by Kitty Neale
With a radiant smile, she said, ‘I’m having a baby.’
‘What! Oh my God, that’s wonderful,’ Edward said, rushing forward to wrap Jennifer in his arms.
‘My turn,’ Delia said.
Edward vigorously pumped Marcos’s hand. ‘Well done and congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Edward, we’re going to be grandparents.’
‘Though smashing news, it makes me feel a bit old.’
‘Nonsense, Marcos isn’t that much younger than us,’ Delia said, but then flushed. Trust her to say the wrong thing, but thankfully Marcos was still smiling, Jennifer too. ‘Of course, Marcos, we were a lot younger than you when we married, so that accounts for it…you know, that we’re about to be grandparents when we’re little older than you.’
‘Delia, before you dig an even deeper hole,’ Edward said, ‘I think we should all have a drink to celebrate this wonderful news.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she agreed, feeling hot and flustered. ‘What can I get you, Marcos?’
‘A whisky please.’
‘Jennifer, what about you?’
‘I think I’d better have something nonalcoholic.’
‘I’ll see to the whisky while you sort Jenny out,’ Edward offered.
‘I’ve told you so many times that a jenny is a female donkey, but I give up now. Come on, Jennifer, leave the men to their whisky and join me in the kitchen. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
‘Lovely,’ she said, ‘but no sugar for me. I’m going to have to watch my weight.’
Delia made the tea, pleased for Jennifer that she was having a baby, though it was still impossible to think of her as a daughter, and it always would be. They did get on now though, jogged along nicely together, and Jennifer, just as she had hoped, had turned out to be useful at last.
‘I’ve got a bit of news for you too, Jennifer. You’re not going to believe this, but Penelope Grainger has actually invited me out to lunch.’
‘Has she now, and what brought that on?’
‘I have to confess I manoeuvred it. You see, when she invited us for coffee, ages ago, I realised that on occasions I overdress, and that I can come over as too formal and pompous at times.’
‘What you, Mummy? Never,’ Jenny said, grinning.
‘Now don’t be cheeky,’ Delia said, yet she was smiling too. ‘You must have noticed that I changed my style.’
‘Yes and I did from the start, but didn’t like to say anything. You certainly dress less formally now.’
‘I also stopped going out of my way to speak to Penelope when I saw her at the WI, but last week she approached me. It seems we now have something in common. Penelope has become acquainted with someone in the diplomatic service, and he, in turn, is acquainted with Beatrice and Timothy.’
‘So that makes you acceptable now? It’s so snobby, Mummy.’
‘Of course it isn’t, and I’m rather looking forward to joining Penelope for lunch. I’ll also encourage Beatrice to hold a dinner party and, along with us, she can invite the Graingers and this mutual acquaintance of theirs too.’
‘Keep us out of it. Marcos won’t want to go.’
‘Honestly, Jennifer, I just don’t understand him. It’s like he wants to live in a castle and your security gates are the drawbridge.’
‘I’ve told you so many times before, Marcos is very busy and tired when he comes home. He just likes to relax during the evening and cherishes his weekends off. He’s only suggested going out to dinner now so we can celebrate the baby.’
Yes, the baby, Delia thought, and she found herself hoping it would be a boy, and a dark-haired one like Marcos. The last thing she needed was another blonde-haired girl, another reminder.
Delia doubted that she would ever be able to think of this coming baby as her grandchild. Of course Edward would adore it…but of course it was easy for him.
Chapter Forty-One
It had all gone to plan, and Marcos was smiling behind his balaclava at the size of the haul. Piece of cake, he thought. They’d be leaving the same way they came in, by the back door, where Dan was waiting in the car a few steps away in St Cross Street.
Careful not to use Liam’s name, Marcos pointed. ‘Take him, and when you get to the car shove him in the boot.’
‘But…but I’ve done what you asked,’ the man protested.
‘Shut up!’ Liam spat. ‘You’ll be released when we’re clear.’
