Jack knew he’d got him the moment his face darkened.
‘He was a bastard! She didn’t know him like I did!’
‘And how did you know him?’
Rico studied him before saying smoothly. ‘He owned this club.’
Jack was surprised. Bianca hadn’t mentioned that when they’d met. He was just about to ask him where she was when she suddenly appeared at his side wearing a slinky black dress.
‘Can you come into my dressing room?’ She walked off before Jack could answer.
The man’s look should have frozen Jack to stone, but he simply smiled at him and followed Bianca’s oscillating rear.
‘Do you often bring men in here?’ Jack said as she closed the door to her dressing room. He wanted to know what her relationship with the granite-faced man was.
She turned to look at him coldly as she started unzipping her dress.
‘Only Paolo.’
‘What about the man at the bar?’
‘Rico manages the joint. That’s all. Sit down and pour yourself a whisky. It’s forty years old.’ Bianca nodded towards two glasses and a half-empty bottle of a whisky, then moved behind a screen to change, knowing that Jack could see her reflection in the mirror. Normally she liked men watching her, but tonight she was only interested in discovering who Stella was.
‘Have you found her?’ she asked as she removed her dress; she didn’t have time for small talk.
‘Not yet, but I will. Give me time.’
Jack glanced at her reflection in the mirror, trying not to be disturbed by her voluptuous flesh, then looked around for somewhere to sit. How much underwear did one woman need? he thought, as he moved numerous bras and panties from a chair and sat down. But none of her underwear had the same silkiness as the panties he’d found in Paolo’s bathroom. He picked up the bottle of Black Bull Whisky and smelt its rich aroma: orange, candied peel and oak. He always thought he would have made a great taster. What a job. Getting paid to drink fine spirits and wine! He poured two small measures and sipped one. He was stunned by the whisky’s quality; it was a perfect integration of oak and luscious lemon zest. He wished he could afford something so expensive.
‘It’s very good.’
‘Paolo only buys the best.’ Her face crumpled; she was still using the present tense. ‘Oh, Jesus. I don’t know how to live with so much pain.’
Jack sipped his whisky. Did she know what real pain felt like? When someone you love more than yourself wants to die and you haven’t the courage to help them? He knocked back his drink and suddenly saw a half-opened letter on Bianca’s dressing table. The name Giovanni Macari jumped out at him before Bianca emerged from behind the screen, wearing another tight dress. She noticed him glancing at the letter and scooped it up before he could read anything else. ‘That’s got nothing to do with Paolo.’
Jack knew immediately that Giovanni Macari was another link to Paolo and it was important. He mentally logged it.
She sat down opposite him, knocked back the whisky and poured another. ‘So you’re a copper who can’t find people. I knew it when we were in the cafe and you asked all those questions, so what did you find out about Stella?’
‘She’s a high-class prostitute who only goes with wealthy clients.’
Bianca jumped up and shouted at him: ‘Paolo wouldn’t use prostitutes. Why should he? He had me!’ She thumped her sternum hard. ‘He didn’t need other women!’
‘Then why is his diary full of her name?’ Jack spoke quietly.
She collapsed back onto the chair, her face twisted with grief and Jack hated the brutal way he had spoken. Lucy’s illness had made him callous.
‘I’m sorry. I know how you’re feeling.’
‘Like shit you do! You’ve not just lost someone you love.’ She filled up their glasses again and they both drank.
‘No, I lost someone I love two years ago,’ Jack whispered.
She stopped drinking and looked at him. ‘You’re not bull-shitting me just to get information out of me, are you?’
‘No, I’m not bull-shitting you.’
‘Was it your wife?’ Bianca’s face was suddenly full of compassion.
Jack felt his eyes stinging. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
‘How did she die?’ Bianca asked.
‘She hasn’t died yet.’
Bianca frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
And suddenly all Jack’s pain came pouring out of him; he told her about Lucy’s illness and Tom’s alienation; he told about his failure as a husband and a father and a DCI. Once he had started talking he couldn’t seem to stop. He knew it was the whisky that had opened the floodgates, but the sense of relief was enormous. He told her about his biggest fear: not having the courage to help Lucy die.
