señor Aguirre, I need to get a taxi back to Vitoria. Do you happen to have a telephone I could use?”

  Tyler put down his glass. “Beatrice, we could give you a lift, if you like. It’s no bother. We’re staying in Vitoria.”

  Aguirre beamed at them. “Vitoria? Perfect. I have to collect some items from the city this afternoon. Ms Stubbs, I would be happy to drive you myself. And then, perhaps you and these young gentlemen would allow me to invite you for pinxtos in one of our most famous bars. An insider tip, I think you’d say.”

  He didn’t wait for agreement but beckoned the barman to give instructions.

  Beatrice ignored all three of the smug expressions surrounding her. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I must just visit the ladies’ room.”

  Stone steps in flip-flops demanded careful concentration, but when a figure crossed the flagstones and disappeared in the direction of the toilets, Beatrice stopped dead. Why was Ana here? She hurried down the steps and opened the door. Immediately, she realised her mistake. The girl placing a bouquet of sweet peas in a vase in front of the mirror had long dark hair, a slender figure and a pleasant smile, but that was as far as the resemblance went. Ana’s fine features and glowing skin were absent, replaced by a broad forehead and sallow complexion. Her nose stamped her unmistakeably as Aguirre’s daughter, clear as a cattle brand.

  Beatrice returned the smile. “Buenos dias.”

  “Buenos dias. I think you’re one of the English party, no?”

  “That’s right. The tour was most entertaining.”

  The girl’s smile seemed to fade a little. “Yes, my father is a great ambassador for Rioja. The UK is our biggest export market, you know.”

  “So I hear. I’m not surprised. It’s a wonderful wine. You must be very proud of him.”

  “Wonderful, yes. Well, I mustn’t detain you. Have a nice day, Ms Stubbs.”

  “Thank you. You too.”

  Only as she was washing her hands and inhaling the perfume of the sweet peas did it occur to Beatrice to wonder how the girl had known her name.

  She checked her watch as she ascended the steps to join her companions, quite unnecessarily as the growls in her stomach were already announcing lunchtime. The lapse of concentration proved unwise. Her foot didn’t clear the step, the flip-flop caught the edge and tipped her forwards onto her knees, and the bridge of her nose connected painfully with stone.

  She cried out. Pain shot through her face, her eyes watered and she tasted blood.

  “Oh my God! Are you okay?” The girl rushed down the stairs and turned Beatrice to face her. “Let me see.” She removed Beatrice’s hand from her face and winced. “You have a nosebleed. Come, we need to get ice on that before you get a black eye. These steps! One of these days, someone will sue. Come, can you stand?”

  The kitchen, illuminated only by a pale blue fly-killing fluorescent, was a cool and silent oasis of stainless steel. Beatrice sat on a stool, holding kitchen roll to her face while the girl dug in the fridge for ice. Her whole head throbbed, her teeth ached and her knee was already stiffening.

  “The ice must be upstairs, behind the bar. Put this on for now while I get some.” She handed Beatrice a bag of frozen spinach. The cold went from relief to agony in seconds, springing fresh tears to add to the mess on her face. She kept up the pressure for as long as she could stand it, and then removed the spinach. Again, relief for an instant, before the pulsing pain returned, spreading across her face and into her head.

  Loud voices came from outside the door. Aguirre’s daughter sounded shrill and determined, although Beatrice couldn’t understand a word. The door opened and Aguirre strode across the floor, followed by his daughter.

  “Ms Stubbs, I am horrified by this. To have such an accident, here, at the Castelo! I insist on taking you to the hospital personally. I will ensure you get the best treatment, all at my expense. What a terrible thing to happen!”

  The girl offered Beatrice ice wrapped in a tea towel, guiding it to her face. The pain, metallic and relentless, forced her eyes to close.

  “Keep it on, Ms Stubbs, even if it does hurt. You can go to the hospital, if you want. But I have studied first aid. I can check if it’s broken in ten seconds. If it’s not, there’s no point in going to hospital. You just need to keep it clean and cold and get some rest. What do you think?”

  “Luz! Don’t be ridiculous.” Aguirre’s tone bordered on menacing.

  His daughter’s calm voice held a hint of stubbornness. “It’s up to Ms Stubbs.”

  A voice came from the doorway. “That would be the best solution, I believe. Good afternoon, Ms Stubbs. My name is Marisol de Aguirre. I’m Arturo’s wife. I’m so sorry to hear what happened. It must be very painful for you. Luz is right, you should keep the ice on to minimise the bruising. If you will allow her to check, she can either get medical help or simply clean you up and drive you home.”

  The word ‘home’ worked like a talisman. “Yes, I think that might be best. You do it, Luz. But please don’t hurt me ... I have a terribly low pain threshold.”

