‘You can’t leave me with this. She’ll be heartbroken. Take her with you.’
‘If I do that, Vincent will flip. It could affect Naomi’s situation. I’m trying to consider everyone, Henry, don’t you see? Vincent wants me separate from Annabel because he’s terrified of me spilling the truth to her. Believe me, I’m doing what I think is right. If you speak to Vincent, convince him that I deserted Annabel without explanation. That’ll help us all.’
Henry could feel the onset of panic. ‘What am I supposed to tell Annabel?’
Joel strode towards Henry and took the nearest pen and scribbled on the corner of a newspaper. ‘Anything but the truth. Learn from that housekeeper of yours. Tell her my mother’s dying or something. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ve written my phone number down. Keep in touch.’
And with that, Joel exited the room and checked the hall. No sign of Annabel.
‘Joel?’ Henry was up, and following. ‘Joel, wait!’
Joel didn’t. He opened the front door, and ran.
36
‘Read the letter out to me.’
Annabel was hesitant. ‘I can’t.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I shredded and binned it.’
‘You did what?’
‘Look, I’ve paraphrased what Dan said. What’s the use of keeping a letter like that? I didn’t want you to pour over it again and again.’
‘Well maybe I did!’ Naomi snapped. Agitated, she paced the room. ‘He might have meant it differently to how you’ve interpreted it. I’ve been desperately waiting to hear from him, and now he’s written and I still have nothing . . .’ but she couldn’t complete the sentence. Vincent was coming up the stairs, then walking past her room. For privacy, she went into the dressing room and slumped down between a row of dresses and was careful not to tell Annabel where she was, what she was seeing.
Annabel was defenceless on the other end of the phone. She wasn’t speaking.
Naomi couldn’t remember what she’d last said. Just knew that she felt as though she’d been knifed in the chest. Her breathing was erratic. ‘He can’t mean it,’ she said.
Annabel was breathing slow and laboured breaths, struggling for words. ‘Can I be honest with you?’
‘Whatever,’ Naomi said, automatically. An ill-thought-out word under the circumstances.
‘I think Dan’s right.’
What? She yelled back, but not out loud.
Because of the pause Annabel was encouraged to go on. ‘If you give his letter some serious thought you’ll see he makes sense. He’s giving you wings because he wants you to be free. What’s the point of both of you –’
‘What if I don’t want wings?’ she hissed, hand shaking as she tried to hold the phone steady. ‘What if I don’t want anyone else?’
A long pause. ‘Just think about it.’ Annabel’s tone was gentle. ‘Take your time.’
‘To have the actual letter would be something. I can’t believe you destroyed it – you had no right.’
‘It was addressed to me.’
‘I don’t care.’ Naomi was struggling not to yell. It felt like a great effort to keep her voice down. ‘Dan’s my fiancé and I think you’re forgetting that he’s innocent. He shouldn’t even be in there.’
‘I know that. The thing is, he wants you to stay away from –’
‘I’m not stupid,’ Naomi cut in, guilt jabbing at her now. The hypocrisy was awful.
‘Look, unless Dan’s appeal is successful, you can’t very well wait . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Just a minute, Naomi.’ Naomi could hear Annie breathing as she walked. ‘Joel’s running down the drive away from the house. Where the hell is he going? So weird. If Dad’s chucked him out . . . Look, I’ve got to go.’
Next second, Annabel had gone and Naomi was left holding her phone, struggling to find the energy to stand. She literally crawled out of the dressing room and pulled herself into bed. She closed her eyes and could see the letter from Dan, his handwriting small and neatly joined; she saw the way he crossed his Ts. She wished she could hold the paper that Dan had touched, feel it, smell it, paper that came from where he was now, a place she couldn’t imagine. Instead of this, she had nothing but a second-hand account of Dan’s message to Annabel. How could he do this to her?
