by Jessie Keane
But Bray was back in control. He lifted the gun, pointed it at Andrew.
‘Fuck off,’ said Cornelius flatly.
Something in the imperious way Bray said that made the red rage envelop Andrew’s brain. Instead of backing away, he’d charged forward, grabbing the gun, forcing it down. Bray shouted something, but Andrew was deaf and blind with fury.
The gun went off.
Andrew stumbled back, shocked.
He heard Bray’s gurgling groan of agony and he saw . . . oh Jesus, he saw . . .
Even now his mind flinched away from the blood, the hideousness of it all. He wasn’t a violent man. He could never hurt anyone, but now . . .
He’d backed away, then he’d seen the other man coming into the woods. All that was in his mind then was escape. He’d run away, out of the woods, down the hill, out onto the road. Shaking and sick, he’d gone back to the bed and breakfast and spent a sleepless, wretched night there. In the morning, in a frenzy of panic, he’d packed up his clothes, paid his bill. Then he’d gone to the train station, bought his ticket home.
And now here it was, in the newspaper.
Bray was dead.
Soon, his train was announced over the tannoy. Andrew stood up, stretching. Felt the weight of it all suddenly drop from his shoulders, leaving him lighter, cleaner. He dumped the paper in a waste bin, and went to catch his train home.
144
Cornelius Bray was buried on a breezy October day in the family plot beside his mother and his father, Sir Hilary. Many people attended the ceremony. His son Kit didn’t, but Daisy did, feeling it was only fair that she should be there to support Vanessa.
‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ Daisy said to Vanessa when the ceremony was finished.
‘Neither can I,’ said Vanessa, looking frail, bewildered and washed-out in funereal black.
‘Shall I come back to the house with you?’ asked Daisy. She couldn’t take it in. Her father, that huge presence, was gone, never to return.
‘No, darling,’ said Vanessa with a faint smile. She took Daisy’s hand in hers, hesitated, then said: ‘I always tried to be a good mother to you, Daisy. I tried so hard. But I just couldn’t deal with the fact that you weren’t my child. I thought I would be able to, but I couldn’t. And that was very unfair on you.’
Daisy felt horribly choked all of a sudden. ‘I know you did your best.’
‘I did. I hope I did. Even though you were never truly mine. You were Ruby’s,’ said Vanessa.
Daisy felt the tears spill over. She’d been crying buckets over her father. She knew he’d been a bastard. She knew he’d lied to her. But he was the only father she’d had and she’d loved him. And now, he was gone.
‘Shh, don’t cry,’ said Vanessa, and wiped a tear away from Daisy’s cheek. ‘It’s never very comfortable, is it, living a lie? Now the truth’s out, it will all get easier. Goodbye then, darling.’
Daisy kissed Vanessa’s cheek lightly.
Vanessa turned and walked away.
‘Wait,’ Daisy called after her.
Vanessa halted, turned.
‘Can I come to see you at the house sometime? Would you mind that?’
Vanessa gave a faint smile. ‘No. I’d like that very much.’
‘I’ll phone you.’
‘Yes. All right,’ said Vanessa, and walked on.
When Vanessa got home to Brayfield, she had a cup of tea and then changed out of her funeral clothes and into jeans, a T-shirt and her old Barbour. She stepped out of the boot room at the back of the house, and went out into the pale autumn sunshine to join Ivan. He was working down in the orchard, gathering up the fallen apples to try out the cider press she’d purchased back in the spring.
Ivan saw her coming, and smiled. She was such a great lady, and married to such a bastard. But not any more. Now she was free of all that, and he was glad.
‘Hello, Ivan,’ said Vanessa with a faint ghost of her usual smile. Lovely Ivan, with his bushy beard and his whip-like strength; she felt so comfortable, so happy, when she was with him in the garden.
‘How’d it go?’ he asked.
‘Awful,’ she said.
A silence fell.
Then Ivan said gently: ‘I’ve set the press up. Come and see.’
Vanessa nodded, and followed Ivan down to the barn.
