by Jessie Keane
68
‘Come on, sweetie, let’s play,’ said Sebastian excitedly.
Cornelius lay naked in bed, watching the boy fondly. Sebastian was jumping around the room in the nude, his skin glowing golden over long, taut muscles, his coal-dark hair cascading like a dark waterfall around his powerful shoulders, his cock bouncing on its little cushion of black pubic hair. This was the first time he’d brought Sebastian here, to his own London house in its peaceful leafy square, and Sebastian was thrilled.
‘Come on, lazy,’ said Sebastian, coming to the bed and yanking the covers back. He was holding a scarf. ‘Come on, I want to try this.’
Cornelius gave a groan. Sebby wanted to try everything. No outer limit of sexual deviance was too extreme for him. Now he looped the pastel-toned Liberty scarf around Cornelius’s neck.
‘What . . . ?’ Cornelius was laughing.
Leaning in, laughing too, Sebastian tied the scarf in a tight knot. Cornelius felt his throat constrict.
‘Good God,’ he objected, his voice coming out a breathy whisper. Sebby’s head dipped and his hair brushed teasingly down over Cornelius’s stomach. He felt the boy’s lips touch his penis.
‘See? It works,’ said Sebby. ‘It’s true, it enhances sexual performance, you see?’
Cornelius wrenched the damned thing from around his neck. His erection was sudden and mighty. Yes, it did work. But he didn’t like it.
‘Oh, don’t take it off,’ objected Sebby.
Cornelius threw the scarf aside. ‘I’ve no taste for being throttled,’ he said.
‘Don’t be such an old fusspot,’ said Sebby, jumping off the bed and heading for the fruit bowl on the side table, his buttocks jiggling enticingly. He picked up a tangerine. ‘See, you hold something like this in your mouth. Keeps the airways open. Try it.’
‘No,’ said Cornelius.
‘Then I will,’ said Sebby, popping the fruit in his mouth. He snatched up the long scarf and went over to the big mahogany wardrobe, throwing the doors open. Carelessly he pushed aside garments, throwing a couple out onto the floor.
‘Hey!’
Sebby held up a hand and Cornelius fell silent, watching his young lover. Sebby was reaching up, looping the scarf around the clothes rail inside the wardrobe.
Cornelius watched, smiling.
‘Mmph,’ said Sebby past the fruit, beckoning him over.
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Cornelius left the bed and strode over there. Sebby indicated that Cornelius should tie the end of the scarf around his neck and hoist him up, just a little.
‘This is stupid,’ said Cornelius, but he did as the boy wanted.
He was alarmed to see Sebby’s face turning bright brick-red the moment his feet left the wardrobe floor. But Sebby was making it’s OK movements with his hands.
‘What . . . ?’ Cornelius didn’t like this at all.
Sebastian spat out the tangerine.
‘It’s all right,’ he wheezed. ‘Oh, it’s good. Look . . .’
Sebby was right. He had a large erection. Cornelius was transfixed, staring at it.
‘Yes, that’s all very well, but . . .’ Cornelius stopped speaking.
Sebby’s eyes were shut.
He felt a hot thrill of fear.
‘Sebby?’ he said quickly. ‘Jesus – Sebby!’ he shouted, and tried to lift the boy up. He could only lift him a little. He was heavy. Scrambling, straining, half-sobbing with effort, he put a hand to the boy’s heart, and could feel nothing. ‘My God, no. No! Sebby!’
Tito got there shortly after midnight. A white-faced Cornelius, wearing a silk paisley robe, let him into the house. He led the way upstairs to the master bedroom. Cornelius nodded towards the wardrobe then collapsed onto the bed, his head in his hands.
Tito stepped over the pile of clothing on the floor, and opened the doors. Sebastian was hanging there, blue in the face with his tongue protruding from his mouth. He was obviously dead.
‘I didn’t know what else to do, who to call . . .’ said Cornelius hopelessly.
Tito glanced back at him, seeing the desperate eyes, the face wet with tears. Carefully, he closed the wardrobe doors. He crossed to the bed.
‘Can I use this phone?’ he asked, indicating the one on the bedside table.
Cornelius nodded. ‘If this gets out, I’ll be ruined,’ he said.
Tito made a call, then hung up.
