by Ava Marsh
Annette Shaw doesn’t confirm or deny this. I exhale slowly. ‘So let me guess, there’s nothing linking her with the hotel?’
‘All I can say is we’re looking into it.’
‘It wasn’t a client. It doesn’t make any sense. And I really don’t believe she had a lover – man or woman.’
‘So who then?’ she asks. ‘You sound like you’ve given this an awful lot of thought, Stella. What’s your theory? Who do you think killed Amanda Mansfield?’
I gaze at her, uncertain. Realize I have absolutely no idea.
DI Shaw picks up a pen and makes a note on the little pad resting on her lap. There’s a minute or so where neither of us speak, then she leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, splaying her fingers and steepling the tips together.
‘What I don’t get, Stella, is exactly why you’re here. You say you knew Amanda, but you also told me you only worked with her half a dozen times. You said you didn’t socialize with her. That you’d never met Kristen before Amanda died. So I guess what interests me right now is why this interests you so much?’
‘Kristen is very distressed,’ I swallow. ‘I can’t turn my back on her. And—’
I stop.
‘And what?’
‘I just want to find out what happened to Amanda.’
‘Yes, Stella, I understand that. That much is clear. But what I want to understand is why this is so important to you?’
My mind flashes back to Michael’s girlfriend, the disgust on her face after I’d given my testimony. The certain knowledge that I’d blown everything. Let someone off the hook who most definitely should have been on it.
Never again. I can’t ever let anything like that happen again.
Not if there’s any way I can stop it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them and stare at the detective. Come to a decision. ‘There’s something else. Something I can’t formulate. It’s … more of a feeling.’
‘Tell me.’
‘We did a party, Amanda and I and another girl. A few weeks before she died. There were four men. I’d never met any of them before and neither had Amanda. This guy, a banker, it was his fiftieth – the other girl arranged it all because he was a regular client.’
I clear my throat again. ‘Nothing happened. I mean, apart from the usual sort of thing – lots of sex, booze, a bit of coke. But afterwards one man, the banker, started talking, implying they’d pulled off some deal. Made a lot of money.’
‘What kind of deal?’
‘I’m not sure, but whatever it was, it was big. And then I saw one of them on TV the other night and …’ Fuck, I’m beginning to sound incoherent. I swallow. Try to muster my thoughts into something intelligible.
The detective eyes me thoughtfully. Inhales and screws up the tip of her nose. ‘Can you give me more details? Their names, that kind of thing?’
I shake my head. ‘Only one for definite. The others went by Christian names, and they may not be their own.’
‘Tell me anyway.’
‘Harry, he was the banker, and Rob – I think he worked with him.’ I hesitate, pressing my lips together. ‘The other one was called Alex.’
She writes them down. ‘And the one you’re sure about?’
‘I saw him on the news the other night. I recognized him at once. He said his name was James, but it was Edward Hardy.’
‘Edward Hardy?’ Her expression a question mark.
‘He’s the …’ I strain to remember his exact title, ‘… the parliamentary under-secretary of state for defence.’
A ripple passes across the detective’s impenetrably calm exterior. Finally I have made some kind of impression.
‘Are you certain of this, Stella? You’re confident it was him?’
I nod.
‘So how do you think this is connected with Amanda’s death?’
‘I don’t … not exactly. It’s more of a hunch.’ Christ, what on earth am I saying? But I may as well get it all out now. I take a deep breath. ‘At the funeral … I mean the memorial service, there was somebody outside. I don’t know, I just had a sense that he was nothing to do with the mourners. He looked … like he was watching the place.’
‘Watching? For what?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ I admit.
DI Shaw sighs. I’m losing credibility by the minute, I realize, and wonder if it might help if I told her what I used to do. Decide it would probably make things worse.
‘The burglary,’ I say suddenly. ‘You checked it out?’
She nods as she scribbles a note on her pad. ‘Briefly.’
‘Any idea how they got in?’