A toxic mixture of fury and sadness kept her in bed all afternoon, wrestling with her thoughts. Through a haze of inconsolable misery, one thing became clear: the need to finish the game, get out of here. Reach Dan. Make him see sense. One move a day? Maybe she’d push for two, or even three, with new terms. Her thoughts evolved into suggestions and solutions as she got up and mechanically dressed for dinner. There was no chance of Solomon changing the rules, especially not if it meant she got out sooner. So she’d be forced to say nothing, do nothing.
If that wasn’t enough, she got another message from Annabel, which just about finished her:
Sorry to load this on you when you’re already down about Dan. Joel has vanished and isn’t responding to me. I don’t get why. He came today, we talked and agreed to move in together, then he went to talk to Dad to try and smooth things over, then he suddenly bolted. Dad said that Joel’s mum is dying and that he felt torn between his mum and me and that he’d be back when he could. I didn’t even know his mum was ill! Why won’t he open up to me? If I find out that Dad said anything to get rid of him, I’ll never forgive him. Another thing – I don’t think Dad’s been honest about his relationship with Amber. Long story, but I’m wondering if there was more to it than he’s admitted. I wish you were here so we could help each other. I feel lonely and scared sometimes. Sorry about the letter from Dan and also about the whole mess with Mum. She’s being ridiculous. I’m trying to talk her round but she’s in ice mode. Anyway . . . take care xx
Unbelievable on all counts. Naomi stumbled to the bathroom to apply some makeup, but her mind was on Dan and Annabel. An almighty mess. She was surprised to find her eyes nicely made up when she noticed herself a few minutes later. She had no memory of guiding the eye liner or coating her lashes in mascara; couldn’t remember using the little applicator that had decorated her eyelids in bronze powder. She looked OK, considering.
It was 6:55 now. She sat on the bed in a black cocktail dress, trying to fasten the tiny buckle on a pair of shoes that were half a size too big. As she fiddled with the buckle, she reached a firm decision. She’d ignore Dan’s words because she refused to accept them. She’d write to him and tell him that she wouldn’t abandon him, no matter what he said.
Suddenly, all that mattered was getting an urgent message to Dan. She wanted to sit and pin down all the words that were buzzing round her head and spend long hours arranging them for him. But Dan would have to wait. Time for dinner with Solomon, and she would be forced to be herself, whoever that was in this crazy arrangement of his. Any change and he could notice. And she very definitely didn’t want him to notice her tonight. Not with Dan leaping around in her mind.
She locked her room and went downstairs. She needn’t have worried. The kitchen was empty. She frantically compared the time on her watch against the kitchen clock and they both agreed that it was dead on seven. She sat at the table in her black cocktail dress, uncertainty prodding her with cool fingers, questions queuing for her attention. Fifteen minutes passed before she stood up and dragged the remains of last night’s dinner from the fridge. She warmed some food and ate without tasting. Every mouthful, she was aware of the camera rolling somewhere. Was he watching her? Was he mad with her for waking him? Had she gone too far?
She had a pen in her room. And paper, stamps and envelopes. She’d anticipated the need to contact Dan while she was here. And her room was gloriously free of cameras, if the mystery note-writer was to be believed. Another note in the morning. She was desperate to learn more. She stood, straightened her chair and took her plate to the dishwasher and loaded it. She sprayed and wiped the table, the surfaces, the taps as she’d seen Vincent do.
Camera-shy, camera-conscious, she slowly exited the kitchen, expression blank, leaving no clues that she was on a pressing mission to get a message to Dan. How would she post the letter? It was the first commandment wasn’t it? Thou shalt not leave the house. She’d find a way.
The result of a two-hour struggle and several attempts went like this:
Dear Dan,
Why would you write to Annabel and not to me? I’ve waited so long to hear from you and then you write to someone else! I don’t know why you did that. It hurt me when you know how much I love you and every letter I’ve written to you has told you that. You remember what we mean to each other? What we’ve been through! How could you think I’d want to give up now? I won’t give up until I’ve tried everything to get you out. You’d do the same for me. For the hundredth time, I’m sorry I didn’t make court. I regret it every day.