145
‘The coroner’s returned a verdict of accidental death,’ said Michael. ‘I phoned Kit this morning, he told me.’
Ruby turned and stared at him. They were strolling along the wide sandy beach on St Brelade’s Bay in Jersey. Michael had a house here and they had spent the weekend together there. It was a cold, starkly bright November day, and they were wrapped up in quilted coats against the gusting wind and the salty tang of the surf.
‘Right,’ she said.
Ruby didn’t believe Cornelius’s death had been accidental, but it was a relief that the law thought it was. She’d feared that Michael might be dragged into it all. Now she could breathe again.
‘Early flight tomorrow,’ said Michael.
Ruby kissed his cheek. ‘Back to work,’ she sighed.
‘It’s been a great weekend,’ said Michael.
It had. They had made love last night, sweetly, gently; and had slept easy the whole night long.
‘I love you, Michael,’ she said.
He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Love you too, babe,’ he said, and kissed her.
The following day Michael was back at his desk behind the restaurant, sorting out paperwork, writing a few letters, phoning his old mate Reg, his former number one man, who had shown Kit the ropes when he was a wet-behind-the-ears scruffy little bugger with a big mouth and no sense. The contract he’d had in partnership with Tito on the Albert Docks was completed now, all the units sold. Thank God that was finished.
Ruby popped in at lunchtime. They had a light lunch together in the restaurant. Then Kit came in, and Ruby seemed to freeze in her chair.
Michael beckoned him over, but to Ruby’s dismay Kit took one look at her sitting there, turned on his heel and went out again.
‘Jesus, that boy,’ said Michael, shaking his head.
‘It’s OK,’ said Ruby, though it killed her inside. ‘He’s got every right to feel the way he does.’
Michael gazed at her. ‘D’you think he’ll forgive you? Someday?’
Ruby gave a wan smile. ‘Honestly? No. I don’t.’
That afternoon, Michael paid a long-overdue visit to Tito. His younger brothers were there too, Fabio and Vittore – handsome thugs with dead eyes and big attitudes.
‘My friend,’ gushed Tito, throwing his arms wide.
‘You’re not my friend, Tito,’ said Michael with a cool smile. ‘And I’m not yours. We’ve done business together, but that’s at an end now.’
Tito’s arms fell to his side. His ice-blue eyes were watchful. ‘And now . . . ?’ he prompted.
‘Now I have to tell you that I know you’ve been hounding Ruby Darke as a favour to that shit Cornelius Bray.’
‘Oh yes?’ Tito didn’t deny it. ‘But then . . . my poor old friend Cornelius is dead now. So sad.’ It was sad for Tito. He’d cultivated Cornelius for so many years, holding those incriminating photos over his head like an axe to ensure his cooperation. Lord Bray had been so useful. So influential. Such a pity he was gone.
‘That’s true.’ Michael’s eyes were hard. ‘You’ve been pushing your luck over this, abusing my good nature because of our connection. But it stops now. If you or any of your boys go near her ever again, then you’ll force me to do what I really don’t want to and I’ll have to slit your fucking throat personally, do you understand?’
Tito held up his hands. ‘Michael, believe me . . .’
‘That’s the point, right there: I don’t believe you. But you’d better believe me. I mean it. All bets are off now. Clear?’
Tito nodded, very slowly.
Michael left, leaving Tito staring at the closed door.
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Tito knew that Michael Ward was a man of honour. That he’d been forced to hold back out of respect, putting old values before personal gratification. But Tito wasn’t a man of honour. He was a man of action.
Fabio stirred. ‘He’s got some fucking front, talking to you like that.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tito. He glanced at Fabio. At Vittore. His younger brothers were watching him, hungry as jackals. They weren’t honourable men, either. One sign of weakness, and they would go for the jugular, to hell with family. Push him aside, take over.
‘So what are you gonna do about it?’ demanded Vittore.
Tito said nothing. His tilted his head towards the door, and slowly drew his hand across his throat.
His brothers smiled.
Then they followed Michael.