She raises her head quickly, her look sharp. ‘We’re not sure. Why?’
‘It’s just that it didn’t seem like something a bunch of addicts would do.’
‘Is that what you think?’ The detective purses her lips. ‘What about this other girl you did the party with? She’d have the details and numbers of these men, I assume?’
‘I’m not sure. I guess so.’
‘Can you tell me how I might contact her?’
‘Her number’s on her website. It’s Janine – google her under London escorts.’ I pause. ‘So you’ll look into this, right?’
The detective thinks for a minute, her index finger tapping the end of her pen. ‘Let me recap. You’re saying this politician, this Edward Hardy, may have something to do with Amanda’s murder? That’s quite a leap, Stella.’
I bite my lip. ‘I don’t know, but …’ I stop. Hear how ridiculous I sound. Textbook inflation and paranoia. Jesus, I hadn’t realized quite how much all this has rattled me.
Her eyes consider me carefully. Then her features soften as she voices my own thoughts. ‘I think you’re scared, Stella. You’re frightened. Someone in the business gets killed like this and it’s going to make a lot of people feel vulnerable.’
‘But you’ll look into it?’
‘We check out every lead we’re given.’ She closes her pad.
‘And you’ll let me know?’ I give her one of my cards with my number on it.
‘I’m guessing this isn’t your real name either,’ she says, glancing at it.
I shake my head.
‘Are you willing to tell me what it is?’
I hesitate. Realize I have no choice if I want her to take me seriously. ‘Grace. Grace Thomas.’
She looks at me. ‘Thank you. I can’t promise anything, but if there proves to be any substance to this, rest assured I’ll be in touch.’
Leading me back to the entrance, she offers her hand. ‘In the meantime, take care of yourself, OK?’
Her grip on me lingers, and there’s a warning in her eyes. ‘I mean it, Grace. Be careful.’
24
Friday, 20 March
He’s standing outside the entrance when I emerge from Shepherd’s Bush tube station into the pale sunlight. I don’t spot him at first. I’m too busy wondering which hotel we’re heading to; nowhere decent near here that I can think of.
‘Stella.’ I spin round at the sound of his voice, so firm, so self-assured. Like nothing in the world could ever touch him.
‘Alex.’
He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. I expect us to head to Holland Park. Instead he marches towards the giant monolith of the Westfield Shopping Centre, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black coat.
‘Really?’ I ask as we pass House of Fraser and into the mall proper.
Alex just smiles.
I try again. ‘Why the hell are we going here?’
‘What can I say?’ he says. ‘I like to shop.’
I frown. ‘You do?’ Somehow I doubt it. Clearly he gets a kick out of stringing me along.
We glide past Valentino and Ted Baker, then he turns abruptly into Prada, grabbing my elbow to steer me through the plate-glass doors. I stand there, feeling awkward. I always hate the cultish atmosphere of these places, the rarefied air of high fashion taking itself way too seriously. Thou
gh Anna would be right at home.
As Alex seems to be. Ignoring the shop assistant beelining towards us, he flicks through a rail of garments and holds up a knee-length silk skirt in front of me. It’s about my size. And my style, a beautiful tartan check etched in black and muted shades of brown.
I can’t see the price tag, but it has to be a couple of appointments’ worth.
‘Suits you,’ he says. ‘Try it on.’
I shake my head.
Alex shrugs, glances round. ‘Well, pick something you like.’
I purse my lips and inadvertently catch the shop assistant’s eye. She’s openly regarding me, an unreadable expression on her flawlessly made-up face.
I have a feeling she’s got me sussed.
‘What are we doing here?’ I ask plainly.
Alex grins. ‘Living up to all the clichés?’
I let myself smile. ‘No chance. You don’t look anything like Richard Gere.’
He crosses to another railing, starts fingering a lilac silk blouse. I follow him. Decide to be blunt.
‘Alex, what’s this about?’
He releases the blouse. Faces me. ‘OK, what would you rather do?’
