Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  She hesitated. ‘It’s under control.’

  ‘That wasn’t my question. Where is he?’ They locked eyes. A growl of thunder echoed from miles away. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘I’ve told you I’m handling it. Joel’s spineless. He won’t talk.’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t so far. If he had, Annabel would have told Naomi and Naomi would be at my throat. None of which excuses you. You track Joel down by Monday and hand over Reggie’s address or you won’t need to decide where your loyalties lie. You’ll be out, and then you’d better hope that Reggie-boy doesn’t ditch you for the next redhead that twists his neck.’

  Vincent passed Charlie on the path and she had to refrain from slamming her fist deep into his skull.

  39

  ‘Tell me about being in prison. What’s it like?’

  Reggie stroked Charlie’s arm. ‘Cross between being at school and being in a zoo. Clans. Bullies. Cages. The tough tribes picking on the weaker ones. Then there are the loners who keep their heads down, do their time, suck up to the screws, draw as little attention to themselves as possible.’

  ‘Where was my dad in the pecking order?’

  ‘He could hold his own with the toughest of them. People kept out of his way unless they were trading with him. He only had a few enemies really, but one of them had the last word.’

  ‘Who killed him?’

  ‘Dunno. Whoever it was kept a tight lid on it. Everyone knew he’d been murdered, but the screws turned a blind eye. There’s a lot of violence in prison. The screws don’t get involved unless they have to.’

  ‘Screws?’

  ‘Prison guards.’

  ‘Right, yeah.’ A few quiet moments.

  ‘Your dad blamed Hamilton for the fact that he’d landed up in prison in the first place.’

  ‘I know.’ She paused. ‘Did my dad talk about us much? His kids?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Did he love us?’

  ‘Erm.’ A wait and a sigh. ‘Can’t answer that really. No mushy talk with Jimmy, you know that.’

  ‘That’s why I asked, because you could never tell. I was convinced Vincent was the golden child.’

  ‘Nah. If he had a soft spot for anyone, it was for you. He liked how tough you were. Could win any fight with any bloke. He talked about it. Proud, if you ask me. I was really looking forward to meeting you, actually, especially since your old man died. It’s one of the reasons I came to the club. I wanted to tell you the stuff he never said to you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. And I’ll repeat the general message: he wanted you to take Vincent on.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t make it easy for me.’

  ‘Typical Jimmy, hey? Maybe he would have got around to it if he hadn’t suddenly died in a shower one Thursday morning.’

  ‘Maybe.’ This was the part Charlie had been working up to. ‘So what are your plans now that you have a pile of Vincent’s money?’

  ‘To enjoy it. A little business to take care of, then I’m going to move away from this armpit of an area.’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘Jimmy’s really. It’s thanks to him that I have that money. I was due to get out first. As it happened, he beat me to it, only in a box. Anyway, he told me Hamilton would bite if I took the girl. A bonus really when Vincent stepped in, because that was my next job – ruffle Vincent’s feathers. I managed both jobs in one. I still think Hamilton’s been let off lightly.’

  ‘Agreed. He’d be out of the way now if it weren’t for Vincent.’

  They were lying on Janes’s sofa. ‘So, you never told me what Vincent said.’

  She laughed, climbed on top of him so they were lying stomach to stomach. ‘Oh, he was furious when I was late for the meeting.’

  He reached up and moved her hair off her face. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing at the time. He goes quiet when he’s challenged, then he comes back at you in his own way and time, when he’s thought about it.’

  ‘So he hasn’t asked you about me?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she lied.

  ‘And when he does, what will you say?’

  She smiled. ‘What do you think I should say?’

  ‘Oh, I’d tell him that you’ve got me exactly where you want me and that you intend to keep me there. Then I’d tell him to stick his job.’

  She liked his style. A lot. More fishing required though. ‘I do need a job, Reggie.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love money.’

  ‘We have money.’

  ‘We?’ She couldn’t hold the smile in.

