by Roberta Kray
Why exactly Marty loathed him so much Susan had yet to discover. Perhaps she never would. He knew her reason but she didn’t know his. That Delaney was a violent bully was probably reason enough but she sensed it went deeper than that. Sometimes hate was like a slow-growing cancer, gradually eating away at the soul until all that was left was an urgent need for retribution.
She looked out of the kitchen window. From here she could see the tips of the three tall towers of the Mansfield Estate, a looming reminder – should she ever need it – of her harsh, unhappy childhood. Was that why she was doing this? No, her motives lay beyond the arbitrary circumstances of her birth. On the whole she felt only contempt for people who blamed poverty and deprivation for their problems. Those disadvantages could be overcome, not forgotten perhaps, but left firmly in their place. Her resentment ran deeper than that.
‘Have you fed her?’ Marty said.
She turned to him. He talked about Silver like she was an exhibit in a private zoo. When he’d been down in the cellar he’d looked at her that way too, as if she wasn’t human but a creature imprisoned solely for his own entertainment.
‘Of course I have. I don’t intend to starve her to death.’
Susan watched as Marty’s eyes narrowed into slits. He didn’t like it when she snapped or answered back. She smiled, pretending she’d been joking. She had to be more careful. Marty Gull had a temper and now wasn’t the time to start testing its limits. At the moment he needed her, the girl had to be cared for by someone, but later she could easily become disposable.
He nodded. ‘Any trouble when she woke up?’
‘Only what you’d expect. A few tears but nothing I couldn’t deal with.’
In truth, it hadn’t been the easiest of days. Hardened as her heart was, it had been impossible to deny a small pang of pity as the kid came to terms with her predicament. She had thought Silver might raise hell, scream and shout, even do herself some harm but instead, after a short frantic struggle with the chain, she had lain down on the mattress and started to whimper. It had been one of those plaintive sounds, like the mewling of an abandoned kitten.
Susan had opened the grille and talked to her softly. ‘Shush now, be quiet. No one’s going to hear you. And no one’s going to hurt you either – so long as you behave. Be a good girl and you’ll be fine. You’ll be home before you know it.’
‘Where’s Ritchie?’ she’d sobbed. ‘I want Ritchie.’
‘He’s not here.’
‘He said … he promised … he told me …’
‘Just be quiet, love, and you’ll be fine.’
But the crying hadn’t subsided and in the end, unable to bear the noise any more, Susan had climbed up the steps, slammed the door shut and left her to it.
‘You didn’t go in, did you?’ Marty said.
‘I just pushed some food through. She wasn’t too grateful but I’m sure she’ll eat when she gets hungry enough.’
It was Marty who had been responsible for inserting both the grille near the top of the door and the small ‘cat flap’ opening at its base, a somewhat basic exercise in carpentry that had taken him an entire morning and a vast amount of cursing. He was hardly a natural when it came to woodwork.
‘Does she understand what’s going on?’
Susan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She’s still confused. She keeps asking after Ritchie.’
Marty sat down in one of the flimsy armchairs and spread his legs apart. ‘She should have figured it out by now. She can’t be that stupid.’ Leaning back, he put his hands behind his head and laughed. ‘Oh, please don’t tell me that all that expensive education has gone to waste! All that bloody money! Surely even a product of Delaney’s feeble loins should be able to put two and two together.’
Susan stared at him. ‘There’s a difference between working it out and believing in it. The kid’s still in shock.’
‘You’re not feeling sorry for her, are you?’
She heard the challenge in his voice and instantly rose to it. ‘What about Gabe Miller?’ she retorted. ‘Have you found him yet?’
‘It would help if you gave me the address of your friend.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it wouldn’t help at all. Gabe isn’t with her. I’d only be wasting your time.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Susan laid about as much weight on his judgement as she did on his morality. If he was prepared to betray Delaney after all these years, he couldn’t be trusted with Jo either. Providing him with her address would be tantamount to giving him permission to do exactly as he liked – and what Marty Gull liked was rarely conducive to any woman’s well-being.
