Glass Houses

by Stella Cameron

  Aiden stopped himself from snapping that the people they followed were pond scum and no friends of his. “Everything seems so small,” he said. “Miniature.”

  The driver laughed and said, “You are probably from Texas, yes?”

  Aiden laughed, too. “New York. We’ve got really big stuff there, too.”

  Seeing all this with Olivia would be so different. She loved her London, and he’d like to see it through her eyes.

  They traveled for what seemed a long time, passing out of the center of London and driving streets lined with cluttered little shops on the ground floors of terraced stone buildings. Minuscule cars and commercial vehicles crammed every inch of road space. Pedestrians scurried along, and Aiden noted that despite many red noses and watery eyes, they seemed jaunty. They kept their coat collars firmly tightened around their necks and talked incessantly to companions.

  “Well,” his driver said, “this is Hampstead, and that man does not know it at all. He goes everywhere and nowhere, then does it again.”

  Once more Aiden sat up and took notice. “This is Hampstead?”

  “Yes. A quaint place. Very trendy.”

  Trendy, Aiden decided, was this man’s word of the day.

  “Old-fashioned looking,” he replied. “In a nice way.” It was also hilly, with ancient deciduous trees spreading their bared branches from behind high garden walls and leggy, leafless geraniums continuing to struggle in window boxes and terracotta pots.

  Up cobbled way after cobbled way they went, seeing names like Bird In Hand Yard, Flask Walk, Well Walk, then retracing the same route. The other cab made an abrupt right turn onto a steep, narrow, cobbled road called Back Lane and raced upward.

  “Better hang back a bit,” Aiden said. “I’m not sure they haven’t noticed us.”

  “Who notices anything when they are lost?”

  The man was probably right, but nevertheless they slowed down. When they reached the top of the hill, Aiden was grateful they hadn’t followed closely. Kitty and her man friend were getting out of the cab. Aiden took in as much as he could without being too obvious.

  “Stop here,” he said when they began to turn onto a main street.

  The cabbie stopped, and Aiden was able to observe his targets going to the front door of 2A, where Kitty took a key from beneath a pot and opened the door.

  “There’s a limo coming behind us,” the driver told Aiden. “I’m afraid I must move.”

  “Let me out around the corner.”

  Fortunately, Chris had obtained pounds for Aiden so he was able to pay off the cab. This was going to be sticky. He’d bet a good deal that 2A was Olivia’s home. Hanging around outside, or trying to go in through the front door was out of the question.

  Where was Wally Loder when he needed him? Or rather, where was Wally Loder’s twin when he needed him?

  *

  The sight of Kitty Fish taking a man into Theo’s house infuriated Olivia. She also wasn’t happy that Aiden’s cab had passed by and, after a brief pause, carried on.

  “Please pull as close into the side of the road as you can and wait, please,” Olivia told her driver. “I am right in thinking I can’t be seen through these dark windows, aren’t I?”

  “You got it, miss. You going in there, then? Could be we need to ’ave a signal or something in case you need ’elp.”

  “I won’t need help,” Olivia told him, but kindly. “I’ll sit here and wait.”

  “ ’Ave it your way.” He sounded disappointed.

  “I do appreciate your kindness.”

  His voice brightened when he said, “Think nothing of it. What ’appened to the other lot, then? Was you expecting them to go on?”

  “Oh, yes.” Where could Aiden be? She needed him, now.

  Olivia could almost feel the minutes, and her money, ticking away. Not, of course, that limousines had meters. “I really shouldn’t keep you any longer,” she said to the driver. “To be honest, I’m sure I can’t afford to. But thank you.”

  “I charges a flat fee. Same as what a taxi would run you to get ’ere and we’re ’ere now. I’ll leave when I’m sure you’re well fixed.”

  There seemed nothing more to say than another “Thank you.” And then she saw a tattered fellow shamble from the direction of Heath Street. With the hood of a long, gray rain poncho pulled over his head, he kept his attention on his filthy shoes and the bottoms of trousers that rucked over them.