  Luz put her hand on Beatrice’s. “It will hurt. But as I said, only a couple of seconds.”

  The woman spoke again. “We will give you some privacy. Come, Arturo.”

  The door closed, Luz lifted the ice pack and Beatrice whimpered.

  By the time Luz had applied butterfly stitches to the cut, cleaned Beatrice’s face and found her a T-shirt to replaced the bloodied twin set, the men had gone. On the bar sat an envelope containing a note of heartfelt regret from Aguirre and his wife. Propped next to it was a napkin with Kevin’s number scrawled across it. He’d also written the name of their hotel, and ‘Let us know how you are’ with three kisses. Beatrice tucked bo
th into the carrier bag containing her soiled clothes. Once belted into Luz’s Peugeot, she replaced the ice pack against her face.

  “How are you feeling?” Luz turned to her as she started the engine.

  “Stupid, mostly. With a pounding headache. I need to lie down in a darkened room for a few hours, I think.”

  “Good idea. I could find no signs of concussion, so a sleep should be just what you need. Which hotel are you staying at in Vitoria?”

  “I’m staying with a friend. In Calle Cuchillería. Do you know it?”

  “Very well. It has some great bars.” She pulled out of the estate and onto the main road. “Is that why you’re here? To visit a friend?”

  “No, I’m on a sabbatical from my job. Trying to decide if I should take early retirement. So I thought a holiday in Spain and Portugal would be a good way to start.”

  “Definitely. What do you do?”

  Beatrice hesitated. “I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Police in London.”

  Luz took her eyes off the road to look at Beatrice, her expression hidden by her sunglasses. She turned to face front.

  “That sounds like a great job. I admire people like you. It must be fantastic to know you are making the world a better place, every day. That’s exactly why I want to work in law. I know your job can’t be easy, and neither is pursuing the legal profession, but you are helping people, directly. Why do you want to retire?”

  Beatrice considered her response while watching the lush colours of the landscape undulate into the distance.

  “You’re right. It’s not always easy to see it, because I spend most of my time exploring the darker end of society. But yes, we do make a difference. And that’s why I’m thinking about retiring. Because I’m not sure I’m good enough.”

  “Hmm. I’m not sure I’m good enough either. To be honest, law was not my best subject. The important thing for me is that I have passion. I want to help people, fight for them so they get what they deserve. I want to understand their problems and try to do something right. So I will work and work until I am good enough. You should put that ice back on unless you want to look like Rocky.”

  Beatrice did as she was told. “I wonder why you don’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps and take over his successful business. He has passion too.”

  Luz’s tone turned acidic. “Yes, a passion for making money. My father is a great showman, Ms Stubbs. Behind the scenes, it’s a different story. Now, where are you going after you leave Vitoria? Have you worked out your itinerary?”

  Despite her pain, Beatrice recognised the whiff of an opportunity rapidly followed by a changed subject. But she was too tired to care.

  The aftermath of adrenalin left Ana sick and light-headed. She shoved her helmet under the seat and locked the bike. The muscles in her legs felt as if she’d been sprinting and her hands shook like she’d been mainlining caffeine. She hesitated. Maybe she should go into the office, talk to people, seek comfort in companionship. Beatrice might not be back for a while. But the draw of her own balcony, her bright, optimistic flat and some peace to think this through won her over and she headed down the street.

  Unusually, the constant movement of passers-by and chatter billowing from the bars irritated her. A fleeing child shot into her path. Rather than grabbing him and returning him to his mother, she side-stepped and powered on. The sun beat down, her clothes scratched at her skin and the lure of her cool, empty flat shimmered like a mirage ahead.

  She unlocked the front door with a sense of reaching sanctuary and rested her forehead on the cool marble while she waited for the lift. She never usually bothered but today the creaking ascent was exactly what she needed. Had she opted for the steps, her soft footfalls may not have warned the men waiting above. Maybe she would have spotted the shadows looming over the stairwell. The smell of smoke might well have alerted her to her welcoming committee. And then she could have run, fled back out the door, escaped into the cat’s cradle of intersecting streets and alleys, and lost her pursuers.

  The lift ascended with stately grace, giving Ana several moments to breathe deeply, feeling her tension recede. A satisfying clunk announced her arrival on the fourth floor. She yanked open the doors and stepped outside. Her senses, already sharpened from her earlier encounter, screamed alarm signals. The smell of black tobacco and body odour, the sound of shifting feet and the shapes moving in her direction pumped a chemical reaction to danger and she jerked back into the lift, knowing as she did so, the futility of such a move.