This was where they’d split up and going to the back door, Marcos opened it. He poked his head out and, seeing nothing to worry him, turned back to nod at Bernie.
‘You take the haul, and you,’ he said, looking at Liam, ‘make sure you hold onto him. Now go!’
Bernie was first out, followed by Liam, intent on holding the man as he dragged him towards the car. Marcos yanked off his balaclava, ran out, and was headed in the opposite direction towards Grenville Street when all hell broke loose. There were shouts, yells and when he saw rubbish bins, along with a stack of empty cartons just ahead, Marcos shot behind them. He ducked down, but felt trapped, his mind screaming to get out of there and in a burst of adrenaline Marcos did just that, keeping as close to the wall as he could, expecting to feel hands on him at any moment. He thought he’d never reach Grenville Street, but at last, just ahead, Marcos saw the car, the engine already revving. Tommy, you fucking saint, he thought, dragging open the door and jumping in.
With a scream of tyres Tom shot off towards Farringdon Street, and expecting to hear the sound of sirens, of a police chase, Marcos couldn’t believe it when they actually made it that far.
‘The bastards were waiting,’ he ground out through clenched teeth as they took the corner, heading for the Thames and Blackfriars Bridge.
‘It must have been a tip-off,’ Tom said, keeping up the speed, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
At that time of night, in fact two in the morning, there wasn’t much traffic, just the lights of a lorry coming towards them on the other side of the road. Marcos turned to look out of the back window. There was still no sign of anyone giving chase. Of course only Bernie knew about this part of the plan, and that probably accounted for it, but now his hands clenched into fists. He should have trusted his instincts, should have smelled the rat.
‘Yes, and from Steve,’ he spat.
Tom turned his head. ‘What! You think it was him?’
The stench of his breath hit Marcos. ‘For fuck’s sake Tommy, have you been drinking?’
The car swerved. ‘Watch out!’ Marcos yelled, but it was too late, they were veering onto the other side of the road and into the path of the lorry.
There was a sickening crunch. It was the last sound Marcos heard.
Paul Ryman wasn’t surprised that Steve looked gloomy. The ones they’d nabbed had been carted off to the station and the premises secured as Steve said, ‘I can’t believe Cane slipped away. He didn’t say anything about that part of the plan.’
Paul felt sorry for him. Steve had been undercover for ages, worming his way in, and unless they apprehended Cane it would have all been for nothing. ‘We’ll get him and in the meantime at least we’ve got the other two.’
‘Shit,’ Steve said angrily, Paul’s words failing to console him. ‘Cane fell for the lot, had no idea it was a setup, that Keith here wasn’t really the jeweller and I wasn’t holding his family hostage.’
‘Come on, back to the station,’ the DI ordered as he walked to their side. ‘We’ve got those two to interview and a debriefing before we can call it a night.’
‘Waste of time if you ask me,’ Steve said, the two of them lagging behind the DI as they walked to the cars. ‘They won’t tell us where Cane is heading.’
‘He won’t get far,’ Paul said, hoping to placate the man.
‘He’s a slippery bastard, and knowing him he’ll have a contingency plan, probably one to get out of the country.’
‘If he tries that, they’ll get him at passport control.’
‘Oh yeah, you think he’ll take a normal route?’ Steve said sarcastically. ‘He’ll have a small boat on standby somewhere, ready to slip across the Channel unnoticed.’
They reached the cars and were about to get in when a uniformed officer approached the DI. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘You put out a warning to all units?’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘It might be a coincidence, but we’ve just heard about a car crash on Farringdon Street, a nasty one.’
‘You might as well check it out, Paul.’
‘What about me, sir?’ Steve asked.
‘I doubt it’s anything and therefore Paul can handle it.’
The DI obviously thought this was a waste of time, Paul thought, just sending him to check it out, but he nonetheless followed the patrol car to Farringdon Street.
