Warhol's Prophecy

by Shaun Hutson

  Finally the spell was broken.

  ‘Adam,’ she said, smiling too, ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,’ he said. ‘I was passing by and I hoped you wouldn’t mind me calling in.’ He chuckled. ‘God, that sounds like the worst cliché in the world, doesn’t it?’

  She nodded blankly.

  Just like some stupid schoolgirl. Get a grip.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘I parked it round the corner. Look, if it’s inconvenient, I can go. I just wanted to see if you were in.’

  She stepped aside and ushered him in.

  ‘No, please come in,’ Hailey said. ‘You caught me by surprise, that’s all.’

  He accepted her invitation.

  ‘It’s a beautiful house,’ he said, looking around inside the hall.

  ‘Thanks. Come through.’ She motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. ‘Aren’t you working today?’

  ‘I’ve got to go into London later today. I was just on my way to the station to check on train times, then I realized how close I was to your house.’

  Caroline Hacket turned to look at the newcomer.

  Walker smiled at her.

  ‘Caroline, this is Adam Walker,’ said Hailey. ‘The man I was telling you about. The one who found Becky.’ As she introduced them, she could see approval in Caroline’s eyes.

  They shook hands and Walker continued smiling at her friend.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ Hailey asked.

  ‘I’m disturbing you,’ said Walker, motioning towards the shopping spread out on the worktops and the kitchen table.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Hailey reassured him.

  ‘Any excuse for a break,’ Caroline echoed, her gaze lingering on the newcomer that little bit too long.

  He was wearing the same black jeans and leather jacket he’d sported for his lunch with Hailey the previous day. When she moved past him, she could smell its musky aroma again.

  ‘Are you local, Mr Walker?’ Caroline wanted to know.

  ‘I live locally, if that’s what you mean,’ he told her.

  ‘Adam’s an artist,’ Hailey said.

  ‘What do you paint?’ Caroline enquired.

  ‘Whatever pays the most money.’ Walker grinned again.

  ‘I’ve always wanted my portrait painted,’ Caroline said. ‘In the nude.’

  Hailey raised an eyebrow in her direction.

  ‘I could give you an estimate,’ Walker chuckled.

  All of them laughed.

  Hailey put a cup of coffee down before him, then handed another to Caroline and sat down herself.

  ‘One sugar, isn’t it?’ she said to Walker.

  He nodded. ‘How’s Becky?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘And your husband?’

  ‘He gets back from Manchester tonight. It’s a pity you couldn’t have met him. I’m sure he’d like to thank you for what you did for us.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You rescued my daughter.’

  Walker looked over at Caroline, who was still running appraising eyes over him.

  ‘Are you married, Caroline?’ he enquired.

  ‘I was, twice,’ she told him.

  ‘But not now?’ he continued.

  Caroline shook her head. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I never met the right woman,’ he said, glancing at Hailey briefly.

  ‘I never met the right man, but it didn’t stop me getting married twice.’ Caroline laughed. ‘Marriage is a lottery anyway, isn’t it? Sometimes Mr Right turns out to be Mr Wrong.’ She looked at Hailey, then sipped her coffee.

  ‘Do you live nearby?’ Walker asked her.

  ‘Round the corner,’ Caroline told him.

  ‘We’ve been friends for years,’ Hailey said, ‘God help us. We used to go to dance classes together, didn’t we?’

  Caroline nodded.

  ‘What kind of dancing?’ Walker asked.

  ‘Ballet,’ Caroline informed him. ‘I studied for five years after I left school.’

  ‘Why did you stop? You could have been a famous ballerina by now.’

  ‘I developed back problems. The doctor told me if I didn’t give up dancing I’d be in a wheelchair by the time I was twenty-five.’

  ‘And you did ballet, too, Hailey?’ Walker persisted.

  ‘Only as a form of exercise,’ she told him. ‘We used to have a class at one of the local community centres. It was just a kind of less violent aerobics.’ She laughed.

  ‘Do you work out, Adam?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘No, why do you ask?’

  ‘You’re in good shape. I wondered if you did weights or something like that.’

  ‘I hate gyms. Sweaty blokes standing in front of mirrors staring at themselves and comparing the size of their biceps.’

  ‘Sounds like heaven to me,’ Caroline offered, sipping her coffee.

  ‘Most of them are probably gay anyway,’ Hailey said. ‘Or too obsessed with their own bodies to care about anyone else.’

  ‘Well, they say all the best ones are either gay or married, don’t they?’ Caroline said.

  ‘And what do they say about good-looking women?’ Walker’s gaze strayed to Hailey.

  ‘They’re bitches,’ Caroline told him. ‘All good-looking women are total bitches.’ She smiled.

  ‘Not all of them,’ Walker said.

  He took another sip of his coffee.

  ‘I should leave you ladies alone,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have disturbed you – but, like I said, I was passing and . . .’

  ‘You’re not disturbing us. Besides, Caroline was just going,’ Hailey interjected.

  ‘Was I?’ Caroline said, smiling. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right, I was.’ She got to her feet.

  ‘Nice to have met you, Caroline.’ Walker rose.