  ‘Yeah. You and me. Don’t get greedy. Maybe it’s time to cut from Vincent and run. It’s dirty money, right?’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘Well then. Let him have his money. You don’t want to end up inside like I did.’

  ‘Reggie,’ Charlie turned serious and the wide smile vanished. ‘There is something I want. I won’t cut ties with Vincent until it’s dealt with.’

  ‘What is it?’

  She bit her lip. He stroked her hair. ‘I want a baby.’

  ‘A baby?’ He laughed. ‘What, now?’ She nudged him gently in his privates. ‘OK, OK.’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you something important here. Thing is . . .’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I kind of . . . can’t.’

  ‘Oh.’ All the fun bled out of his tone.

  ‘And it’s one hundred percent crap, you know that? Especially when I’m about to become an aunty. That Hamilton cow could have another baby, couldn’t she? And I’d be doing her a favour. She wouldn’t even want the baby if she knew who Joel was. Once again, Vincent’s in the way of doing the perfectly logical thing.’

  ‘You can’t just nick the kid.’

  ‘You don’t get it. That boy is a Solomon. My dad’s grandson. Thanks to Vincent and his twisted plans with Naomi Hamilton which involved Joel, the two families have fused when they never should have. I don’t want the Hamiltons raising that baby. My dad would toss in his grave.’

  ‘Wasn’t he cremated?’

  She thumped his shoulder. ‘Behave, would you? This is serious.’

  ‘Why is it your problem, babe?’

  ‘No problem. I want the baby.’

  ‘What if I don’t want a baby?’

  ‘Are you saying there might be a future for us?’ She’d said it now. The F word.

  He went to kiss her and she pushed his lips back with her fingers. ‘I’m game if you are.’

  She smiled. Resumed breathing. ‘Well we have rights to the baby. I wouldn’t be nicking it, as you put it, I’d finally be getting even for my dad. A life for a life. Plus I’d get what I want too. It’s perfect. I reckon even Henry would be glad to see the back of it. He hates Joel. So, I’ve bought a few little things –’

  ‘Charlie,’ Reggie cut in. ‘Listen to me. There used to be a sincerely ugly prison warden called Brenda. Face like a bag of toads and she had a curly beard.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I spent nine years inside and sometimes Brenda the Beard was the only female I saw all day. So shu’ up a minute would you and come here.’

  Reggie clasped the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his and kissed her very firmly. The guy only had so much patience. Enough baby talk for now, Charlie guessed.

  ***

  6:30 a.m. Terminal two. The flight was due to leave Manchester for Marco Polo airport in thirty minutes. Naomi had one deep handbag with her. In it was her phone, passport, a change of underwear, some makeup, hairbrush, toothbrush and crucially, Dan’s letter.

  The last twenty-four hours had been a strain. Staring at the chess board in her room, planning what she’d do, wondering how the hell she’d make the right move by ridiculous o’clock in the morning. She’d had a tearful conversation with Annabel where she’d poured her problems down the phone between great sobs and gulps and Naomi had absorbed her pain and shed silent tears from the floor of
the dressing room in her bedroom.

  At seven, she’d had a quiet dinner with Solomon, both of them reticent, distracted by their own thoughts, unwilling to give anything away. He’d left the house at nine, said he needed to sort a few things, said he’d be back before midnight to rest before the flight. Her tension eased as he closed the front door and backed his car out of the garage and drove away.

  She’d had a surge of energy then, her mind filling with possibilities, starting with the garage. In fact, as she absentmindedly cleaned the kitchen, she found she couldn’t move on from the garage. The thought had infected her mind. It was as if the original idea had found a mate and spawned infant thoughts. And like children, they were running riot, getting up to mischief and making a lot of noise.

  Vincent was definitely out. The garage was sitting in delicious darkness, available, empty, begging to be searched.