Bianca was silent for a long time after he’d finished. ‘Jesus Christ, Jack – that’s a lot of pain to be holding inside you.’
‘Well, I’ve released a little of it,’ Jack said.
‘It makes my loss seem trivial in comparison. Have you got any photos of your family?’
Jack was surprised by her question. He hadn’t thought she’d be interested in an ex-DCI’s life. He brought out his mobile and scrolled down until he reached the photos of Lucy and Tom laughing as they climbed up Cader Idris.
She scrolled through the photos before saying wistfully, ‘They’re beautiful people, Jack. I wish Paolo and I had had a son.’ She continued scrolling through the photos until her face suddenly went pale. ‘Where was this taken?’
Jack rubbed his forehead; he already had the beginnings of a headache; he wasn’t used to alcohol. ‘Which one?’
Bianca leaned over to show him the photo she was looking at and Jack tried to avoid looking down at her cleavage. ‘This one.’ Bianca’s voice was tight.
Jack was surprised by her tone of voice. Why was she upset? He took his mobile off her and looked down at a photo of a woman with blonde hair standing under an elder tree fingering a rosary. The unknown beauty at Cellini’s funeral, but why would Bianca be interested in her?
‘She was at Paulo Cellini’s funeral. Didn’t you see her?’
Bianca shook her head.
‘She rushed off before it finished because the man at the bar was smiling at her. Very strange.’
‘If that’s who I think it is, Rico wouldn’t know her. She was wealthy. Rico and me move in different circles.’
‘But you both knew Paolo Cellini and he was wealthy, so why shouldn’t the manager know her? What’s her name?’ Jack felt his heart beating faster. He had learned from many years of police work that waiting for answers was usually the best way of getting them. He put his drink down carefully, vowing never to drink whisky again and waited.
Bianca got up and started pacing up and down the room in agitation. ‘I don’t know if it’s the same woman, but she looks like someone I went to school with. Angelica da Carrara. Her father was an Italian banker and her mother was an English model. She had everything I always wanted; beauty, wealth and masses of friends. All the girls had crushes on her. She was like a beautiful lily; half concealed but promising paradise, but…’
‘But?’ Jack was suddenly incredibly sober, realizing that this was the link he was looking for; the link to Cellini’s murder.
‘If you pulled away her leaves, there was deadly nightshade lurking underneath.’
Jack stared at her. If this was the same woman she’d gone to school with, why had she gone to Cellini’s funeral only to rush off so suddenly? Jack had a flashback to the moment he had seen her, standing beneath an elder tree, wearing a black scarf over ash-blonde hair, frowning as she saw Rico in the distance. What was the link between them? He was missing something, but he couldn’t work out what.
CHAPTER 19
27th March 1983
Angelica was sitting in the Chapel of Valsalice-Sacro Cuore in Torino with the other girls, praying to the Madonna to thank her for giving her the strength to complete her Lent Mission. She didn�
�t think she would be able to sustain forty days’ abstinence, but each prayer to her had made her stronger. Life without the Madonna would be impossible, she thought; she always made her feel she could do anything if she really wanted it enough, and most important of all, she always forgave her for everything she did.
Four weeks ago, like all the girls, she had listened to the Reverend Mother telling them of the message that his Holiness John Paul II had sent all Catholics. The Reverend Mother wanted the Pope’s words to resonate in all their hearts. And they had in Angelica’s. He’d told them that Lent was an earnest appeal from the Lord to undertake an inner renewal; both personal and communal: they must first beg forgiveness for others and search for an inner peace within themselves. But they must also never forget Jesus’ fasting in the desert. If each of them could give up something that was important to them to help others, they should do so during Lent. And she had; something she loved; she conveniently forgot that it wasn’t helping anyone else.