  Four of them, two older, two younger. The thick-necked younger one reached out his hand as if to cup her arm. The gesture served two purposes; invitation and threat. She came out of her own accord. One of the older men had a missing finger. Ana wasn’t surprised.

  She raised her voice. This was one occasion when nosy neighbours could prove useful.

  “Right. I’ve had enough of this. What do you want? I should report you to the police for harassment. I know it was you in that ...”

  Thick-neck smiled and guided her forward to her own front door with his right hand on her back and his left jabbing a blade under her ribcage.

  The greying, saggy-faced older man spoke with a weary bluntness. “Let us into the apartment and keep your mouth shut.”

  She spent several seconds fumbling for her keys, still hoping a neighbour might intervene; perhaps an enquiry would float down from an upper floor, an act of casual curiosity could rescue her. The other young meathead took her bag, snatched up the keys and had the door open in seconds.

  Thick-neck slid his arm around her waist and looked down the neck of her shirt. With a shit-eating grin, he jerked his head towards her apartment. “Ladies first.”

  He shoved her into the hallway. She turned to face the four men as they approached. Missing Finger was smoking. The saggy-faced guy indicated the door and the meathead, still holding her bag, locked it. Thick-neck stood openly leering at her.

  Missing Finger spoke. “Ana, go back to Portugal. That’s an order.”

  Ana found her voice. “Fuck you.”

  He exhaled a foul cloud of smoke in her direction. “Funny you should say that. To be honest, it’s all the same to me. Go back to Portugal, stay here in Spain. I don’t care. But the boys ...” he looked at the two thugs. “The boys would prefer it if you stayed. Because if you disobey me, they will be responsible for your punishment. And it seems your minds are running along the same lines.”

  He lowered himself into an armchair and without taking his eyes from her, nodded his permission. The saggy-faced one folded his arms and leant against the wall as the two thugs, practically salivating, approached her.

  Chapter 16

  Calle Cuchillería swarmed with activity. Everyone was dressed up, made up and ready to be seen. Couples, families and groups of young men strolled past the bars and cafés, stopping to greet friends, kiss cheeks and shake hands every few paces.

  Luz had repeated her instructions regarding painkillers and herbal teas several times, apparently reluctant to let Beatrice go. Eventually, after extracting a promise of a phone call the following day, she got back in the car and left. Beatrice made her way to Ana’s flat, passing restaurants and street vendors emanating aromas which would normally cause an inevitable delay. Today, however, she needed her bedroom, a cup of tea and a mirror to check the extent of the damage.

  The lift seemed even slower than before, but four flights of stairs was out of the question. The ice pack, now soggy and uncomfortable, dripped onto the lino by her feet. Eventually, the lift released her to do battle with Ana’s apartment door. This time, the door won. Each time the lock seemed to give, another barrier prevented it from opening. Defeated, Beatrice rang the bell and waited. After a full minute of silence, she rapped on the wood, already rehearsing her apology. She was reaching for her mobile when she heard a bolt withdrawn.

  The door opened. Beatrice stood back to allow an ugly, grizzled individual to come out. Unsmiling, he stared at her an
d passed by. He was followed by a hefty farmer-like man in a white shirt, who jerked his head in acknowledgement, and two lumps practising Elvis-type sneers. They moved down the stairs, the last two throwing aggressive looks back up at her. Beatrice rushed into the apartment, locked the door and followed the sounds of vomiting to the bathroom.

  Twenty minutes later, after opening all the windows to get rid of the smell of smoke, Beatrice perched on the edge of the sofa and listened to Ana’s story. A sense of panic escalated as all her previous perspectives shifted and shattered. The unencumbered freedom of the scooter became vulnerability, people’s friendly assistance twisted into sly observation and the sense of solidarity engendered by their collaboration dissipated like the steam off her tea. They were no safer than a pair of kittens on a six-lane motorway.

  “So after you shook them off in the park ...”

  “I made a massive mistake. I came home.”

  Beatrice stomach convulsed. “Oh my God. They were waiting for you. Did they hurt you at all? Ana? Did they hurt you?”

  Ana drew her top lip into her mouth and shook her head.

  “No. They came in, made some unsubtle threats and told me to go back to Portugal. If not, I have to take the consequences.”

  Her tone was casual but Beatrice observed the girl’s demeanour. Legs crossed, or more like wrapped around one another like pipe-cleaners. Her arms crossed her chest, gripping shoulder and elbow, in an attitude of defensiveness and fear. Beatrice felt as if she’d swallowed an ice cube. She slid off the sofa and moved closer to Ana. A memory surfaced, of watching a children’s counsellor interact with a frightened teen. She allowed the recollection to guide her movements and didn’t attempt to touch Ana, kneeling instead beside the armchair.

  “Ana, what did they do?”