As he approached, the lights of an ambulance were flashing, the fire brigade already there too. Paul got out of his car and found himself staring at the mangled remains of another. He moved closer, gagged, while the uniform beside him said stoically, ‘They’re not a pretty sight, sir.’
‘Who is that in the ambulance?’
‘The lorry driver,’ said the policeman on the scene. The man in the ambulance was sitting up, a bandage wrapped around his head. He looked all right, Paul thought, but he certainly couldn’t say the same for the men in the car.
‘Both dead,’ the policeman on the scene observed. ‘They’ll have to be cut out.’
‘Have you found any ID?’ Paul asked, again fighting nausea.
‘Not yet, but it shouldn’t take long,’ he said as a fireman approached the car with cutters.
As the doors on the first ambulance were being closed, another turned up. ‘No hurry, mate,’ he heard the driver shout to the other. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do for them.’
‘Did the lorry driver tell you what happened?’ Paul asked.
‘He said the car looked to be speeding when it veered onto his side of the road. He didn’t have a chance to do anything before they hit.’
Paul’s brows furrowed. Speeding! Impatient now, he watched as the bodies were cut out, but with so much blood it was hard to see what was left of their mangled faces. It was the dark hair on one that did it and he leaned closer. Was it him? Shit, it could be. He raced to his car, got on the radio, and then slumped. There was nothing he could do now until Steve turned up. He’d been close to Cane, might be able to make a positive ID, and if it was him…Bloody hell, what a night!
Well over an hour later they were back at the station, celebrating and Paul saw that Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
‘Even with that mangled mug I recognised him,’ he said.
‘Who was the other one?’ Keith asked.
‘Tommy Moon, small fry.’
‘Dead fry now,’ Keith observed.
‘Sick,’ Paul said in mirth.
‘Yeah, I suppose it is really,’ Steve agreed. ‘Moon’s mother is going to take it badly. She’s on her own and he’s all she has.’
‘All she had,’ Keith pointed out.
‘Well, I hope it isn’t down to me to tell her.’
The DI called order. ‘You’re right, their families need to be told, but you’ve done your bit, Steve. Good work too. Now bugger off home and get some sleep, you deserve it.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ he said.
‘You too, Keith.’
He chorused his thanks too, and as the two men left the DI spoke to Paul. ‘Take a female uniform with you and go to Cane’s house. I know it isn’t a nice job, but she’s got to be told.’
‘Which house, sir?’
‘You can go to the one in Wimbledon. Just tell her he was involved in a robbery, died while attempting to escape, and no more. Steve said the young woman had no idea, that she’s innocent in all this, and she’ll find out the rest soon enough. I’ll send someone else to Battersea and when you’ve done your bit you can go home too.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ Paul said. This was the first time he’d had to do a job like this and he was dreading it, but at least he’d have a female uniform on hand if there were any hysterics.
Jenny opened her eyes, but then closed them again. There had been that noise again, one that had intruded into her dream, and for a moment she felt disorientated. The buzz sounded again, and awake enough now to realise that it was the entrance gate, she dazedly reached out to switch on her bedside lamp to look at the clock. Five in the morning! Who on earth was at the gate? Fear clutched her stomach, a dread. Had something happened to Marcos? Had there been an accident?
She flung back the blankets and grabbed her dressing gown, throwing it around her as barefoot she hurried downstairs. Frantically she pressed the intercom.
‘Yes, who is it?’
‘Police. Let us in please.’
Jenny pressed the button to allow entry. She then shoved her arms into her dressing gown, her heart beating like a drum in her chest as she fumbled to tie the cord. At last she managed it, and at the sound of car doors slamming she opened the door. It was dark and Jenny quickly turned on the outside light to see a man and a policewoman. Her legs trembled, and she almost caved, clutching the doorframe for support.
No, no, not Marcos! Please, not Marcos!
Hands supported her, and Jenny found herself staring up at the man. He looked vaguely familiar and she blinked, but then the policewoman said, ‘By the look of her she needs to sit down.’
‘Which way?’ the man asked.