‘He isn’t there,’ she said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Standing up, he combed through his hair in front of the mirror. ‘Not to worry. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon enough.’
Marty Gull whistled as he strolled down the path. Once Miller was off the scene he could get on with the more essential business of tormenting Delaney. He would need to take the photographs soon, a few poignant stills to prove that his slut of a daughter was still alive. He didn’t want him dragging his feet over the ransom.
He got in the car, leaned back and smiled. Just seeing Silver again, shackled and defenceless, had been enough to fuel his fantasies. As soon as he’d peered through the grille, she had sat up and stared.
‘Who is it? W-what do you want?’
It was the fear that had really turned him on, the panic in her shaky voice. She couldn’t see him clearly, the light was too poor and the slats obscured most of his face. But, as if sensing his intentions, she’d instinctively shrunk back. He hadn’t said a word, although it didn’t really matter if she recognised him or not. Her time was running out. Her days were numbered. Poor little Silver, however much she begged, would not be leaving here alive.
Chapter Eighteen
Had Jo been asked to compile a list of the ten most hideous ways to spend a Sunday afternoon, lunch with Ruby Strong would have featured right at the top. But there was no getting out of it now – she’d given Carla her word and a promise was a promise.
As the cab approached Canonbury, Jo glanced down at her simple cream shirt and light brown linen trousers. She wrinkled her nose. Why did she always try and dress so neutrally when she came here? It was a desire, perhaps, to blend into the background. But whatever she wore, Ruby would still find fault; it would be too smart or too casual, too stylish or too bland. There was no pleasing her. She was not the kind of woman who liked to be pleased.
Her fingers tightened around the carrier bag. Inside was a chilled bottle of Chablis. Alcohol was part of her survival kit for these dreaded afternoons, a few large glasses of wine having the useful effect of dulling the senses and taking the edge off the worst of the experience.
She gazed out of the window. It was always at this time, just before she arrived, that she could almost sympathise with her brother-in-law. Tony had little to recommend him but his burden was a heavy one. Having a mother like Ruby was enough to test the toughest of men.
Jo leaned forward and told the cabbie to stop. ‘Just here,’ she said. She wanted to walk the rest of the distance. She needed a few minutes to get her head together.
As the taxi moved off, she was reminded of Friday evening, of another cab slowly pulling away. Was Silver still out there or had Miller managed to find her? But how could he? Susan could have taken her anywhere; they might not even be in London. She had been listening to the news since Saturday morning, even tuning in to the radio at work, but there had been nothing about a missing girl.
Jo wondered if her reasons for not reporting the crime were justifiable. Gabe Miller had made a good argument but her acceptance of it was possibly more to do with the humiliating way she’d been treated by the police in the past. She could only hope that she wouldn’t regret the decision.
Turning the corner, Jo started to drag her heels. From here she could see the house and she didn’t want
to get there any quicker than she had to. It was a tall four-storey building, a large and externally attractive terrace in the De Beauvoir conservation area. Mitchell Strong had bought it over thirty years ago and since then it had vastly appreciated in value. Why Ruby chose to stay there, rattling around in so many empty rooms, was anybody’s guess. Had she been a different sort of woman, Jo might have put it down to sentiment but, knowing her as she did, suspected it was more to do with power and control. Sitting on such a prime piece of real estate, along with the rest of the money, kept her one remaining son entirely dependent on her. If he wanted to inherit, he would have to toe the line.
She stopped in front of the house and took a moment. Before ringing the bell, she lifted her face to the sun. It was a pleasant June day, the sky clear and blue with the sun shining brightly. It was the kind of afternoon that should be spent outside in a park or a garden. Instead she was about to enter the dismal mausoleum that Ruby Strong called home.