  He shook her hand, and she felt the strength in his grip.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ said Hailey to her friend.

  Caroline gathered up her own bags of shopping and headed for the front door. On the doorstep she smiled at Hailey.

  ‘I can see why I’m in the way,’ she said. ‘He’s gorgeous. Call me later and tell me what happens.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ Hailey told her.

  ‘It would if I was alone in there with him.’

  ‘Well, you’re not,’ Hailey chuckled.

  ‘Are you going to tell Rob about him?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell, except he was the one who found Becky.’

  ‘And he’s gorgeous, and you fancy him? And don’t try to deny it. I’ve seen how you look at him.’

  ‘’Bye, Caroline,’ Hailey said, smiling.

  Caroline leant close to her ear, her voice a whisper.

  ‘Tell me if he’s good with his tongue,’ she murmured.

  Hailey slapped her on the arm.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ she laughed.

  ‘Lucky bitch,’ Caroline said, heading towards the path.

  Hailey closed the front door.

  She stood there for a moment, trying to control her breathing, aware too that her heart was thudding that little bit more urgently against her ribs. Then she headed back into the kitchen.

  24

  SHE’D BEEN GONE when he’d woken up.

  Rob Gibson had rolled over in bed and reached out towards where he’d expected her to be, but had found only a rumpled sheet.

  He had no idea what time Sandy Bennett had left the hotel. At first he’d wondered if she had left. He’d wondered if he would arrive at the trade fair to find her waiting for him there. But, no, that was not to be.

  He’d smelled her scent on the sheets when he woke, rolling across to where she had lain.

  There had been no warmth there, so she’d obviously been gone for some time. He’d must have been sleeping more soundly than he thought, for her to dress and pack her meagre belonging
s and to slip unheard from his hotel room.

  Going where?

  Back to his company offices?

  Would he arrive there tomorrow to find her sitting at her desk as usual?

  Rob had rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

  He had thought back to the previous night: the passion.

  Could you really feel such passion with someone you didn’t love?

  He was now sure you could. He knew that was possible, because he didn’t love Sandy.

  That was one of the rules. You didn’t fall in love with your mistress, did you?

  Did you?

  He was now standing on the BG Trucks stand in the G-Mex centre, surrounded by other trade stands, enveloped by the noise of so many voices. And yet he felt isolated. Faces passed by and glanced at him; some even stopped and spoke to him, and he answered with practised, robotic words and actions. It was as if he was functioning in some kind of limbo – outside himself. Rob felt as if he was standing to one side, looking back at his own body. A kind of astrally projected selling, he mused.

  His mind was elsewhere.

  With Sandy?

  He inhaled deeply.

  Or with Hailey and Becky?

  What would Hailey do if she ever found out what had happened last night?

  He took a sip from the styrofoam cup close by, wincing when he discovered his coffee was cold.

  That was it, he told himself: it was over now. The previous night had been a one-off. ‘For old times’ sake,’ Sandy herself had said.

  She understood it was over between them, too.

  Didn’t she?

  He glanced at his watch and wondered how much longer this fucking trade show was going to last.

  How much longer before he could go home.

  Home to what? To more questions from Hailey?

  What had he done here? Who had he spoken to? Some of her questions would be innocent. And then the other questions would begin.

  Had he phoned anybody?

  Had he contacted anybody?

  Anybody. Jesus Christ, couldn’t she just say ‘Sandy’?

  But, no, that was part of her rules, wasn’t it?

  You never mentioned the other woman by name. She was always a bitch, a slag, a whore.

  He could feel the beginnings of a headache gnawing at him.

  25

  AS HAILEY WALKED back into the kitchen, she found Walker standing looking at some photographs that hung on the wall near the cooker.

  Photos of Becky.

  ‘She was a beautiful baby,’ he commented, without turning.

  Hailey smiled and joined him, eyeing each of the four framed colour ten-by-eights in turn.

  ‘Those were taken at three months, six months, nine months and one year,’ she explained.

  ‘Who do people say she resembles?’ Walker wanted to know.

  ‘My mum and dad reckon she looked like Rob when she was a baby, but she’s grown more like me as she’s got older.’

  He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the photos.

  ‘Yes, she has. She’s beautiful,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Would you like another coffee?’ Hailey asked. ‘Perhaps you can drink this one in peace. Caroline does tend to go on a bit.’

  ‘She seemed friendly enough.’ He smiled, eyes still scanning the kitchen walls.

  He noticed a couple of roughly drawn crayon sketches, which he guessed had been done by Becky. On another wall hung a calendar featuring different views of New Zealand. Opposite it, next to the phone, a small piece of paper cut from a newspaper had been Blu-tacked to the wall. It featured Sky TV’s live-televised match schedule.

  There were a couple of small framed prints, of the Vatican and the Bridge of Sighs, and another of the Duomo in Florence. Beneath it a framed menu from Lindy’s Restaurant in Times Square.

  ‘You’ve travelled a lot,’ said Walker, studying this array of memorabilia.

  ‘That’s stuff Rob and I brought back from Italy and New York,’ she told him.

  ‘What about your trips abroad with Jim Marsh? Didn’t you bring back anything from those?’