  The “bum” scuffed into a corner against some railings opposite 2A and slithered down to sit. He assumed an unmoving pose, but Olivia felt lighthearted just knowing Wally Loder was within hailing range.

  “Look at that,” Olivia’s driver said. “Poor old geezer. Cold enough to freeze the… It’s a cold’un to be out there with nowhere to go. Shouldn’t ’appen when some people ’ave so much.”

  “What’s your name?” Olivia asked.

  “Nigel Harris. Nigel’s highfalutin, but me mum had big plans for me when I was born, I suppose.”

  “I’m Olivia FitzDurham. That’s highfalutin, too, except I think the Fitz bit has something to do with having a bastard for a relative.”

  Apparently Nigel appreciated that comment enormously. He laughed until he coughed and wiped tears from his eyes. “Hey,” he said abruptly. “Where d’you suppose ’e’s goin’ then?”

  “I think I know,” Olivia said, watching Aiden make his way slowly across the narrow street and toward the passageway that led to the gardens behind the houses on her side. “It would be a bad idea for him to start wondering about this car.”

  “Aye, aye,” Nigel said. “Leave it to me.” He pulled a cloth from beneath his seat and hopped out. Whistling, he began polishing chrome without ever glancing toward Aiden. Aiden had seen him but apparently assumed the car and driver were waiting for one of Olivia’s neighbors.

  Aiden entered the passage and passed from sight.

  For ten minutes—Olivia checked her watch every few seconds—nothing happened other than Nigel’s progress around the car. She was getting colder and rubbed her hands together, chafed her thighs and knees. Surely Aiden wouldn’t go into that house when he didn’t know where Kitty and the man would be.

  Another man, this one walking uphill with his hands in his pockets, veered across the road and entered the passage as if he did so every day.

  The concept of someone’s heart standing still took on new meaning. Olivia got out of the car at once, taking pains to make sure her hat was still pulled well down.

  “Let me pay you,” she told Nigel, desperate to be off.

  “You can pay me when I see you’re safe with someone you trust,” he said.

  “Please, I have to hurry.” She had slung the camera case over her shoulder again and she dug into her bag for her purse.

  Nigel brought his callused hand down on hers and she looked into his wide, honest face, into his unremarkable but kind eyes. “If there’s something you’ve got to do, do it. I’m not worrying about money.”

  She nodded, trotted sideways a few steps, turned and ran. She ran after Aiden—and Ryan Hill.

  The back gate stood open. Peering at the wedge of garden she could see, Olivia searched for any sign of movement, but saw none. She edged inside and behind the buddleia bushes that had grown into a tangle.

  Along the fence she went, holding an arm in front of her face to ward off twigs and branches.

  She saw Ryan Hill first. Leaning against the trunk of a big apple tree, and hidden from anyone in the house, he wore a brown leather bomber jacket and khaki trousers and appeared faintly military, particularly with his colorless, close-cropped hair. The most riveting thing about him was the gun he held in his right hand and rested on his left forearm. He looked watchful, but at ease.

  A movement near the house had to be made by Aiden. He appeared to be on the ground near green-painted wooden doors that led to a cellar off the basement. She leaned to get a better view and saw him try the padlocked hasp that secured the cellar.


  He did intend to go in alone after Kitty and that man.

  Another glance at Ryan behind his thick-trunked apple tree brought Olivia close to shouting out a warning to Aiden. Ryan was no longer at ease with the gun resting on his forearm. He’d dropped to a crouch and held his weapon cocked.

  Then he started forward, taking advantage of Aiden’s concentration on the hasp. A dense clump of pampas grass was his next stop, then a stand of hardy lavatera, its pink blossoms still hanging on.

  Darn it, Olivia thought, Ryan Hill was preparing another sneak rear attack on Aiden. This time he wouldn’t get away with it.

  Olivia would have liked to choke Ryan Hill with lavatern blossoms.

  Without taking his eyes from his task, Aiden reached into his pocket.

  Ryan lined up his gun, ready to fire.

  With a roaring noise in her ears, Olivia pushed out of her hiding place, ran at Ryan’s back, and threw herself at him. At the same instant, he heard her coming and started to turn.

