Sidney Sheldon's the Tides of Memory

by Tilly Bagshawe

  “Because I have no proof. No recordings, no phone records. Nothing. And because the police already decided they don’t believe Billy’s testimony. And because I fly to London tomorrow. I don’t have time for statements and interviews, especially when I know they won’t be followed up anyway. It’s not as if I’m still in office. Nobody cares what happens to me.”

  “I care,” Lucy said angrily. “I don’t like this at all.”

  They ordered dessert—sticky toffee pudding for Lucy and a simple sorbet selection for Alexia. No wonder she looks so thin, thought Lucy. She eats like a bird. And after a few minutes, they fell back into their usual friendly banter. Alexia paid the bill and the two women walked outside together to hail separate cabs.

  “Is it strange,” Lucy asked, “being back in New York after so long in England?”

  The city lights twinkled around them like the lights of a giant Christmas tree. Manhattan felt alive tonight. Both women sensed its pulse in the warm summer air, the throbbing heartbeat of a living, breathing city.

  “You know the strangest part?” said Alexia. “And you’re the only person in the world I can say this to. But for the first time in forty years, I feel connected to Toni Gilletti. To the girl I used to be.”

  Lucy said, “Is that right?”

  “I’ve spent most of my life telling myself Toni was dead and buried. But she’s here.” Alexia touched her chest. “She always has been. Teddy knew that, and he forgave her. More than that, he loved her, despite everything. Maybe that’s why I can forgive him now. I’m not condoning what he did. But I’m trying to hate the sin, and not the sinner. If that makes any sense.”

  A single yellow cab pulled over.

  “You take it,” said Lucy. She seemed distant all of a sudden, as if tiredness had finally caught up with her.

  “Are you sure?” Alexia asked. “You have further to go than I do.”

  “Positive. You have an early flight in the morning. Go. I’ll get another one in a minute.”

  The two women kissed on the cheek and went their separate ways.

  Back at her hotel, Alexia found herself too wired to sleep. Her theories about Milo Bates, running around talking to Billy’s old contacts, her surprise dinner with Lucy, and reflecting so much on her own past had all set her mind racing. Then there was Teddy’s sentencing to think about. Returning to England after so long, and in such difficult circumstances, was nerve-racking. Alexia still didn’t know whether Roxanne would agree to see her, or whether she could face visiting Michael. Just the thought of the media frenzy that would accompany Teddy’s hearing was enough to send her adrenaline levels into overdrive.

  More in an attempt to distract herself than anything else, she switched on her computer and began cataloging the information she’d gathered from today’s interviews. There was something soothing about the logic of data, the way facts stacked up, one on top of the other, eventually revealing a conclusion—a truth. Human truth was so elusive and illusory. There was a comfort in the solid, predictable world of facts and figures. Alexia felt the edge coming off her nerves and her brain starting to clear as she typed away.

  It was almost one in the morning when she saw it.

  At first she thought she’d made a mistake, and went back to cross-reference the information. But no. She was right the first time. In the small print of all the company records, one name came up over and over again—HM Capital Inc.

  Woolley Trucking, Jeff Wilkes’s business, was a wholly owned subsidiary of HM Capital. Trammel Logistics, another of Billy and Milo’s big clients, had been part owned by HM Capital in the year that Hamlin’s went under, although the firm had sold its stake soon afterward. Queens Auto Parts, the supplier Alexia had visited this afternoon, had no obvious connection. But when Alexia typed “De Sallis” into Google, the name of the white knight client who had rescued Queens Auto in the nineties and squeezed Hamlin’s out, there it was again: HM Capital. According to the company’s annual report, HM Capital was a 25 percent shareholder. All in all it added up to a pronounced interest in the Queens and Brooklyn car business, for a private equity group whose other investments were exclusively in the financial sector. Up until 1996, the only businesses in HM Capital’s portfolio were small-cap emerging-market institutions. HM had taken over savings and loan companies in Mogadishu and bought out insurers across the former Soviet Union. All of which begged the obvious question:

  What the hell were they doing dabbling around with Hamlin Motors’ clients?