The door was opened by Mrs Dark, the latest in a long line of personal assistants-cum-companions. They had all been slightly weird but this one was bordering on the sinister. Claiming to be a medium, she was an insect-thin woman with small piercing eyes. Her hair, screwed up in a tight bun, was dyed a severe and unflattering midnight black. Her face was heavily powdered and her wide narrow mouth was a startling shade of red. The name, Jo decided, had to be made up – it was too much of a cliché to be real.
‘Come in, dear,’ Mrs Dark said softly. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’
There was something in her tone, a suggestion perhaps that this expectation could have been down to her psychic powers rather than any actual invitation, which gave Jo a nervous urge to giggle. She bit her lip and followed her along the hall. The chill in the house never ceased to amaze. Even when it was blistering outside, the heat didn’t penetrate. She could understand why Peter had loathed the place so much.
They entered the smaller of the two receptions, a cheerless north-facing room filled with old, ugly furniture. The walls were a dark muddy green. Their drabness could’ve been relieved by a few bright or interesting paintings but instead they were decorated – if such a word could be used – with a series of oils depicting the grim and bloody battle scenes of Waterloo. To add to the gloom, two pairs of heavy velvet drapes were pulled part way across the windows. Everything smelled stuffy, faintly musty, as if the windows were never opened.
Carla was sitting on one sofa and Tony was lounging on the other. He had a glass in his hand and already looked less than sober. Ruby, centre stage as always, was enthroned on a high-backed plum-coloured armchair. She was a wide, solid woman, several stone overweight, and was dressed head to foot in black. It was a mode of attire she had adopted after Mitchell’s death and had not seen fit to abandon since. Her mourning, like every other part of her life, had to be more important, more dramatic and more lasting than anyone else’s.
‘Ah,’ Ruby said, deliberately looking down at her watch before slowly raising her head again. ‘Josephine. How nice. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.’
Jo knew exactly what the time was: three minutes to one. ‘I’m not late, am I?’
‘No,’ Carla said, promptly patting the empty space beside her. ‘Not at all. We’ve only just got here. Come and sit down.’
Jo was halfway across the room when she remembered the carrier bag she was holding. ‘Oh, I brought some wine. Should I—?’
Mrs Dark instantly swooped on her. ‘I’ll take that,’ she said firmly. Like a firearms officer removing a potentially lethal weapon, she plucked the bag from her fingers and retreated back into the hall.
‘How are things?’ Carla said.
‘Good, thanks. And you?’
Before she had the chance to reply, Ruby leaned forward and peered at her. ‘You’re looking very … pale.’
‘Am I?’
‘You could be anaemic. Have you thought about iron tablets?’
Jo suspected that a mild dose of anaemia came way down the scale in her mother-in-law’s hopes for her future. Nothing less serious than a terminal illness would suffice. She sat down and neatly crossed her legs. ‘Do you know, I’ve never felt better.’
Ruby’s mouth tightened and her pale eyes grew dark. ‘Perhaps it’s the hair then. You looked so much prettier when it was long.’
There was one of those silences. In other company it might have been awkward but of the four people present in the room, three of them had long since come to terms with Ruby’s acid tongue. Interestingly, she had never been quite so rude when Peter was alive.
‘I like it,’ Carla said. ‘I think it suits you.’
Ruby grunted. ‘As if anyone cares what you think!’
Carla opened her mouth but smartly closed it again. She was hardly a shrinking violet but knew better than to provoke an unnecessary argument.
Tony peered over the rim of his glass. ‘Do you have to?’ he said. It was a question spoken more in resignation than outrage, a token protest made not so much to defend his wife as to appease her.
Ruby had the gall to look affronted. ‘Well, it’s a sorry state of affairs when I can’t even show concern for my poor son’s widow without being criticised for it.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Really,’ Jo said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m absolutely fine.’