‘I’ll take care of it,’ he said, patting Cornelius on the shoulder. ‘Give me a front-door key, then get dressed and go downstairs to the drawing room. Ignore anything you hear. Just stay in there.’
Cornelius did as he was told. Later, hours later,Tito knocked on the drawing-room door and handed him back his key.
‘All done,’ he said.
‘I’m very grateful,’ said Cornelius shakily.
‘These things happen,’ said Tito, and left.
Sickly, Cornelius crawled back upstairs and fell onto a bed in one of the other rooms: he couldn’t stand the thought of going back into the master bedroom, where he had romped so carelessly, so happily, with Sebby, and where Sebby had died.
‘Christ,’ he moaned, choking on his tears.
Sebby was gone.
And even worse – he knew that he was now more than ever in Tito’s debt.
69
The christening of Joe and Betsy’s second child Billy was held not too long after Ruby had visited Charlie inside. All Betsy’s side had come, the women in feathered hats and slim-fitting suits; even her mother and her elderly father had made a big effort.
Vi had turned up in a chauffeur-driven Rolls, looking incredibly glamorous in a lilac silk gown and matching hat. She had her husband Anthony, the present Lord Albemarle, in tow.
Mr and Mrs Porter were suitably overwhelmed by this ugly but titled individual. They behaved as they always did around their eldest daughter – slightly stunned, like a pair of sparrows who’d somehow bred a swan.
On Joe’s side there were a couple of his heavies and their wives, plus Ruby, who had come unescorted in a little clip-on fascinator hat and a figure-skimming apricot-coloured shift dress. She went everywhere unescorted. She was used to it. She was the Ice Queen, all the papers said so. Unmarried. Childless. Cold to the bone. Entering a room alone, walking into a party on her own, none of that held any fears for her. Her harsh upbringing had paid dividends, in the end. Made her tougher.
She was one of the godparents for little Billy, and had to stand up alongside three others at the font with the vicar and renounce the devil and all his works. Later, back at the house when there was a crowd around the cutting of the christening cake, Ruby took the opportunity to take Joe to one side.
‘I want to talk to you,’ she said straight away. ‘About Charlie.’
Instantly Joe’s expression of happy fatherhood changed; became secretive, closed-off.
‘Charlie said you were asking him about the kid,’ he said.
‘I told you I was going to.’
The music came on – the Monkees singing ‘I’m a Believer’ – and tables were being pushed back. Betsy, the baby cradled in her arms with the beautifully embroidered silk and chiffon christening gown spilling down like a white waterfall, sent Joe a look that said: What are you doing?
Joe mouthed back: Just a minute.
‘Thought you’d have a family of your own by now,’ said Joe to Ruby. ‘A proper one. You know. Husband. Kids. Nice house. Take your mind off all this.’
‘I don’t need a husband,’ said Ruby. ‘And I’m in the process of buying a nice house.’
This was true. She’d grown restless at the flat over the store. She’d hunted down a lovely Victorian villa in the countryside near Marlow and put in an offer.
‘And I have two kids,’ she said.
‘You had two kids. You ain’t been poking around with that Bray lot, pestering them for a look at the girl, have you? Because I warn you, Sis, they won’t stand still for that.’
‘They’re my children,’ sai
d Ruby.
She wished she had contacted Daisy, but she’d lost her nerve. Several times she’d been this close to doing it, to making herself known to her daughter. But every time, her courage deserted her.
‘No.’ Joe shook his head. ‘You sold that little girl.’
‘You know damned well Charlie pushed me into it. And I was wrong to let him. I was young and stupid—’
‘And now you’re old and stupid,’ cut in Joe. He turned his back on Betsy’s desperate mouthings. ‘Look, Ruby – all that’s the past. It’s too late to turn back the clock. You think either one of those kids would want you anyway, once they know the truth?’
Ruby was eyeing her brother coldly, but he’d hit home with that one. She had sold her daughter. Every day, the guilt over that tormented her. She had been too weak, too afraid, to fight Charlie over her son. She should have done better by her kids; she knew that. But she hadn’t. And now, she wanted – so much – to make amends.
‘Charlie said my boy was done away with,’ she said.