She opened her eyes to find Bianca Vella staring at her again from across the aisle, and sighed. She didn’t mind girls having crushes on her if they were pretty; but Bianca was overweight with a muddy complexion. She was like an unwanted satellite constantly orbiting around her. But I’m a Catholic, so I must be Christian towards her, especially at this time of year, she thought. She smiled at the girl and Bianca’s face lit up.
Her best friend Fiona nudged her and whispered. ‘When are you going to tell me what you gave up, Angel?’
‘When I’ve finished praying,’ Angelica whispered back, smiling at her. They always sat beside each other; in the schoolroom and in chapel. More like a sister than a best friend, Angelica thought with pleasure. Fiona was coming to stay with them this summer in their house in London. Angelica couldn’t wait. It would be wonderful to have someone to go dancing with; someone to be happy with. She tried not to think about her father sitting in the house by himself. The emptiness of the large, lonely house filled her with dread. It was saturated with memories; more like a mausoleum than a home. He wouldn’t go back to their house in Italy anymore because of the trauma of the past. But he couldn’t expect her to be with him all the holidays, surely? She couldn’t fill all the emptiness. She was young; she was supposed to enjoy life. They were flying to London in five days. It was so exciting!
Fiona and Angelica put their rosaries into their pockets, made the sign of the cross and walked out of chapel together; neither of them noticed Bianca’s crestfallen expression. All the light in the chapel disappeared for her when Angelica left. She got up hurriedly, made a rapid sign of the cross and followed them.
The girls were strolling towards the boathouse in the distance, arm-in-arm and Bianca was consumed with jealousy; that should be her arm Angelica was holding. Their heads were close together and they were laughing. Were they laughing at her? Bianca broke into a trot; both the girls had much longer legs than she had; their walking was effortless. They were already at the boathouse. Bianca hid behind one of the numerous trees on the lawn surrounding the convent as Angelica looked around. When she saw that the grounds were empty, she took a key out of the pocket and opened the door. Bianca frowned. Where had she got the key from? They weren’t allowed in there; it was full of old rusty boats and machinery that was never used now; the nuns considered it a dirty and dangerous place for young ladies to visit. The girls closed the door and Bianca ran across the grass towards them. She had to hear what they were saying. I bet they’re talking about me, she thought.
She peeped through one of the dirty windows. The girls were sitting on the floor. Fiona looked shocked. What had Angelica said to her? One of the windows was ajar; Bianca knelt down under it and heard Angelica say.
‘The gardener’s son.’
‘You didn’t! I don’t believe it! When? We’re never allowed out.’
‘We came here. How do you think I’ve got a key? Every night I could.’
‘What – when we were supposed to be sleeping in the dormitory? Angelica, you’re so wicked!’
Then the girls started laughing. Bianca didn’t understand what they were talking about. What had the gardener’s son got to do with someone as pure as Angelica?
Then she heard her say something that made her feel sick.
‘I’ve given up sex for forty days, Fi, but tonight I’m going to have it as many times as the boy can get it up!’
The next day Bianca was standing in the Reverend Mother’s office telling her what she had heard. Her idol had fallen off a high pedestal. The Reverend Mother looked at her with incredulity.
‘Ciò non è possibile! Are you telling me that Angelica da Carrara, one of the best Head Girls we’ve ever had at the school, is having a relationship with our gardener’s son?’
The Reverend Mother often spoke a mixture of Italian and English and so the girls did the same.
Bianca nodded. She knew she was doing the right thing. What Angelica was doing was a mortal sin and had to be stopped. The Reverend Mother would help her to get back on the road to redemption.
‘This is a serious accusation you’re making, Bianca.’ The Reverend Mother looked at her. ‘Are you sure that’s exactly what you heard?’
‘Sì, Reverenda Madre. Angelica needs help.’
‘I don’t want you discussing this with the other girls. I’ll speak to Angelica and Fiona and we will discover the truth. Thank you for coming to see me, Bianca. Deve essere stato difficile per te.’
‘It was very difficult, Reverenda Madre. I’ve always admired Angelica.’
‘I know that, child. Ritorno alla classe ora.’
Ten minutes later, Angelica was sitting opposite the Reverend Mother looking at her with horror. ‘Lo non ci posso credre, Reverenda Madre. Why would she invent such terrible lies?’