Please don’t ignore me or try to protect me when I’m desperate to talk to you and see you. Trust me, please. We can’t give up on each other now. That would be an utter tragedy, the most mindless thing of all. I can’t believe you’d refuse to see me. After everything! I’m not listening, Dan. I’m going to visit you as soon as I can.
So hang in there. Be strong. I know you still love me.
Naomi. xx
It was another hour before the chess game even occurred to her. It was almost ten-thirty and she hadn’t made her move.
She leapt from the bed and snatched her assembly of keys. After locking her door, she descended the stairs in bare feet, still wearing her dress. Having not thought about the game for several hours, she’d have to use the move she’d planned earlier, the one that stabbed the heart of Vincent’s defence. She went through the lounge and opened the card room and was shocked to find Vincent sitting at the table, facing her in a dark shirt, open at the neck.
‘Oh!’ she froze.
‘Evening.’
‘How long . . .’ she changed her mind. ‘Doesn’t matter.’ She moved along as soon as she could and proceeded to the table. ‘I’m just making my move, then I’m going to bed.’
‘Sit down, please.’ The palm was shown.
She had a fleeting thought to refuse him, but couldn’t raise the words or the courage at a moment’s notice. So she sat opposite him and waited.
‘I was held up in a business meeting.’
‘You don’t have to explain.’
‘I know.’ The Solomon stare. ‘Why the tears?’
‘Do you listen outside my door or something?’
‘Your eye makeup is smudged. Poirot not needed for this case.’
She automatically wiped her eyes. Shrugged her shoulders. He watched her for a few uncomfortable moments. ‘You’ve decided on your move?’
Relieved to have moved on, she answered by grasping her bishop and swinging it diagonally across the board towards him. She took one of his pawns, sat it down beside the board and set her bishop down in the centre of the vacant square.
He took his eyes off her and glanced down, then looked up at her again. ‘You’re feeling empowered, I see.’ He slid the board to one side, replacing it with his elbows. Then he leant forward, pinning her to her seat with one of his looks. ‘I have a favour to ask. The only answer I’ll accept is yes.’
‘What favour?’
‘On Saturday night, I have a meeting in London with two potential clients. Come with me. Tell me what vibes you get from them. I’d value your feedback.’
She worked to cover the surprise. Didn’t move at all. All she could think about was finding a post box for Dan’s letter. This could be an opportunity. ‘What clients?’
‘I’m not a transvestite, Naomi. I have an online business. I sell vintage clothing. That dress you have on was once worn by Lauren Bacall in a Hollywood film made in the fifties.’
‘What?’ She sat up straighter, looked down. She’d been lounging around in it for hours.
‘The dresses you wear every night are worth a lot.’
She smoothed the silk against her legs. ‘Oh.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘Will you accompany me to London to meet two female clients? It’s just dinner in a restaurant in Mayfair. An outstanding place called Sketch. We’ll travel by plane.’
‘Mayfair as in the Monopoly board?’
He smothered a smirk. ‘Yes, it’s a real place.’
She couldn’t think, not while he was watching her like this. Couldn’t get Dan out of her head. ‘On one condition.’
His eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘Go on.’
‘I want to go out and choose some clothes of my own. I didn’t come here prepared. Thought all I’d need was jeans and jumpers, but hey. Plus I’m tired of being alone indoors. So let me go and buy my own outfit and I’ll come to your fancy dinner and weigh up the women.’
He leant back in his chair and clasped his hands together. ‘I have a better idea. We’ll shop together. I need some new shoes.’
‘Need?’
‘I like shoes. So do you. You can help me choose.’ She said nothing. ‘Dinner isn’t till 8 p.m., which gives us plenty of time on Saturday. I propose a one-day trip to either Madrid or Venice. Possibly Paris.’
‘Are you kidding me? I was thinking the Arndale Centre in Manchester.’
‘I wasn’t! I was thinking Madrid or Venice, possibly Paris, seeing as there isn’t enough time to get to New York.’