  Another forty minutes of searching online failed to provide an answer. Alexia rubbed her eyes wearily. She had to get up and head to the airport in less than five hours and still hadn’t slept a wink. Just as she was about to switch her laptop off and try again to sleep, a thought occurred to her.

  Clicking on Advanced Search, she typed in: “HM Capital Directors, Executives.” A list of around twenty names popped up on the screen. About halfway down the list, Alexia did a double take. There was a name she recognized.

  It was the last name on earth she’d expected to see.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Teddy De Vere’s hearing was being held at London’s famous High Court on the Strand. Part of the Royal Courts of Justice, a late-Victorian Gothic edifice complete with turrets, ornately carved arches, and an orgy of statuary, from biblical figures to famous lawyers of the day, the High Court provided the stage on which so many of England’s great legal dramas had been played out. In recent years the court had become synonymous with celebrity. The inquest into Princess Diana’s death was held here, along with the privacy trials of various Fleet Street newspapers, with actions brought by Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, Naomi Campbell, and a host of other A-list names.

  Teddy De Vere might not be quite in this category. But together, he and his wife remained one of the best-known, and most controversial couples in British politics. The fact that Alexia De Vere had exited public office stage left at the height of her family’s scandals last year, turning her back on Britain and its media, only served to make her appearance at her husband’s sentencing more newsworthy. The big question was not “How long would Teddy De Vere get?” but “What would Alexia De Vere be wearing?” Had she aged? Had stress made her lose weight or gain it? Did her poor crippled daughter, the erstwhile fiancée of the murdered man, Andrew Beesley, still despise her famous mother, Britain’s second “Iron Lady”? Or would a touching family reconciliation be glimpsed on the High Court’s famous stone steps this morning? These were the burning questions to which the Daily Mail’s readers demanded answers. They might not be in the public interest, as such. But they certainly interested the public. Hundreds of ordinary people had gathered on the Strand to catch a glimpse of Alexia De Vere arriving at court. Between the spectators, the news crews, and the paparazzi, the scene outside the High Court was, as Alexia had rightly predicted, a madhouse.

  Happily, she had Angus Grey to guide her through it.

  “Just hold my arm, my dear, and keep your eyes fixed straight ahead.”

  Angus was looking even more dashing than usual in his barrister’s wig and gown. If Alexia hadn’t known him better, she’d have suspected that a touch of the dermatologist’s needle had softened the lines around his eyes and mouth, although Angus swore a three-week holiday in Mauritius was behind his more youthful look.

  “Remember not to look down,” he told Alexia. “It makes you look guilty.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Angus. I’m not the one on trial.”

  “You are by that lot.” The QC nodded toward the crowd as their car pulled up. As usual, he was right. The moment Angus and Alexia stepped out of the vehicle, the barrage of questions and catcalls was deafening.

  “How does it feel to be back?”

  “What do you expect today, Mrs. De Vere?”

  “Will you stand by your husband?”

  “Will your daughter be attending? Mrs. De Vere!”

  Alexia’s heart began to race in something akin to panic. To
think I used to enjoy this attention. Thrive on it, even. All I want now is to see Teddy and get this over with.

  With Angus Grey leading her, she made it inside the building. A seat had been reserved for her beside Angus at the front of the court, so she didn’t have to face the gawkers in the spectators’ gallery. Even so, walking into the courtroom, she could feel their stares burning through the back of her cream bouclé Chanel jacket.

  “Is it just me, or is it warm in here?” she joked to Angus.

  “Try to tune them out. Teddy will be here in a minute. He’ll be the last to arrive before the judge and he’ll come through there.” Angus pointed to a carved oak door that looked as if it belonged in a church. “The proceedings shouldn’t take too long. The crown prosecution get to make a brief statement. Victims’ families can also come before the bench at that time, but there’s no one in this case.”

  “Really? No one came to speak for Andrew? How sad.”