But Ruby swept her response aside. ‘I mean, someone has to take an interest.’ As if the weight of this troublesome responsibility had fallen somewhat unfairly to her, she sighed and rolled her heavy shoulders. ‘How are your parents, dear?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ Even as she answered, Jo felt herself flinch. It was over ten years since her parents had left Britain and they hadn’t returned since, not even for Peter’s funeral. She had once made a joke that they had gone to Sydney to get away from her. It had been one of those careless, slightly defensive quips that Ruby had instinctively picked up on and had been exploiting ever since. Ruby Strong’s great skill lay in ferreting out the weaknesses of others; she would dig and dig until she hit pay dirt.
‘No sign of a visit yet? I suppose it is a long way to travel.’
Jo stared at her. She saw a plump round face that in another woman might have been considered jolly but there was only malevolence and spite in these particular features.
‘They’re very busy.’
‘They must be,’ Ruby said. ‘People do tend to lead such hectic lives these days. And jobs can be so demanding – all that stress and pressure. Remind me again of what your father does.’
Jo knew what was coming next and gritted her teeth. ‘He’s retired but—’
‘Oh yes,’ Ruby said, her sly mouth shifting into smugness. ‘I’m sorry. Of course he is. How silly of me to forget. Still, I suppose there must be lots to do out there. Australia’s such a big country, isn’t it?’ She paused. ‘I’m sure they’ll recall they have a daughter eventually.’
‘Mother!’ Tony objected, sitting forward. ‘Do you have to be so—’
Ruby turned her head.
He slowly sank back into his seat.
How farcical, Jo thought, that she had once welcomed the idea of being part of this family. Peter had warned her but she hadn’t listened. With no brothers or sisters of her own, her childhood had been a lonely affair, her parents so wrapped up in each other that they’d barely noticed she was there. She had been a late, unplanned and thoroughly unwanted addition to the loving but insular partnership that was Anne and Andrew Grey.
Jo turned to Carla. For all her disappointments, there were still some things she couldn’t regret. Even if it was only by marriage, she was still an aunt. ‘Where are the kids? Are they playing outside?’
Carla’s eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers. ‘Er … they’ve got the sniffles, one of those summer colds. Lily’s got a bit of a temperature so they’re spending the day at my mum’s.’
Jo’s heart took a dive. Apart from the fact she’d been looking forward to seeing them, it was o
nly the presence of Mitch and Lily that curbed the worst of Ruby’s excesses. In their absence she wouldn’t hold back.
‘You mollycoddle them too much,’ Ruby said. ‘Children need to get out and about. It doesn’t do to wrap them up in cotton wool.’
‘I don’t.’
‘So why aren’t they here?’
Tony leapt to his feet. So abrupt was the movement, so sudden, that an expectant hush fell over the room. Everyone stared up at him. Jo held her breath. There was something in his face, a tightness that she hadn’t seen before. Perhaps, finally, he was going to challenge the tyranny of his mother’s dictatorship.
But then his eyes glazed over. As if surprised to find himself the centre of attention, he frowned and raised his empty glass. ‘I don’t know about anyone else,’ he said, ‘but I need a drink.’
Chapter Nineteen
It was ten past two when they sat down to eat in the light and spacious dining room. These were nicer surroundings; even Ruby couldn’t do anything to spoil the lovely view across the garden. However, she had other ways of inflicting misery on her hapless guests.
Jo gazed down at her lunch. The food was virtually inedible: the beef resembled leather, the potatoes were undercooked, the carrots and broccoli boiled to oblivion. But if she wished to avoid insulting her hostess’s culinary skills she would have to try to clear her plate. Reaching for her glass, she took another gulp of wine.
She was seated to the right of Tony and opposite Mrs Dark. The latter was holding forth on the state of the government, a relentless monologue that required only the minimum of attention. While she gave the occasional nod, Jo was also able to listen in on another conversation. Ruby was busy lecturing her son on the basics of good business.
‘How many times have I told you – profit and loss, profit and loss; it’s not that hard to grasp.’
‘No,’ he muttered.