by Alan Veale
*
‘Please be careful,’ Helen Vinke gasped, as Meredith lifted Billie semiconscious into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, then pushed his arms into the bathrobe sleeves. ‘I thought he’d gone back to sleep, but he was trying to say something.’
‘What? Give me that water.’ Meredith reached out for the glass in her hand.
‘It sounded like “knee daffrin”… Oh!’
Her reaction was a little less shocked than Billie’s as the water was flung into his face. He blinked, opened his mouth for a quick breath and then tried to shake his head. Massive mistake.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Billie would have said more, but his brain was already preoccupied with processing the pain, the presence of two strangers (one female) and the amount of his naked body still on show.
‘Get some more,’ ordered Meredith. ‘But forget the aspirin. He’ll manage. And take your time.’
She opened her mouth in protest, realised the challenge was futile, and left the room. Meredith closed the door behind her, brushed some droplets of water from the sleeve of his jacket, and eased himself into the armchair. Billie pulled the bathrobe around him, feeling for the tie to make it more secure. With that barrier in place, he lifted his head and glared at his adversary.
‘Who the hell—’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Vane.’ His tone was calm and polite, but the eyes were not welcoming. ‘It’s about time we had a proper conversation. So I’ll start with a little information for you, and then it will be your turn. Fair enough?’
Billie remained silent.
‘The name is Meredith. I’m in charge here. You are free to leave at any time, but if you do, I want the bathrobe back.’ He paused, letting the consequence of that idea sink in. ‘I work for a higher authority, and it seems you’ve been helping someone with contrary interests to my employer. I present to you Exhibit A.’ He produced Emma’s covering letter from the Titanic document, holding it up so that Billie could clearly identify it. ‘Then we have Exhibits B and C.’ Now he retrieved two mobile phones from his inside pocket, holding each up for Billie’s inspection before placing them together on one arm of his chair.
Billie could sense his throat tightening in despair, but still felt the need to ask a question. ‘Where are my clothes?’
‘Not here. Probably in a charity bag somewhere. You won’t need them.’
‘You’re working for Peter Gris.’
Meredith’s only reaction was a slight twitch of the mouth. Almost a smile, maybe. He said nothing.
‘I’d like my things back, please. You’ve no right to do this.’
‘I’ve every right. And yes, you can have your things back, once I’m satisfied you’ve told me everything I need to know.’
Billie understood the threat behind the words, and felt absurd relief at a light knock on the door. Meredith pursed his lips in annoyance, pocketing the letter and phones before barking out a command.
‘Come in!’ He stood and took a step nearer to Billie as Helen entered the room clutching a fresh glass of water. ‘Five minutes. Then I want him downstairs and ready to talk.’
Billie found himself holding his breath as Meredith left the room, a waft of expensive cologne in his wake. Helen’s presence was more welcoming. He looked into a pair of grey-blue eyes as she sat on the bed next to him, and handed him the glass.
‘Thanks.’ He sipped gratefully.
‘Are you another policeman?’
‘What?’
‘Are you a policeman? Why did he hit you?’
‘No! No, I’m not. As for why… you didn’t get me an aspirin, did you?’
A nervous smile. She opened her fist closest to him to reveal a couple of white pills. He looked down, then past her face towards the corner of the ceiling.
‘We’re being watched, aren’t we?’
‘Yes. But they can’t hear us.’
‘Sure?’ He palmed the pills.
‘It only displays video when there’s movement. No sound. My husband and I had it installed. They’re in most of the rooms.’
‘Who are you? Where is this place?’ He popped the aspirin and slurped some more water.
‘I’m Helen Vinke. My husband—’
‘The writer? This is your house? Emma told me…’ He stopped. Was it safe to say anything to anybody about Emma? Then another thought occurred. ‘Are you being held against your will?’
A tear appeared and her face crumpled. She nodded once and let her head drop, reaching into a pocket for a tissue. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I don’t know where Eric is.’