The Reverend Mother studied her over her half-moon glasses. ‘Non ho idea, Angelica. Obviously the child is unhappy. Have you offended her in some way?’
‘I hope not, Reverend Mother. She hasn’t many friends. Perhaps I should have spoken to her more, ma non l’ho fatto.’
‘Sì, questo potrebbe essere il problema.’ The Italian Reverend Mother agreed with her; she had seen this problem with young girls repeated many times over her long years as the head of the convent. Plain girls becoming infatuated with beautiful girls with lots of friends, but it didn’t make her task any easier. She had to confirm that the girl was inventing a story because she was jealous of Angelica’s friendship with Fiona but if she was…it was a difficult situation for her.
‘Chiedete Fiona di venire a vedere me per favore?’
‘Naturalmente, Reverenda Madre. I’m so sorry that these problems have been created for you.’
Angelica rushed to find Fiona. It was a study period so they were allowed to study wherever they chose. She found her in the empty art-room; a solace of quiet on the top floor of the convent.
‘Fi, the Reverend Mother wants to ask you some questions about what I told you in the boathouse. If you tell her, I’ll be expelled and my father will never forgive me and I have no one else. Please promise me you won’t say anything. It will ruin my life.’
Then Angelica cried and so did Fiona and she promised she would never breathe a word about the gardener’s son for the rest of her life.
Angelica knew it was going to be more difficult to convince the gardener’s son to keep quiet; he was a simple boy who didn’t like lies, but once she’d told him that he and his father would lose their jobs if he told the Reverend Mother what had happened between them, he told the Reverend Mother that he didn’t even know the girl she was talking about and she believed him.
A few days later, the Reverend Mother wrote a letter to Bianca’s parents suggesting that Bianca would be better suited at another school. Her appalled parents, who had beggared themselves so she could have a good education at an Italian convent, removed her two weeks later and her relationship with them was never the same; they told her she had disgraced them.
She never forgot or fo
rgave Angelica for what she had done to her. At seventeen, she left Malta forever and came to live in London. For years she was bitter, working for little money as a waitress. Then one evening, she went to a jazz club and they asked if anyone could sing. She’d only sung in the convent choir before, but she went up on the stage and discovered she was a natural-born blues singer.
CHAPTER 20
15th December 2012
Jack tried to ignore the hammer blows in his head and the freezing wind which whipped around the forecourt of the hospital as a paramedic expertly maneuvered Lucy’s wheelchair onto an ambulance. It was only ten days before Christmas and he hadn’t put up one Christmas decoration up in the house. It had always been a chaotic joyful ritual they had all enjoyed and there was always laughter when Jack’s decorations fell down. Jack climbed into the ambulance and sat down beside Lucy as the paramedic closed the door and drove off. He lovingly arranged the blankets around her slight body; then held her hand. She tapped it with a finger and looked at him. She wanted answers.
‘I went to a jazz club and drank too much. I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t drink, but sometimes it helps, Luc. I went to speak to the girlfriend of that playboy art dealer who died. You remember Paolo Cellini? There’s something very odd about his death and you know what I’m like with unfinished puzzles. I know I’m not a DCI anymore but I can’t—’ He stopped as Lucy started laboriously typing a message on her laptop; it took so much energy out of her and he didn’t want to see the message. She waited for him to look at it. He took a deep breath and looked down, expecting the worse. want me 2 help u?
Jack’s smile was radiant. This was the Lucy he loved. ‘You bet!’ he said. ‘Can’t solve it without my lovely girl.’
She tried smiling at him.
An hour later, Lucy was lying in bed, propped up with four pillows, exhausted by the journey home and Jack was up a ladder in the lounge, desperately trying to put up some Christmas decorations before Tom came home from his grandparents. He hadn’t even thought what to buy him for Christmas; in fact he hadn’t thought about Christmas at all until today. His mobile suddenly rang. He got it out of his pocket and opened it. Mrs. Montgomery’s name popped up.
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