‘We can’t –’
‘Yes, we can. Which one?’
Two thoughts: she had to reach a post box, and she’d always planned on going to Venice one day. Just not with him. Still, the thought of leaving the house opened the possibility for both – the post box and the trip. ‘This is crazy.’ He waited without moving. ‘Venice, I guess.’
He pushed his chair back, stood up. ‘I guessed that too. I’ll look into flight times and let you know.’
‘Fine.’
‘What’s your view on insects?’
What? ‘I don’t have a view. I can’t say they occupy my mind.’
‘Whereas they crawl into mine quite frequently, making my skin itch. So you’ll continue with the bin job? It’s tomorrow. I might be out.’
I know it’s tomorrow. I’m counting down. ‘Whatever,’ she said, not cutting the eye contact. ‘I get to take a trip down the path. Yay!’ said sarcastically.
‘I’m returning this,’ he said, sliding a sheet of paper across the table towards her. ‘I’ve signed, though when I’ll get my vacuuming done now . . .’
‘I can do it,’ she said. ‘My diary’s hardly cluttered during the day.’
‘No one does it as well as I do. No one cleans as thoroughly as me either.’
‘That’s because you have a problem, Vincent.’ Crap, she’d said his name again.
‘Problem?’
He didn’t seem to have noticed – either the use of name, or the problem. ‘Yes, problem. It’s obsessive compulsive stuff.’
‘I’m not seeing a problem.’
‘I am.’ He glared at her in response. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Who cleans at 4 a.m.?’
‘That’s when I have the time.’
‘That’s when you should be sleeping. You snatch a few hours’ sleep here and there. You drink a lot of whisky. It isn’t healthy, any of it.’
‘You should have been my mother.’
‘I’m sure you don’t need two.’
He broke eye contact, glanced at his shoes. She sensed the first chink in Vincent Solomon. The first sign of discomfort. ‘No, one would have been enough.’
‘Is she dead?’
‘She died when I was nine.’
She said, gently, ‘What happened to her?’
‘She was hit by a car one Sunday evening. Died instantly.’ He slipped into thought. ‘She was a very untidy person. An artist. Her work consumed her. The only room in the house she cared about was the one she painted in. The rest of the house was chaos. I never wanted to live like that. So I don’t.’
Naomi was stunned. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m tired.’
He walked round the table and brushed past her left shoulder. She said, ‘Did they prosecute whoever hit her?’
He stopped. Twisted his neck. Looked at her and she looked at the table. ‘No. It was a hit and run.’
He wasn’t moving. Some words trickled into Naomi’s mouth. She’d never know where they came from or why she let them out. ‘Have you ever killed anyone, Vincent?’
The air hung still. He’d stiffened just beyond her peripheral vision. It felt like an eternal pause, but she kept her eyes fixed on the chess board.
‘My sleep was disturbed earlier today and now I have a migraine,’ he said quietly.
‘Simple question.’
‘Without a simple answer.’
She’d pushed as far as she dare. A bubble of panic was swelling inside her chest. ‘OK.’
He was still rooted, not moving. Why was he not leaving? ‘Your playing today was worth the price I’m paying now. It was sublime. I know an artist when I see one, hear one. I’m in awe of your talent.’
She swallowed. ‘Thank you,’ seemed the only thing to say.
Next moment, his fingers were skimming across her shoulder, reaching inside her hair, gently cupping the side of her neck. She should shift away, tell him to get lost. She didn’t move or speak. ‘If you ever want company, just knock on my door. You don’t have to be alone.’
With that, he quickly withdrew his hand and continued through the lounge across the hall, up the stairs. She tracked his footsteps all the way to his room. Heard the door close.
And then the house sunk into silence again and Naomi resumed breathing.
37
Solomon had been ignoring Henry all evening. Four phone calls, two texts. When he got to his room, he went into the security of his safe room. It was soundproof and tranquil. The torn up ten pound note was still on the floor. He left it there and rang Henry.
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