‘Wait a minute. You asked me if I was another policeman. What did you mean?’
She looked at him as if he was mad. ‘Did I? I don’t remember… I’m sorry. Sometimes I suffer short-term memory loss. We’d better go. He’ll want to see you.’
As she pushed herself off the bed, Billie felt a sudden rush of panic. ‘Is he here? Peter Gris?’
‘No, he’s dead. Didn’t you know?’
Billie stood up carefully, testing his balance before following Helen through the open door. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that. Meredith must work for him, surely?’
They were at the top of a flight of stairs, a small landing around a dozen steps below, where a second set made a dogleg to the next floor. Helen stood to one side, watching as Billie clutched the bannister rail for support. A huge frosted picture window at landing level was ablaze with sunshine as the rain subsided, and Billie blinked at the intensity of the light.
‘Well, I know that he did. But now?’
They made their way down the stairs, Billie surprised at how shaky he still felt, and how bilious. He was struggling to make sense of anything. Trying to remember what happened in Bootle. A face in a doorway. The man who called himself Meredith. He must have been the one that hit him. But where was Emma? She was working with Vinke, so surely… ‘Have you seen Emma?’
‘NO!’ Helen’s reaction seemed unwarranted. ‘Stop asking me questions! I’ve told you all I know!’ They had reached the landing together. The sunlight was no longer in his eyes and he stared at her angry face.
‘Helen?’ Meredith’s calm voice, waiting at the foot of the stairs. ‘I wonder just what you do know. Come down here now. Both of you.’
They descended the last steps in silence, Billie feeling even more alarmed, especially at Meredith’s next invitation.
‘There’s someone here who’s keen to meet you. Follow me.’
Meredith led the way through an archway, where the house underwent a transformation. Billie realised he was leaving an older building and entering a huge extension comprising a vastly contrasting suite of rooms. His legs still felt weak as they walked through a large modern kitchen, glistening grey-faced units and white marble worktops, wood-effect flooring and floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. There were well tended shrubs and a glimpse of trees beyond, cane patio furniture and a manicured lawn. Then they were in another space, a dining area or maybe a boardroom? Original artwork, mainly landscapes, bedecked the plain white walls, and a vase bursting with a riot of summer blooms drew the eye to the centre of a highly polished table. It was big enough to set a dozen places, but at present Billie’s eyes were drawn to a figure sitting with his back to the door. The top of a bald head protruding above a neck rest, attached to a beast of an electric wheelchair.
Meredith led Billie further into the room, stopping part way down the length of the table at a point where his boss could comfortably inspect their new guest. Billie’s heart thumped loudly as he braced himself for his first sight of Peter Gris. The eyes of his prospective host were hidden behind oversized tinted lenses, the face bloated with purple lips. There seemed little resemblance to the suave politician who had featured so many times in the tabloid press of the 1980s, with his trademark mane of hair and steel-framed glasses. Each looked at the other without comment, before Meredith made the introduction.
‘Mr Vane, sir. And this… this is Sir Antony Jaeger.’
Forty-Four
In Billie’s eyes, the moment was unsettling to say the least. Emma’s story had combined with his own research to paint a picture of Peter Gris as some grotesque monster, masquerading behind a political front of charm and bluster. This was certainly not the figure he had imagined. More importantly, it was not even the right name. So who was the portly but elderly gent now beaming up at him from behind large tinted spectacles?
‘The look on your face says it all, dear boy. Please, be my guest. Pick a seat. Any seat. No conjuring tricks here!’
Billie did as he was told, grateful for an opportunity to rest legs liable to turn liquid at any moment. Jaeger glanced down at the three objects Meredith had placed on the table in front of him.
‘An interesting little group, Mr Vane. I wonder if we could have a little discussion about them in a moment or two? But as I am aware you don’t know me from Adam, it may help matters if I explain one or two things.’
Billie said nothing. His throat was still dry, his head sore, and his stomach had started to rumble. He was content for anyone else to do the talking right now, even if it was an effort to concentrate.