Joe hesitated. ‘That’s right. I’m sorry. He told me at the time.’ His eyes skipped away from hers. ‘I couldn’t tell you, Rubes. Don’t look at me like that. I had to lie to you. How the hell could I tell you that?’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Betsy, bustling over with the baby whimpering in her arms. Two-year-old Nadine was clinging to her leg, whining for attention. ‘Joe, we have guests . . .’
Ruby looked at baby Billy, so pretty in his christening gown, and couldn’t help but think of all the things that she had missed with her own children. Their christenings, yes – but also their first days at school, their first boyfriends and girlfriends, the everyday joys and pains of a family life. She’d been cheated of all that.
‘Clear off, Betsy,’ snapped Ruby, wanting to swat the woman who had once been her best mate away like an irritating gnat. It was painful, to see the baby close-up like this. When she’d held baby Nadine shortly after her birth, it had cut her like a knife. And now time had gone by again – and Joe and Betsy had Billy to complete their family. And what did she have? Nothing. She had to talk to Joe about this now. It was important.
Betsy’s face scrunched up in outrage. She was already royally pissed off because Vi had pitched up with such a flourish, and upstaged her without even seeming to try. Now Ruby was acting up.
Ruby confronted her one-time friend. Betsy hated Joe spending time with anyone but her. She’d been sick with temper when Vi had befriended Ruby, consumed with envy when Ruby made a success of her life – and twisted up with bitterness over Vi’s elevation to the aristocracy.
‘Go on – clear off,’ said Ruby again, her voice harder.
‘You going to let her speak to me like that?’ Betsy demanded of Joe.
Vi came up, looking concerned. ‘What on earth are you all up to? People are looking.’
‘Nothing, Vi.’ Joe turned to his wife. ‘Give us a minute, Bets, OK?’ he said.
‘I don’t know what this is all about, but I don’t think this is the time or the place, do you?’ said Betsy hotly, her eyes skipping angrily from Ruby to Vi and back again.
‘A minute!’ snapped Joe, and Betsy subsided and sloped off to her folks. Vi went with her, casting questioning looks back at Ruby. Joe turned to his sister. ‘I’m going to get stick for a week over that,’ he informed her.
‘Good. You deserve it. You lied to me.’
‘Let it go now, Rubes. The boy’s gone. The girl’s happy.’
‘The boy was dark-skinned, like me,’ said Ruby softly. ‘Did you know that?’
Joe stared at her face. ‘No. What? What d’you mean?’
‘The girl was pure white, but the boy was dark.’
‘Jesus. I didn’t see the kid. Charlie never said.’
‘Is that why Charlie had him murdered? Charlie and Dad hated me because I looked a little coloured, a little dusky. So did the baby. I guess that was all the reason Charlie needed to see the poor little sod off.’
Joe was silent, taking it in. ‘Jesus,’ he said again, shaking his head. ‘Can that happen? One twin white, the other . . .’
‘I think it’s rare,’ said Ruby. ‘But when there’s black blood in the family, it can happen, yes. It can come out. Didn’t you ever wonder why Cornelius Bray kept the girl, and not the boy, too?’
‘No. I didn’t. Look, it’s all dead and gone now, Ruby. Black or white or fucking purple, what’s it matter? The little nipper was a bastard, and you were Charlie’s sister. That was what bothered him. That people were going to laugh about it behind his back, the high and mighty Charlie Darke who ran the streets, he couldn’t even control his own sister, she was putting it about like a common whore and having kids out of wedlock. Sorry. But that was Charlie, you know it was.’
Ruby was silent for a long moment. ‘I hate him,’ she said.
Joe shrugged. ‘You think he cares? Don’t make me laugh.’
‘Did you know the man who did it?’ asked Ruby.
‘Fuck it, no, I didn’t. And you know what? Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you his name. All that’s water under the bridge, girl. Do yourself a favour. Forget it.’
With that, Joe turned his back on her and rejoined his wife and his family, all of them laughing and smiling on this happy day.
Ruby stood alone, an outsider as always, and watched, and thought: No. I can’t forget it. I wish I could, but I can’t.
70
1967
‘Steady,’ said Kit. ‘Don’t rush.’
Gilda smiled at him, and lay back on the double bed in the room they’d rented for the night. They’d met up for a drink in the Long Bar near Maidstone, then driven away in their separate cars, very careful that they were unobserved and not followed.