  She was aware of the camera as she buzzed around the kitchen guarding this irresistible little nugget of knowledge that was messing with her mind. Counter-voices were issuing warnings. Then, one of the little sprogs popped the question: does the kitchen bin need emptying, perhaps?

  An innocent question that pumped bubbles through her heart. She walked to the cupboard under the sink, trying not to hurry, and oh the delight and horror of finding a bin almost filled. Decisions, Naomi. She didn’t recall reaching a decision really. The camera was rolling, see. So, in an effort to look ever so natural, she coolly took hold of the bin liner and lifted it clear of the bin.

  A little monster in her head urged her to take a spray and cloth. She didn’t consciously know why she was doing it, she just obeyed the voice like she was taking dictation and robotically collected her keys from the kitchen counter and left the room, flicking off the light.

  She opened the front door, closed it. She was just a woman taking the rubbish to the bin, right? A light was on outside the front door, guiding her journey to the garage. Solomon wouldn’t like this. At all. She pressed the little button that opened the garage door, surprised suddenly that Vincent had given her access to this place. Why would he risk exposing himself if there were secrets in here?

  Now, that voice offered no comfort and gave rise to a dozen questions as she slipped inside the garage and lowered the door to knee height. What if this was a test? A trap? Using the torch on her phone, she hurried to the green bin and deposited the bag. She sprayed the bin, her excuse for being here, and wiped it urgently. Vincent would note the time she’d left the kitchen. He’d be timing her departure to the garage once he did his checks.

  The darkness enveloped her, damp and weighty. Her breathing quickened. She splashed light on the concrete floor. The light wasn’t strong enough to travel as far as the left corner. She didn’t like being in here with Solomon’s mesh of secrets and yet, having come this far, she couldn’t not investigate either.

  The seconds were ticking. No time for thought. The pull from the far left corner was intense. She ran to it, without knowing what she was looking for. Back wall, on the left. The code is your birthday. The only thing on the wall was a small black box, two clips at the bottom. Her fingers were unsteady. She fumbled with the clips until the cover lifted, revealing a keypad.

  It took her a second to remember her own birthday, then she tapped in 2210. She jumped when a machinelike noise started up and the back wall began to slide to one side.

  ‘Holy crap.’

  Her hands were trembling. Her legs turned to rubber. She held the light up, glanced over one shoulder. The wall moved about two feet and stopped. It seemed impossible. No time to work out the technicalities, she stepped forward into the gap and, behind the wall, there was a narrow concrete staircase hemmed in by walls on both sides.

  She stood for seconds at the base of the stairs, looking up, her feet incapable of movement. Then she heard a car. That’s when her feet remembered how to shift. She flew back inside the garage. She’d never considered how she might close the damned thing. The engine was drawing closer. She lunged for the keypad and tapped 2210 in again and the door began to close.

  It was moving too slowly.

  ‘Hurry, hurry.’

  Vincent would wonder why she was in the dark, why the garage door was down. Excuses were pouring into her head, none of them plausible. By the time the secret door had sealed itself, the car outside had gone past the house. She could have cried with relief. Her nerves were frayed.

  She’d gathered the cleaning spray and cloth and secured the garage and returned hurriedly to the kitchen in case he was monitoring her absent time. She hoped she looked normal as she put things away under the sink and left the room again.

  Her mind was barely working, but she went to the card room next and dropped in a chair in front of the chess set in order to make her move as well as convince him that she was focussed on the game. As she sat, head in hands, staring blankly at the pieces, feigning concentration for the camera, all she could see was the staircase at the back of the garage.

  What was up there? What was he hiding?

  It crossed her mind to text the mystery person and report that she’d uncovered the staircase. But she didn’t know who it was, so she wasn’t going to trust them. End of. Best to let them initiate the next conversation, see where it led. One thing was certain, whoever was on the other end of her texts knew this house well.

  Naomi must have glared at the board for an hour, checking and rechecking that her intended move wouldn’t land her in trouble. She was as sure as she could be that she was safe. A mistake now could be costly.