Ruby went back to work after lunch. There was always stuff to attend to. Jane had scheduled meetings for her with catering consultants this afternoon. The plan was to open coffee bars in five of the stores as a test; if it was successful, then the bars would be run out all through the chain.
‘You have a nice weekend with that man of yours?’ asked Jane, handing Ruby letters to sign.
‘Just wonderful,’ said Ruby.
She didn’t hear the devastating news until the next day.
146
It was Rob who had broken the news to her. He’d got a call from Kit.
She would never forget it.
She had sat there, frozen in shock, while Rob with tears in his eyes said that Michael had been found dead in an alley with a bullet through his brain.
‘No,’ Ruby had shaken her head. ‘No.’
But it was true. Michael was dead.
‘My God, all I seem to do lately is attend funerals,’ said Vi with a shudder. ‘My poor Ruby. How terrible this is. Still got the gorilla in tow, I see.’
Ruby glanced back at Rob, who was standing close by.
They were huddling out of the sleety rain in the shelter of the lychgate at the church. There were huge crowds here today – bigger than those who had attended the burial of Cornelius, Ruby noticed. Not that she cared. Not that she cared about anything, any more.
Michael’s funeral was over. It had been a simple affair, with the coffin covered in white hothouse roses. All his boys had attended. Rob. Kit. All the rest of them. Even Reg, who had retired from the game long ago. And all Michael’s business contacts and friends.
Vi was hugging Ruby, enveloping her in a cloud of Devon Violets.
‘Ruby?’ It was Daisy, rushing up. Vi stepped aside. Daisy hugged Ruby hard. ‘It’s just so terrible. I loved Michael,’ she said, sobbing, smudging her mascara.
Kit had been one of the pall-bearers. Ruby watched him throughout; her beautiful son. He looked awful, almost grey with strain. Her heart had gone out to him. But his eyes had passed over her like she was not there.
‘I’m glad I left the twins at home with Jody,’ Daisy was saying. ‘I couldn’t bring them to this, it’s too sad.’
Joe was there to pay his respects, with Betsy, Nadine and Billy. Betsy had said a tense hello, and Joe had given her a brotherly hug. Apart from that, they hadn’t spoken.
The crowds jostled them. Kit was standing just over there – so close, yet a million miles away.
Kit was watching Tito. The fat sadistic fuck was here, and when he caught sight of Kit he gave him a big toothy grin. Kit’s fists clenched. That bastard. A sickening vision of Gilda swam into Kit’s head. He didn’t know who had pulled the trigger on Michael, but he knew how Tito had been terrorizing Ruby, and he knew how furious Michael had been over that. He knew from Reg that Michael had visited Tito the day before his death, to give the wop one last warning over the Ruby situation, in case it should drift on even though Bray was out of the picture now.
He was drawing his own conclusions, and none of them were good.
For God’s sake, Michael, why didn’t you let me do it? he wondered furiously. Tito had become a ticking time bomb, they had both known that. So why hadn’t Michael let him defuse the bastard, once and for all? He would never understand it. Never.
The moving crowds had jostled Daisy away from Ruby so that she was standing by Rob.
‘Your mascara’s all over your face,’ he said, giving her a handkerchief.
‘Is it . . . ?’ asked Daisy vaguely. She rubbed at her sore eyes.
‘You missed a bit,’ said Rob. ‘It’s . . . oh fuck it, keep still,’ he said, and wet his finger and tidied her up.
‘This is so sad,’ cried Daisy. Rob noted that the buttons on her black cardigan were undone and it was falling off one shoulder, almost exposing a breast. He didn’t stare: he didn’t want to embarrass her. ‘Poor Ruby . . .’
‘I know it’s fucking awful. But at least it was quick,’ said Rob, his voice breaking.
Daisy looked up at him curiously. She’d thought he was just another mound of muscle like the others that had surrounded Michael, but it was clear he had feelings too. He had nice straight dark-blond hair, and those sexy khaki-green eyes, and actually his mouth was rather nice . . .
‘What?’ asked Rob. She was utterly gorgeous, and endearingly dippy. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
‘Nothing,’ said Daisy, starting to blush.