  She put the cup in front of him, and sat down opposite.

  ‘Just odds and ends,’ she said. ‘Usually presents for relatives. I never got too much chance to go shopping, you know. It was hard work.’

  He nodded and sipped his coffee.

  ‘What does your friend Caroline do for a living?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Believe it or not, she’s a writer.’ Hailey chuckled. ‘I know you might find that hard to believe.’

  Walker looked suddenly interested.

  ‘What does she write?’ he asked enthusiastically.

  ‘She’s done a couple of non-fiction books about crime. One of them about serial killers. I don’t think either of them sold that well, but she doesn’t need money from her writing anyway. It’s more of a hobby for her.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she need money?’

  ‘Both her ex-husbands paid her large divorce settlements, and she invested the money wisely.’

  ‘Does she still write now?’ he persisted.

  Hailey nodded. ‘I think she’s working on something at the moment.’

  ‘Another crime book?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She doesn’t talk about it much.’ Hailey grinned. ‘I’m sure if you ask her, she’ll let you have copies of what she’s written.’

  ‘She sounds like a talented woman. I admire talent in anyone. If they’ve got it, they should use it. Talent keeps boredom at bay.’ He smiled.

  ‘I don’t think Caroline’s ever had a boring day in her life,’ Hailey said wistfully.

  ‘And what about you, Hailey?’

  ‘I haven’t got time to be bored. Not with a house, a child and a husband to look after.’

  She was aware of him gazing at her. She met his stare and held it.

  ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, I should have called first and asked if it was OK to come round,’ he said apologetically. ‘But I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said softly.

  They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, drinking their coffee, gazing at one another. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, Hailey realized. There was no need for them to speak. No desperate attempts were necessary to fill the gulf between their snippets of conversation.

  It feels right, doesn’t it?

  She watched as he finished his coffee.

  This stranger.

  You’ve met this guy only twice, and you’re now sitting drinking coffee with him in your own kitchen.

  ‘You certainly have got a beautiful house,’ he said finally. ‘It must have involved a lot of work.’

  She nodded.

  ‘A lot of ambition too,’ he added. ‘This place is like a sign that you’re both successful, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not meant to be. We liked the house, so we bought it. Quite simple really.’ She smiled, but her smile wasn’t returned.

  ‘But people will look at this house and know that someone successful lives here – someone with money,’ he insisted.

  ‘It’s our home, Adam, not a status symbol.’

  ‘When I’m famous I’m going to have a house so big you’ll need golf carts to get from room to room.’ He laughed.

  ‘And servants?’

  ‘Probably. A couple of maids, a cook, a butler. Whatever famous people have.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Call me if you need a PA,’ she joked.

  ‘I will,’ he told her, reaching across the table.

  Even without thinking, she touched his outstretched fingers with her own.

  The contact felt as if someone had pumped a small electrical charge through her.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You don’t have to rush off, Adam,’ she assured him.

  ‘I was intending to visit my father,’ he told her. ‘I ought to go now.’

  She nodded. ‘Is h
e very bad?’

  ‘He probably won’t even recognize me,’ Walker said philosophically. ‘But at least I’ll be there for him, for an hour or two.’

  ‘It must be hard for you.’

  ‘Sometimes he remembers things. He’ll talk about things that happened years ago. Other times he just stares at the wall – or at me. He asked one of the nurses to throw me out once. It’s a horrible disease.’

  ‘What about the rest of your family?’ she wanted to know. ‘Do they visit too?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ve never been a close family. We don’t keep in touch.’

  ‘Not even with your sister, the one whose little boy was killed?’

  ‘Like I said, we’re not that close.’

  Hailey nodded, deciding not to press her point.

  ‘I once said to my father that it was ironic – with him having been a vicar all his life. He’d served God, and then God had done that to him: taken his mind. Amusing in a perverse kind of way, isn’t it? God must have one hell of a sense of humour.’

  Walker got to his feet.

  She walked with him to the front door.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said. ‘Sorry again for barging in.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’ She touched his hand and held it for fleeting seconds.

  ‘Give my regards to your husband,’ he told her.

  She nodded.

  ‘He won’t mind that I came by, will he?’ asked Walker.

  ‘He’ll be sorry he missed you.’

  She moved to open the door, in the process leaning close to him, close to his face.

  Hailey could smell him distinctly, that musky scent from his leather jacket.

  She swallowed hard.

  Again her heart was thudding that little bit faster.

  ‘Tell Becky I called,’ said Walker, as he stepped out into the porch.

  ‘I hope things go all right with your father,’ she said.

  He nodded and turned to walk away.

  ‘See you again,’ she said.

  I hope.

  He waved.

  She watched until he had disappeared around the corner.

  26

  THE WIND WHIPPED around the Scorpio, occasionally shifting it slightly to one side.

  Adam Walker sat behind the steering wheel, looking out at the building before him, his eyes fixed hypnotically on the red-brick edifice that faced him.

  Bayfield House Nursing Home was a modern building in about four acres of its own grounds. It housed around twenty-five residents, between the ages of sixty and ninety, some disabled in mind or body, others merely losing the battle with advancing years.