I glare at him. ‘I don’t know. You booked the bloody appointment.’
Alex glances over at the assistant, then steers me out the shop into the main concourse. I stare up at the roof of this great glass palace, at the light bouncing off the myriad shopfronts in a dizzying display of brightness and colour.
‘This place is insane,’ I mutter. ‘A fucking cathedral to consumption.’
Alex eyes me with amusement. ‘You sound as if you could do with a drink.’ He leads me up the escalator to the next level and finds us a seat in an Italian restaurant. I feel slightly deflated; evidently this isn’t going to be a standard appointment. So what is it? Some kind of test? Or does he enjoy spending several hundred quid an hour simply to wind me up?
‘Wine?’ asks Alex.
I nod.
He orders a couple of glasses of Rioja and glances at the menu. The usual pasta and pizza.
‘You hungry?’
I shake my head. ‘Some olives would be nice.’ I stare around me at the swarm of shoppers, most clutching carrier bags splashed with logos. ‘Honestly?’ I say. ‘I’d never have imagined this was your style.’
‘No?’
‘More Bond Street or Faubourg Saint-Honoré, I’d have said.’
Alex inhales, wrinkles his nose. ‘I enjoy the anonymity.’
Yes, I realize, looking back at all the people cruising the walkways. It’s much easier to get lost in a crowd. But why not meet in a hotel room, I wonder, if he doesn’t want us seen together?
Unless, of course, he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he is.
I force the thought from my mind. Decide he’s not the only one who can play games. ‘Actually, I was somewhat surprised to hear from you.’
‘Why?’ Alex raises an eyebrow and settles back in his seat.
I shrug. Answer with another question. ‘I’m assuming you heard about Amanda?’
His face twitches minutely. But he doesn’t speak.
‘Amanda Mansfield,’ I say, ‘but you knew her as Elisa. The girl from the party.’
His eyes linger on my face. ‘I know who you’re talking about, Stella. I read the reports in the papers.’
I wait for him to expand. Nothing follows.
‘Well?’ I nudge, as the olives arrive, along with the wine. I take a gulp. Let my eyes close for a second or two.
How should I play this?
‘What do you want me to say, Stella?’ His tone abrupt. ‘It’s unfortunate. I was very sorry to hear it.’
Unfortunate. I savour the word. It tastes sour in my mouth.
‘Very unfortunate,’ he repeats. ‘She was quite a girl.’
I exhale slowly. ‘So you know nothing about what happened to her?’
No tells this time. Alex’s features remain immobile. ‘Like I said, only what I read in the papers.’
I study him. His expression is unreadable. I have no idea whether he’s lying or not. I wonder how far I can push this.
‘Do you?’ he asks, before I can decide what tack to take.
‘Do I what?’
‘Have any idea what happened to her?’
I think carefully before I reply. Suspecting I’m close to some sort of brink. ‘I saw him on TV.’
‘Saw who?’
‘Your friend Hardy. Edward Hardy.’
No reaction.
‘Something to do with a select committee investigation,’ I add, observing his reaction, but there’s nothing. It’s like talking to one of the mannequins downstairs.
‘Stella, I’ve really no idea what you’re getting at.’ Alex sighs as if this conversation is starting to bore him. I suppress the impulse to drop the whole thing. After all, this isn’t a standard appointment – none of the usual rules apply. And what’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t pay me?
‘It’s just that I’m curious. What Harry said. I got the impression you were all in on some kind of deal.’
Alex’s face stiffens, his eyebrows narrowing with irritation. I get a sense of something beginning to shift inside him. ‘Stella, you’re going to have to take my word for this. There is nothing here to concern you. Nothing at all.’
There’s a chill in his tone that unnerves me. And convinces me to stop. If I push this any further, he’s going to walk away.
I press my lips together. Take another gulp of wine to swallow down my frustration. ‘So why are we here then?’ I ask. ‘If we’re not going to fuck, or talk about Amanda, why exactly did you want to meet?’