  “It’s a good thing for us,” Angus Grey assured her. “Sobbing mothers and sisters are the last thing Teddy needs. Although the truth is, the judge will already have studied the case in detail. Chances are he made up his mind days ago as to the sentence. All this . . .” He waved around the courtroom. “All this is just for show. Anyway, after the crown’s finished, I say a few words in mitigation, and then it’s straight to the judge’s address. Some of them waffle on for about ten minutes. Usually it’s a minute of moralizing at most. Then they pass sentence, and Teddy will be led down to the cells.”

  “Right,” Alexia said grimly. She knew all of this, but hearing Angus spell it out in black and white was still painful.

  “You should be able to see him then if you want to. Let me know if you do and I’ll submit the request to the court now.”

  Alexia’s mind flashed back to that earlier trial, a lifetime ago and a world away, when Billy Hamlin had been taken down to the holding cell. Her father and Billy’s father had almost come to blows, and she’d slipped in to see Billy, and it was all just awful, terrible, and he’d proposed and she’d accepted—what else could I do?—and when she left she knew she would never see him again. But she had seen him again, and since that day everything, her whole world, had come crashing spectacularly down.

  “Alexia?” Angus Grey was looking at her curiously. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Would you like to see Teddy after sentencing?”

  Alexia nodded. “Yes. Definitely.”

  Just then a commotion broke out at the back of the courtroom. There were gasps and shouts. Something important was happening, but it was going on behind her, so Alexia couldn’t make out what it was.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Angus. But before he could say anything, her answer came down the central aisle toward her. Dignified and beautiful in a simple black shift dress and Teddy’s mother’s pearls, Roxanne wheeled herself to her mother’s side.

  “You came,” Alexia whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “For Daddy? Or for Andrew?”

  “Neither. For myself. And maybe a little bit for you.”

  Without thinking, Alexia bent down and put her arms around Roxie. The whirring and clicking of cameras from the press gallery was deafening.

  Angus Gray thought, That’s tomorrow’s front page.

  There was another flashing of cameras as Teddy came into the dock. Alexia and Roxie squeezed each other’s hands.

  “He looks so thin,” Roxie whispered.

  “I know.”

  Teddy’s Turnbull & Asser suit, always one of his favorites, hung off him ridiculously now, making him look like a little boy dressing up in his father’s clothes. His perennially chubby cheeks looked gaunt and sunken. He was altogether shrunken, smaller, diminished. Catching sight of Alexia and Roxie sitting together beside his barrister, he flashed them a surprised smile.

  “Don’t encourage that. Look away,” Angus hissed in Alexia’s ear. “He’s being sentenced for murder. He’s supposed to look contrite.”

  He’s supposed to be contrite, Alexia thought. The problem is, he doesn’t believe he’s done anything wrong.

  “All rise. Lord Justice Carnaervon presiding. All rise.”

  Alexia felt dizzy as she got to her feet. This is it.

  The crown’s case was simple and dispassionate: By his own admission, Teddy De Vere had shot Andrew Beesley dead in an entirely premeditated act of violence. He had successfully concealed the crime for nine years, and on being exposed had shown no remorse for his actions whatsoever. This apparent lack of understanding of, or concern for, the gravity of his actions rendered Teddy De Vere a danger to society. For this reason, and in the interests of justice, the crown were appealing for a full life sentence to be imposed.

  Roxie listened to the prosecution’s address in rapt silence. She’d decided to come to her father’s sentencing in hopes it might bring her some closure. It was Summer Meyer’s visit to Fairmont House that had first got her thinking about it. Not just about the court hearing, but about seeing her mother again, taking the first small step toward forgiveness. Dr. Woods, her therapist, defined resentment to Roxie in one of their sessions in a way that had touched a nerve. “It’s like drinking poison, and then wondering why the other person doesn’t die.” Roxie realized: I’ve spent most of my adult life drinking poison and wondering why mother didn’t die. I mustn’t make the same mistake with Daddy. Coming to the High Court was an ordeal, a real trial by fire. But if she got through it, Roxie hoped, she’d emerge stronger, and with at least some of her demons purged.