  Her knight leapt into the game, which took her by surprise even though her hand had guided it. The move had the dual effect of threatening his queen so that he’d have to withdraw, and also protecting a pawn. It was done now. Rules of chess, no second chances. No point glaring at the board and asking questions. She left the card room for the haven of her bedroom where she could sort her head without being watched.

  And here she was nine hours later, having only dipped into troubled sleep, sitting in the executive departure lounge, Vincent Solomon in the plush seat to her right. A black car had called at exactly 5:45 to take them to the airport. The driver had been a youngish lad who knew better than to speak. He did his job, opened doors, kept his mouth shut. No eye contact.

  Solomon was disturbingly quiet and still now, and she was too apprehensive to initiate conversation. Had he played the cameras back? She was acutely aware of the letter in her bag, the revelations about the garage swimming through her mind. She could have convinced herself that he could read her fluently. His stillness told her that he was brooding.

  Unusually, he was wearing a plain jumper over his shirt. Over that was a suede jacket. Bottom half: straight-leg navy trousers, brown leather shoes. He looked expensive, smelled expensive, faultlessly clean hands and nails. Half of his watch protruded from his jacket sleeve, silver with a black face, Rolex crown at the top.

  He tipped his wrist and glanced down, then stood up and looked at her properly for the first time. His eyes, a frosted blue of the palest colour, penetrated hers.

  ‘I’m going to take it as a compliment that your pulse increases every time I look at you.’ Several responses occurred to her. She couldn’t find the voice for any of them so she kept still, aligned a steady gaze. ‘Permission to breathe,’ he said, finally releasing her from his scrutiny. ‘Ready?’

  She stood, closely hugging her bag to her, conscious of her breathing now. She hadn’t checked the chess board that morning so she didn’t know how he’d responded. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Ready? How could she possibly be ready?

  40

  Marco Polo airport was all bright sunshine, dark shadows. Vincent had spent the flight issuing emails and sorting club business and invoices from his mini laptop. Naomi, occupying the window seat, had looked out in silence. As Vincent worked away on his keyboard, he was mindful that she’d be thinking back to the last time she was on a plane, which was when she’d returned from t
he Maldives without Dan Stone. He allowed her to do this without interruption.

  If she thought he was unaware of her, she was wrong. Every tap of his fingers had been an effort to concentrate on the screen and not on her left leg two inches from his, her arm and shoulder which occasionally grazed against him when she moved. He couldn’t look at her fingers without recalling how often he’d studied them from camera two, flashing angrily over the piano keys the afternoon she’d intentionally roused him from sleep. The same fingers which had carefully caressed the keys the morning he’d asked her to play him to sleep.

  He daren’t think too much about those hands.

  She wore no rings. No earrings. No watch or perfume or designer labels. Just a hint of mascara, tinted lip balm, necklace. She looked tantalisingly innocent, scandalously sexy in her tight jeans, flat pumps, short jumper, shorter jacket, her hair fastened up in a high pony. Hell, he hated jeans. Would burn the world’s accumulation of them on a bonfire if he could. And yet on her, he could forgive every denim sin ever committed.

  They’d said a handful of words all flight, which was how he wanted it.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I have some work to do. Do you mind?’

  ‘Fine.’

  And so on.

  So, between dull admin, he could observe her while she looked out of the window, browsed the in-flight magazine, arched over to fiddle with her bag under the seat in front, causing a separation of jumper from jeans, revealing the pale skin of her lower back.

  The silence would disorientate her, make her uncomfortable, shove her toward uncertainty again. Self-doubt – that glorious waiting room where the vulnerable always gather, queuing to be seen and tended to, their eyes full of questions. Waiting for their name to be called.

  The flight was on time and touched down at 10:28, Venice time. The sunshine brushed the buildings with light and cast diamonds on the water. The sky was a garish blue and a scattering of fast-moving clouds passed like traffic overhead while other clouds sat motionless, watching.