They weren’t. Kit made absolutely sure about that, and finally they pulled into a cheap little hotel on the outskirts of a small town, and booked a room.
‘Shit. I’ve stayed in better dosshouses than this,’ said Gilda when they were shown up to the room.
It was shabby, to say the least. There was peeling nicotine-stained wallpaper, tired dusty light fittings, rugs so threadbare you had to be careful not to get your feet caught in the open loops and go arse over tit.
But there was a bed. Gilda went straight to it, and threw herself back on it, bouncing up and down a few times to test the springs. They bit back.
‘Ow!You know what, my gran had these old metal springs,’ she said, laughing. ‘You used to get on the bed and there’d be this big dip in the middle, your bum would be touching the floor. Fuck me, I wouldn’t have thought there was a bed this old left in the world.’
Kit locked the door and watched her, bouncing around and giggling like a teenager. He had to smile.
‘It’s a bed,’ he said. ‘Beyond that, who cares?’
Kit sat down, swung his legs up onto the bed. It was a damned uncomfortable bed, she was right about that. But he was in it, with Gilda, and she was an itch he had been trying to resist scratching for a long time. Gilda swooped on him immediately, her mouth fastening over his like a suction hoover.
‘What’s the hurry?’ he said, easing her away.
Gilda smiled and lay back. ‘I’ve fancied you ever since I first saw you,’ she sighed, sitting up to peel off her coat. She flung it aside. ‘And it’s mutual, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Kit, pulling her back to him.
He’d had lots of women, but Gilda was something special. She was forbidden fruit, for a start. Everyone knew that Gilda was Tito Danieri’s bit of fluff, and that Tito was a hard man, into all the rackets, and not to be crossed. Also, he was in tight with Mr Ward. Kit wasn’t comfortable having Gilda because of his loyalty to Michael. So he had resisted her – even when she’d made it pretty obvious that she was hot for him.
Now, he’d given in to the impulse. But on his own terms, not hers. Out of the way where no one could see. A few brisk bonks and then it would be over, he promised himself. She’d be out of his system an
d no harm done.
‘Let’s get our clothes off . . .’ said Gilda, pulling at his tie.
‘Easy,’ he said. ‘We’ve got all night.’
‘It’ll take all night, to do all that I want to do to you,’ she said, her ocean-green eyes smoky with lust.
There were clearly some advantages to the older woman. Kit lay back and let her remove his jacket, shirt and tie. She ran her hands admiringly over his taut muscles, then slid her hand down, right down inside his trousers to feel his erection. She moaned and pulled off her pants, the gold charm-bracelet rattling with every move she made; then she knelt up on the bed and straddled him.
Gilda unbuttoned her cream-coloured blouse, and slipped it off her shoulders in a slither of silk. Then she unhooked her white bra and let the straps fall down over her arms so that he could see her dark-nippled breasts.
She smiled into his eyes and unfastened his belt, unzipped him.
‘Lift up,’ she ordered.
Kit raised his hips off the bed and she pulled down his trousers and underpants.
‘Oh, that’s better,’ she said, stroking him, then moving a little and guiding him easily inside her. She moved down onto him with a gasp, wriggling her hips to take him right inside.
Kit felt like he was about to come straight away, but he held back even though he was excited almost beyond bearing. This was Tito’s girl. He was breaking his own rules here, he knew this was wrong. But, oh, it was good. She’d been taunting him for so long, enticing him, and now, at last, they were here.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, grasping her breasts.
‘You too,’ she groaned, and set to work.
It was a long night, and Kit woke in the morning exhausted and satisfied, with Gilda’s arm across his chest and the gold charm-bracelet right in his eyeline. A horseshoe, a fish and a shamrock for luck.
Luck. Would they need luck for this? He thought they would.
He wondered if Tito had bought the bracelet for her – he probably had – but the thought was an uncomfortable one and he swept it aside. All right, he felt bad about this. But not that bad. All through his life he had been like this – it was as if something had been cut off, cauterized, somewhere deep inside him. He didn’t think he had the capacity to care deeply about anything. He didn’t think he would ever lose his head over any woman, he was sure he would never fall in love.