  On television she’d watched a self-defense program. She straightened her fingers, as she’d seen there, and when she landed on Ryan, knocking him to his back, she brought those locked fingers down and drove them into his eyes.

  He screamed and kicked out at her, but he’d dropped the gun.

  Olivia brought the side of one hand upward beneath his nose and had the pleasure of hearing him scream again. She’d worry about neighbors coming if she thought they’d ever risk getting involved.

  Holding his head, Ryan rolled around on the ground, and Olivia snatched up his gun.

  “Get back, Olivia.” Aiden had arrived, and he hauled her off Ryan. “The maniac might have killed you.”

  “He was going to kill you,” she said, wriggling free in time to face Ryan as he got to his knees.

  “Stay where you are,” Aiden told him. “It’s all over.”

  “The hell it is,” Ryan said. “What are you, clairvoyant? You don’t know half of it.”

  Ryan took a swing at Aiden, a swing Aiden deflected with ease.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Olivia said, glancing repeatedly at the house. “If they hear—and he wants them to hear— if they do, we’ll be outnumbered.” With that she made a clumsy swing with the hand that held Ryan’s gun, and hit him a glancing blow behind an ear.

  “Oh,” she said, staring at him. “I hardly touched him.” But Ryan had fallen as if bludgeoned with a hammer. He lay absolutely still.

  Aiden pressed two fingers into the man’s neck and looked at Olivia while he concentrated. “Well you managed not to kill him. Congratulations.”

  She threw down the gun. “Hateful thing,” she said. “And don’t you sound so judgmental. I was keeping you safe and stopping him from killing you.”

  Aiden smiled at her and stooped to pocket Ryan’s gun. He touched her cheek. “You’re right about the time, sweetheart. We’ve got to move fast.”

  “Why would they come here?” Olivia asked. “Would they be afraid I might have other copies of the photos tucked away?”

  “I think we can bet on it. And Kitty Fish isn’t likely to have noticed someone rubbed part of that top coat of paint off, is she? She wants what we’ve got—something to make comparisons with.”

  Together they left the garden and rushed out to the street. “That’s Nigel Harris,” Olivia told Aiden. “A very nice limousine driver, who brought me here and says he won’t leave until he’s sure I’m all right. Hello, Nigel!”

  “For God’s sake, keep it down,” Aiden muttered. “If he’s willing to keep on waiting, we’re probably going to need him.”

  “Nigel,” Olivia said when they reached him. “This so-called bum is my friend.” She deliberately omitted Aiden’s name. “He’s in the same jam I’m in, but I promise you we’re completely honest people who have been dragged into something.”

  Nigel wiped his hands on the rag that was still pristine. “I believe you,” he said, but looked disappointed at the arrival of a male interest in Olivia’s life.

  “Can you keep on hanging around?” Aiden asked. “We’re going to need to find a place to stay when we’re through here. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Nigel glowered a bit and said, “I’ve already told Olivia I’ll be staying.”

  “Thanks,” Aiden said, and Olivia sensed he knew he was being seen as a rival. “I’ve got to go into that house, but I’d like to leave Olivia with you.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Nigel said. “You’ve missed the women, though. One must have been in there already. They both left and took off up to Heath Street. The fella’s still inside, though.”

  Aiden looked inquiringly at Olivia.

  “I don’t have a clue,” she said, then asked Nigel, “What did the other woman look like?”

  He polished the glistening bonnet of the car with fresh vigor. “Nothing special. Not like the blond one.”

  “Okay, I’m going in.” Aiden turned his attention on 2A and approached without attempting to be subtle. He rang the doorbell, and the pressure of his finger sent the door swinging inward.

  He went in without any hesitation.

  Ignoring Nigel’s protests, Olivia followed and felt the familiarity of the house settle around her the instant she entered.

  The gray afternoon seeped through lace curtains and colored the atmosphere sullen. A musty smell reminded Olivia that the place had been closed up. She looked upward and saw no lights from the higher floors. The back of the house on this floor was in darkness. The door to the basement was open, and the naked yellow bulb that hung from a wire cast its glow inside the entrance to the stairs.