Jenny pointed to the drawing room, glad of his continued support, and soon, head swimming, she found herself sitting on the sofa. For a moment nobody spoke, but then the policewoman said, ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
‘No, no,’ Jenny said, feebly shaking her head. She dreaded the words, wanted to shut them out, but then the man spoke.
‘I’m here to inform you that Marcos Cane was involved in a robbery.’
It wasn’t what Jenny expected to hear and the first thing she felt was relief, swiftly followed by denial. ‘That’s impossible.’
As though she hadn’t spoken, the man said, ‘I’m afraid that while attempting to escape there was an accident.’
Jenny frowned, unable to make sense of any of this. Marcos wouldn’t have been involved in a robbery. They had made a mistake, a dreadful one. ‘Where was this accident?’
‘In London, on Farringdon Street.’
Angrily she said, ‘Marcos is in Wales! You come here, saying such dreadful things but you’ve obviously got him mixed up with someone else!’
‘There’s no mistake, he’s been identified, and the accident was a bad one. He…he didn’t survive.’
Jenny found herself staring up at the man, his words impossible to believe.
‘No, I told you, it can’t be Marcos. He’s in Wales!’
The policewoman knelt in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t made a mistake. The ID was positive, and the man with him, his associate, has been identified too. Perhaps you know him. Thomas Moon?’
Jenny gasped. Tom, Edna’s son! She saw pity in the policewoman’s eyes, compassion. She felt odd, sick, and the truth when it hit her was more than she could bear. Her vision blurred, the room dimmed. Sinking into darkness, Jenny knew no more.
Chapter Forty-Two
On Sunday morning, Delia was pacing in the kitchen. ‘Edward, I don’t know how to comfort Jennifer. She fell downstairs yesterday, lost the baby, and with Marcos gone too she’s inconsolable.’
‘What do you expect?’
‘I know, I know, but she should have been admitted when she was taken to hospital.’
‘Jenny refused and they couldn’t force her to stay. If there are any complications we’ll insist she goes back, but so far, with you to look after her, Jenny seems fine.
‘I still think she should be in hospital.’
‘Delia, she just wanted to grieve in private. She wouldn’t be able to do that in a hospital ward.’
‘Yes, I supp
ose so, but I feel so inadequate. All she said is that Marcos died in a car accident, but other than that I can’t get a word out of her.’
‘For goodness’ sake, she’s still in shock, and it’s little wonder she doesn’t want to talk.’
‘I…I thought it might help.’
‘I know, I know, dear,’ Edward consoled.
‘I’ll try again. It’s gone nine, I’ll see if she’ll eat a little breakfast.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ said Jenny, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door.
‘Jennifer, you shouldn’t be up!’
‘I can’t stay in bed forever,’ she said, taking a seat at the table.
‘How are you feeling, darling?’ Edward asked.
‘I’m…
’ Jenny was interrupted as the entry system buzzed. She didn’t move, but Edward did. ‘I’ll see who it is.’
‘I don’t want to see anyone.’
‘I know, darling,’ he said.
‘I know you don’t want anything to eat, dear,’ Delia said, ‘but would you like a cup of tea? There’s a fresh pot made.’
‘Yes…yes please.’
Delia had only just poured it when she heard the sound of raised voices and moments later a woman stormed into the kitchen.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want?’
‘I tried to stop her,’ Edward said, hurrying in behind her.
‘He killed him! He killed my son!’
‘Now look here…’
‘It’s all right, Mummy,’ Jennifer said. ‘This is Edna and her son died in the crash too.’
‘It was down to Marcos,’ the woman cried. ‘He killed my Tommy.’
‘Of course he didn’t,’ Delia said. ‘It was a tragic accident.’
‘My boy shouldn’t have been there. You’ve seen the newspapers, but my Tommy wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like him.’
‘Jennifer, what on earth is she talking about?’
There was no answer. Jennifer just placed both hands across her face and gave a groan of anguish, followed by a sob.