He leans back in his chair. Looks around at the other diners, considering something. Closing his eyes briefly, he exhales, turning back to me.
‘I have a proposal.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘How very romantic. And such a lovely setting.’
He doesn’t smile. ‘Listen to me, Stella. Carefully. What I have in mind should appeal to you much more than that.’
I don’t reply. Spike an olive on a toothpick and chew it slowly, watching him choose his next words.
He leans forward, grabs my hand. My skin tingles at the unexpected contact. ‘I’d like to offer you a more exclusive arrangement.’
‘Oh, right.’ I force a smile. ‘And I’m guessing this one doesn’t come with a ring.’
‘I’m being serious, Stella. I’m asking you to drop your other work. You will, of course, be more than adequately compensated.’
I stare at him for a few seconds, then laugh. ‘What? You want me to become your paid mistress?’
Alex’s mouth pouts at the corners. ‘I guess you could describe it as that, though it’s a trifle old-fashioned, wouldn’t you say? I view it more as a business arrangement – a mutually beneficial business arrangement.’
He takes his first sip of wine, unable to hide the grimace that follows.
I inhale. He is being serious, I realize, and in that instant I have an urge to get up and walk away. This is insane. Me. Him. This bizarre stand-off between us. But I stay put; I want to hear him out.
‘There’s a caveat,’ he adds.
‘What?’
‘I’d like you out of London.’
‘Out of London,’ I echo, revealing my surprise. ‘Why?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s not convenient for me.’
‘Not convenient? London? Then where is?’
‘New York. Paris. Pick a city. Just not London.’
I snort. ‘You’re having me on, right?’
His lips narrow with annoyance. ‘Did nobody tell you, Stella, not to look a gift horse in the mouth?’
‘About a thousand times,’ I say. ‘But I’m stubborn that way.’
Alex looks down at the table. Rubs the skin between his brows before raising his eyes to mine. ‘No, Stella. I’m not “having you on”. I’m making you an offer I very much hope you won’t refuse. An offer that is as much in your i
nterests as mine, if not more.’
If not more. There’s something in that I don’t like. It’s almost a threat – or a warning.
‘But why?’ I ask. ‘Why me? Why now? I mean, we haven’t even fucked, not properly. You barely even know me.’
‘Why not you?’ he exhales. ‘I like you, a lot. You intrigue me. I happen to find you rather appealing. And why now? Why not? My life is very complicated. I don’t have the kind of time or motivation to get involved in a romantic relationship. On the other hand, I want someone I can get to know. Variety may be the spice of life, but too much tends to dull the palate, I’ve found.’
‘So you’d prefer something more bland? More regular?’
He laughs. ‘Somehow I doubt you’d ever be bland, Stella. I’m sure you’d have an infinite number of ways to keep me on my toes.’
I smile, but unease settles back around me like a fog. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have somebody, I don’t know … younger? More glamorous?’ I think of Amanda. How much more suited to this kind of arrangement she’d have been. Or Anna even; Anna would jump at an opportunity like this.
Alex leans forward and pinches the end of my chin between his thumb and forefinger. It’s a peculiarly intimate gesture and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.
‘It’s not all about that.’ His eyes flick down to my breasts, then he taps the side of my head with his finger. ‘I like what’s in here, Stella. Your mind, your spirit, call it what you will. I admire the way you see the world, how you move within it.’
‘But we’ve only met, what, twice before?’ I protest again, pulling away. ‘As I said, you don’t know a single thing about me.’
Alex looks nonplussed. Again that sense that he’d like to contradict me, that he can somehow see right into my head and my heart. ‘I know enough, Stella, to know I want to get to know you much better.’
I sit back, lost for words. Then actually consider it. I mean, what have I got to lose? What, after all, is there to keep me here?
The thought depresses me. How little ties me to my own life. How easily I could turn my back on it.
‘You’re crazy,’ is all I can think to say. ‘This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.’