  In a sense, it had already worked. Seeing Teddy in the dock, a frail old man, she realized that he was still her father, still the man she’d spent a lifetime loving and trying to please. She could not forgive him. But she knew now with searing clarity that she could not stop loving him either.

  As for Andrew Beesley, he was no longer real for her. His face, his touch, his voice . . . all had been lost so long ago. Roxanne couldn’t associate today’s proceedings with that person. Andrew was as much dream as memory, as much something she’d hoped for as something she’d ever actually had. It was all so very sad. But it was the past. Gone. Over. As the prosecution closed their address and Angus Grey stood up to speak, Roxie felt the future beckon, unknown and unknowable, but there, real, within her reach in a way that it hadn’t been for a very, very long time.

  Angus’s speech was even briefer than the prosecution’s. Teddy had pleaded guilty, sparing the crown and all parties the necessity of a costly trial. He took responsibility and was ready to face his punishment. As wrong as his actions were, he had been motivated by a sense of responsibility toward his daughter. He had always been of good character.

  Lord Justice Carnaervon cleared his throat. He was extremely old and thin and had revolting flaps of loose skin on his neck, like a turkey ripe for slaughter. His was not a merciful face.

  Sitting beside her daughter, Alexia braced herself for the worst.

  “Heinous crime . . . vulnerable young man, lured to his death.”

  The judge’s words washed over her.

  “No sense of remorse.”

  Alexia glanced up at Teddy. For a moment his eyes met hers with a look of gratitude and love. He seemed so composed. If he was afraid, he didn’t show it.

  “Even allowing for good character, in the interests of justice . . .”

  Did I ever really know him? thought Alexia. Did we ever really know each other?

  “I sentence you to life in prison, with a recommendation that you serve a minimum of twenty years.”

  Boom. There it was. Twenty years. The same sentence as Billy Hamlin got, all those years ago. The sense of déjà vu, of being trapped in some terrible, inescapable cycle, was overwhelming.

  He’ll die in prison. I’ll never share a bed with him again. Never hold him in my arms.

  Teddy was being led away. Angus Grey was talking. Alexia watched the lawyer’s lips moving but she couldn’t make out the words.
His voice sounded as if he were underwater. Once again, the waves were rising, pulling her under.

  “Mummy.” It was Roxie’s voice that pulled her back. “Mummy, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  Alexia nodded mutely.

  “If you want to see Daddy, you have to go now.” Roxie prodded her mother gently. “Go on. Angus will take you.”

  Summer Meyer answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi there. It’s Karen.”

  “Karen?”

  “Karen Davies. From Drake Motors? You came in a week or so ago about a Ducati.”

  The rude garage manager’s secretary. Summer had completely forgotten she’d given the woman her number. “Of course. Karen. I remember.”

  “You said to call if I thought of anything, about the lady who picked up the bike. Well, I thought of something.”

  “You did?” Summer held her breath.

  “Can’t think why I never thought about it before, or why David didn’t. He’s my manager. He’s a bit of a prat, to be honest. Anyway—what I remembered: we have CCTV in the showroom!”

  Summer tried to contain her elation. “That’s wonderful. And you think you might have caught this woman on camera?”

  “I don’t think. I know,” Karen Davies said triumphantly. “I’ve got the tape here. D’you want to come by and pick it up?”

  If the court proceedings had felt surreal, seeing Teddy face-to-face was even more so.

  “Alexia. Dearest.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “How are you? You must be simply shattered after your journey. Good of you to come.”

  He was behaving like a dinner party host welcoming an old friend. Not like a man about to begin a life sentence for murder.

  “Sit down, sit down. Please.” He looked past Alexia hopefully. “Is Roxie not with you?”

  “No. She’s outside with Angus. It was a huge step for her to come here at all. I think this”—Alexia gestured around the dreary room with its peeling paint and furniture screwed to the floor—“would be too much.”