‘Peter Gris was my friend. We moved in the same circles, as it were. He in the front line as a Cabinet Minister, myself in the back row as a kind of supporting act. Otherwise known as a civil servant. But at the very top of the pile, you understand. We were a good team, and during our restful hours we had… similar interests.’
‘You mean sexual ones?’ Billie dared to venture.
Jaeger inclined his head slightly. ‘How indelicately put. It seems in recent times our tastes have not been universally accepted, and discretion has become the watchword. Alas, Grizzly was unusually careless. Let me digress for a moment: you are aware we have a new Prime Minister?’
Billie nodded. Following the unexpected result of the referendum in June, the former Home Secretary Bill Leonard had taken on the top job, prompting public dismay among several senior Tories. It was clear Jaeger had strong feelings about the appointment.
‘Mr Leonard has my sympathies, but very little else. As a party we are facing an unprecedented political disaster, namely casting ourselves adrift from our European partners, and we find ourselves being led by a PM with as much backbone as a jellyfish. But that’s politics for you. The man also happens to have produced an heir with morals only slightly more refined than Caligula: Andrew Leonard.’ He spoke the words as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘Unfortunately, he has blue eyes and a pert little bottom, both of which were on Grizzly’s wish list. I couldn’t persuade him to see the little shit for what he was, and so two months ago came the fateful day.’
Billie hadn’t even realised the Prime Minister had a son. As he took very little interest in current political events, he did not fully understand why a friendship between Peter Gris and a younger man should be of interest to anyone else, assuming the boy was not underage. Unlikely, given Bill Leonard must easily be in his sixties. Then Antony Jaeger supplied a good reason for his interest.
‘Andrew Leonard killed my friend.’ He saw Billie’s reaction. ‘Oh, I don’t mean it was murder. It may have been during a fit of temper, but shoving a television remote up his anus didn’t happen by accident. Left him to bleed to death, little sod.’
Billie was aghast. ‘So Peter Gris really is dead?’
‘As the proverbial dodo, I’m sad to say. Does that upset you?’
He couldn’t answer immediately. ‘I’m not sure. I mean, I’m… sorry you lost your friend, but if what I’ve been told is true—’
‘Ah! But there’s the rub, is it not? Have you been told the truth? Merry, I wonder if you could fetch me some more of those delicious olives, and check what my lovely sister is up to, will you?’
Billie nearly missed it. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that the significance of what Jaeger had said only came to him as Meredith left them alone in the room.
‘Sister? Helen Vinke is your sister?’
Jaeger removed his tinted spectacles with one hand and reached into a pocket for a tissue with the other. ‘Of course. Can you not see the resemblance? Same eyes. Mine are a little cloudy now, and if it weren’t for these things… but yes. My little sister, Helen, has elected to look after her big brother in his dotage. Generous of her, don’t you think? Especially as I had to sling out dear old Eric to persuade her! Okay, that bit may not have been entirely to her liking, but he really wasn’t up to much. Poor old soul. Got a terminal dose, know what I mean?’
Having polished his glasses, Jaeger replaced them and pocketed the tissue. He looked up at Billie expectantly. ‘Meredith is my man now. We are a TEAM. I’m sure you’re familiar with the acronym? Together Each Avenges Misdemeanours.’ Billie looked away in confusion, which made his host chuckle. ‘My apologies. But while your own little band have achieved very little, Merry and I hold the winning hand. Do you play cards, Mr Vane?’
‘Not your sort.’
‘Ah. Then I would encourage you to learn the rules of the game. For example, if I were to play the national security trump card, you probably wouldn’t know what I was talking about.’
At that moment Meredith returned. ‘She’s cooking something for our guest. Here are your olives, and that’s the last of them.’ He placed a small dish next to Jaeger’s elbow. ‘Have you asked him yet?’