  Olivia approached on tiptoe. She didn’t want to do anything to handicap Aiden.

  There were no sounds coming from below.

  She waited, growing more panicky with every breath she took until she couldn’t wait any longer.

  With great caution, treading softly in the badly fitting tennis shoes, she climbed slowly down the stairs until she could see the scene below.

  Drawers had been thrown open and hundreds of photographs and negatives scattered on the concrete floor. Everything that should be on her worktops was on the floor, too, including the heavy guillotine she used for cropping shots, and several cameras. Lenses were tossed into the muddle, and light meters, and rolls of unused film deliberately exposed and left in useless coils. It all appeared to have been stamped on, or swung against walls.

  What could she have done to bring about such violent destruction?

  “Don’t come any nearer.”

  Aiden’s voice startled her with its quiet, almost sad quality. She made him out just inside the darkroom and went resolutely down to join him.

  “I told you to stay there,” he said.

  “And just as you don’t need a mother, I don’t need a father. I decide what’s best for me.”

  “This isn’t best for anyone.” He looked away.

  On the floor beneath the table that held Olivia’s developing trays, in the eerie light that turned everything faintly blue, a man lay curled on his side in a half circle. His head rested in a puddle of fluid that Olivia feared was some of the chemicals she used in her work. There were burns on the back of his neck.

  But it wasn’t burns that had killed him. Another pool colored the floor, this time a pool of fresh blood. Protruding from the man’s stomach were the handles of Olivia’s favorite scissors.

  “The guy who met Kitty at the airport,” Aiden said.

  Twenty-nine

  “My parents aren’t such bad sorts,” Olivia said. “You just have to know how to handle them.”

  Aiden turned on the windshield wipers in her car, only to discover there was no fluid. “The windshield’s filthy,” he said. “A hazard. I’ll get off the freeway at the next gas station.”

  “Motorway,” Olivia told him. “M4. And it’s petrol, not gas. The washers don’t work, but I carry a shammy. We can wipe the windows, right?”

  “Right.” He liked the weird little c
ar.

  “It sticks a bit in second,” Olivia told Aiden of the yellow Mini they’d decided to take rather than involve Nigel and the limousine further.

  “It won’t by the time I’ve finished with it. This vehicle is something else. We’ll ship it back to the States, and—”

  “Half a tick, Aiden. My Mini is headed for the rubbish heap, if you don’t mind. Ask my mother. She’ll explain.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s a topic for later. A bigger engine will have to go in.”

  “Where? In the back seat? Aiden, about Mummy and Daddy—”

  “We all want to apologize for our folks. I used to. Yours were pretty decent about saying we could go to their place. They didn’t even ask a whole lot of questions.”

  Olivia considered that. “True. I can’t say I understand why, since they usually tell me I’m barmy when I call about anything. My brother, Theo, is the smart, successful one. I’m the failure.”

  “Hey.” Aiden glanced at her, and she saw he was furious. “Cut it out. Don’t put yourself down that way. Just maybe you’re imagining that’s what they think about you. They were sure quick enough to welcome you home with a total stranger. We had nowhere to go where we had a chance at being safe until we hear from Vanni. I’m grateful to them.”

  For a moment she studied his profile, the hard way his mouth turned down. Before they’d left Hampstead, he had picked up his suit and changed out of Wally Loder’s tramp uniform. Without the wig, the beard or mustache, and despite the single gold earring Daddy was bound to dislike, he looked— wonderful. Handsome, successful, inscrutable.

  She stared out of the passenger window and beneath the bed of a lorry covered with flapping tarpaulin. The Mini was so low-slung that her view was eye-to-wheel with almost everything on the road. “My parents were good about it,” she agreed. “I’m surprised. Will we be able to call Chris back again? Or do we have to wait for him to call us?” They had reached Chris, who spoke to them from a delivery room at Seattle’s Swedish Hospital. Sonnie was in labor and Chris was coaching. He’d told them to lie low and not to go to the police about the death in Hampstead because he didn’t want to risk their being taken into custody.