Seeing Rob was occupied with Daisy, Ruby moved over to where Kit was standing alone.
‘Kit?’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’
Kit turned and stared at her. ‘What?’ he asked, his face like granite.
‘This must be horrible for you,’ she said. ‘Michael and you were so close.’
‘You think I want your sympathy?’ he said coldly. He was in agony here over Michael. He wished so much that Michael had let him sort Tito. Then this wouldn’t have happened.
Ruby swallowed hard. ‘Kit . . . I just wanted to say something to you.’
‘What?’
‘That whoever did this . . .’ She gulped again, hardly able to get the words out. ‘Whoever it was, I want them to pay. Do you understand?’
Kit stared at her. ‘They’ll pay,’ he said at last.
‘I just think—’ started Ruby.
‘No. That’s enough. I don’t care what else you just think,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear a damned thing from you.’
And he walked away, into the crowds.
Ruby stood there, bereft, remembering Michael’s words to her on the beach where they had been so happy.
Do you think he’ll ever forgive you?
And her answer: No. I don’t.
147
1975
It was after Christmas, in the grey January doldrums, when Kit was summoned to Michael’s solicitor’s office.
‘What for?’ he asked in surprise when he took the call.
‘For the reading of Mr Ward’s will,’ said the receptionist. ‘How does Tuesday suit you, Mr Miller? Two o’clock?’
The reading of the will? Kit agreed the appointment and put the phone down and looked around his flat, not seeing a thing. He had thought all that was over and done with. He had thought Michael would leave everything he owned to Ruby Darke. Of course she would be there on Tuesday to scoop the jackpot. He felt himself bristle at the thought of it, being closeted in an office with her, forced to be polite when all he wanted was to throttle her.
But what the hell. He’d be there. And he’d try to resist the urge, he really would. But only for Michael’s sake.
Ruby wasn’t there. No one else was, apart from him and the young chubby solicitor, who smiled a lot and kept pushing his glasses back up his nose when they slipped down. The man read out the will, and twenty minutes later Kit reeled out of the solicitor’s office clutching a letter that Michael had requested be delivered into his hands today.
Michael had left him everything. His businesses. His properties.
Everything.
He went home to the flat and sat there on the couch with the letter in his hands. He was in a state of shock. He had never expected any of this.
Kit,
Everything I have, it’s yours. But there are three conditions.
One, you’ve got to look after your sister Daisy. She’s a sweet girl but she’s a fruitcake, you know that. She’ll need some guidance from you. Keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s OK.
The second condition is harder. I know you’ve been hurt by all that’s happened to you. But Ruby was in a mess, she couldn’t help how everything panned out. She’s a good woman, kind and strong. So it’s my dearest wish that you should stop being an arsehole and give your mother a chance. You got that?
And finally on to the third. If I’m dead and that small matter we discussed hasn’t been handled, I owe you at least an explanation. My wife Sheila knew how I felt about Tito; I always hated him. But he was her kin. Tito’s mother Bella was Sheila’s mother’s sister – Sheila’s aunt. I swore to Sheila I’d never cause pain to Bella over Tito, and I’ve held to that – even though the bastard hasn’t returned the favour. He’s been cashing in on the family connection for years, and so what I’m saying is this: I can’t sort it. Can’t bring myself to do it. How could I do that, break my word, kill Bella’s son, inflict that kind of pain on her?
But Kit – if you want to, it’s up to you. You can handle it.
Your decision.
OK, boy?
Be happy.
Love
Michael
Kit let the letter fall into his lap. His eyes were wet. He leaned his head back on the sofa and thought about it all. Daisy. Ruby. And him – the nameless abandoned boy who’d fought his way up from nothing. He was boss of the manor now. Now he understood why Michael had held him back for so long. But now the decision was his to make. Michael could rest easy.
‘’Bye, boss,’ he murmured into the silence of the flat. He let the tears come then. His real father, that bastard Bray, went unmourned, but his true father, Michael Ward, would never ever be forgotten. ‘I love you, boss,’ he said.