‘Hmmm. You’re itching to know, aren’t you? No, I haven’t popped the question, so go ahead. But treat Mr Vane gently. I have the impression he’s still a little concussed. And who’s fault is that?’
Meredith did not react to the dig, electing instead to circle the table slowly. ‘I want to know a little more about this “Titanic document” in your friend’s letter. You’ve obviously found it and read it. So have some others. Where is it now?’
Hardly able to believe it himself, Billie found some inner depths. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ But he still kept his eyes cast down to the table, and missed seeing Meredith raise his eyebrows.
‘Oh dear. Let me put things another way: Who’s Tina?’
It had taken only two words to hit a nerve. Meredith noted Billie’s shocked reaction and twisted the knife. ‘How about we give her a call?’
‘Don’t you fucking dare!’
Jaeger popped another olive and raised the palm of one hand towards Meredith. ‘Enough! You made your point, Merry. I apologise for my friend’s slight clumsiness, Mr Vane, but you see there really is no point being awkward. Er… this Titanic document. Would that be the one that a certain Patrick Faulkner used to try and blackmail Mrs Thatcher?’ Without waiting for an answer, he pressed on. ‘Because that was when I last saw it, just before Maggie put Grizzly in charge of disposal. Remember what I said earlier about national security? I think you should know it was with that specific mantra in mind that a certain agent with a codename of Parsifal went to a small town in Northern Ireland with instructions to eliminate the threat. How do you feel about resuming your duties, Merry?’ He gave a pointed look at the figure stood by his shoulder.
‘I’d be happy to do so,’ said Meredith, his eyes fixed on Billie.
Forty-Five
Billie winced, the new phone back in his hands after removing the password protection. A message typed he didn’t want to send. Dictated by Meredith, its purpose to procure a response that might locate Emma. He felt sick to betray the trust she had placed in him, but Jaeger’s story and Meredith’s presence had left him cowed and intimidated. The former SIS agent stood over him now, demanding to inspect what Billie had typed. Accustomed to taking control at the highest levels, these men had the power to snuff out his life like a candle. What chance did he have? He passed the phone over without a word.
Meredith glanced at the screen and spotted something immediately. He handed it back to Billie. ‘Nice try. No doubt intended to get a subtle message across. I didn’t tell you to use a Christian name, did I?’
Billie’s heartbeat started to sprint. He hadn’t intended
to do anything. He gave Meredith a puzzled look before scanning the message again:
Hi Emma. This is Billie. Thanks for your message. I think we should meet to talk about the document. I’m in Lancashire. Where are you?
‘You and I both know it’s the other twin. Not a very lucky mother, Marion Dearing. Lost two children out of three. Don’t try and be clever with me, Billie Vane. Change that to the correct name if you’re going to use one: Emily.’
Billie kept his eyes on the screen, carefully amending as instructed, while wondering if Meredith had just scored an own goal. So there really were twin sisters, and the girl he and Ed had met at the flat was the other one. But then… that meant… what? God, his head still hurt!
‘Give that to me… good… that’s gone. Let’s see if Emily’s curiosity is piqued by that. If not, we’ll try Plan B.’
*
Billie had been left alone with Helen Vinke in the kitchen, polishing off a fried breakfast. Meredith was on an errand outside somewhere.
‘God, I needed that. Thanks.’
Helen nodded and reached for his empty plate. ‘You did. Wish I had your appetite. I can’t eat anything other than biscuits.’
‘I surprised myself, to be honest. Didn’t think I’d be able to eat a thing. How long is it since your husband—?’
‘Weeks.’ She bowed her head, closing the door on the dishwasher. ‘Months, maybe. I don’t remember. I have short-term memory loss. I’ll make some more tea. What month is it?’
‘August.’ He found himself wondering about her apparent acceptance of this curious domestic situation. Helen Vinke had the air of someone he remembered in Glasgow, a former teacher who eventually lost her job after a nervous breakdown. This woman was definitely on the edge of something. ‘Is Jaeger really your brother?’