Keep Your Eyes on Me

by Sam Blake

  The train only took forty minutes to reach Luton and the dawn was beginning to break as they pulled in to the station. She stood for a moment waiting for the doors to open and then realised she needed to push the flashing green button to her right. Pulling up her collar again, holding the coat closed as if she was cold, Vittoria walked briskly along the platform to the stairs. A linking bridge connected all the platforms. She’d come in on Platform 4, knew she needed to cross to Platform 1 where she could exit the station through a small turnstile.

  As she fed her ticket into the barrier she could see the back of the Renew Motel ahead of her. It was less than five minutes’ walk from here, along a broad pedestrian walkway, the morning sun catching ripples on the artificial lake to her right as she hurried along.

  In the hotel lobby the night receptionist looked at her enquiringly as she said, ‘Car hire?’

  The girl stifled a yawn and pointed wordlessly to her left. Vittoria followed her pointed finger.

  ‘Good morning.’ For six o’clock in the morning, the young girl sitting behind the reception desk looked surprisingly fresh, had a takeaway coffee on one side of her keyboard and her make-up bag on the other, and was applying blusher to her dark skin. She was wearing a thick padded coat, her black curly hair pulled back from her face revealing enviable bone structure.

  ‘I’ve booked a car …’

  Smiling, the girl looked over the desk at Vittoria. ‘I have it all ready for you. If you can complete this form and give me two forms of ID?’ The girl placed a pen and a photocopied form onto the counter in front of Vittoria as she took another look in her mirror and put the blusher brush back into her make-up bag, reaching for her mascara.

  Vittoria smiled, unzipping her bag. ‘Of course. My God, what time do you have to get up to start work? It’s so early.’

  The girl yawned, slapping her hand over her mouth. ‘Christ, sorry! I got here at five – it’s normally not that bad but I was out last night. That’s the only problem with an early shift. I finish at two, though. Then I’m going back to bed.’ Her accent was broad North London, her smile infectious.

  Keeping her leather gloves on, Vittoria quickly filled out the form. The girl checked it and took her passport, copying it in a desktop copier. Vittoria unzipped her bag again and put the battered pink paper driver’s licence on the counter. All the documents were in a completely new identity, one that wasn’t linked to Lily or to herself.

  ‘Oh, and here’s my credit card. It’s a Visa Debit.’

  The girl glanced at it and smiled. ‘Never seen one like that before, but once it goes through the machine, that’s great. Do you need additional liability insurance?’

  Her mouth dry, Vittoria forced herself to smile. She was about to explain the prepaid currency card but there was no need – it had a very healthy balance on it and would work perfectly. No point in drawing unnecessary attention to herself.

  ‘Just give me everything you think I might need; I don’t want to have any hold-ups today.’

  ‘No problem. And will you be doing more than ninety-five miles a day while you have the car?’

  Vittoria frowned as if she was thinking about it. ‘Yes, I’ve got a long trip.’

  ‘OK, just sign here. I need to charge you a bit extra for that.’

  ‘No problem, just put it on the card. Maybe allow for a thousand miles? Might not be anything close to that, but just to be safe.’

  A few moments later the girl was showing Vittoria to her car.

  Chapter 47

  AS EDWARD CROXLEY walked out through the sliding doors into Dublin Airport, pulling his almost empty case behind him, he felt his mouth go dry. His instructions were very clear but until now it had all seemed like he was playing some sort of part in a TV drama. Now he was here, it was suddenly becoming very real. He’d had a couple of gin and tonics on the plane but it hadn’t made him feel any better.

  He just needed to keep telling himself that by this evening he’d be back in the air and he never needed to come to Dublin ever again.

  It couldn’t come soon enough.

  The airport was busy. Vittoria had said he had to go out through the main doors and look for a taxi. She’d made him write the address down on the back of a bit of paper he’d had in his pocket, had slid a stiff envelope of cash across the marble-topped table in The Orlando Brasserie.

  Sergei Andronov was one person Croxley didn’t want to get on the wrong side of, and when he’d met him to give him the three amulets, he’d ramped up the charm, laced it with nonchalance, assuring Sergei that he’d have the last one by Monday. Sergei hadn’t been impressed, but then Croxley’d asked him if Kaprizov had liked the painting and that had improved things a bit. One thing Croxley was sure of was that Kaprizov could see a sweet deal from a hundred miles away.

  As the security doors slid closed behind him, Croxley walked into the arrivals hall and paused, getting his bearings. He knew he didn’t have much time. She’d been so specific – it all needed to run like clockwork.

  First he had to find the newsagent’s and buy a razor blade. Then he needed to find the gents’ loo.

  There was a shop to his left, exactly as she’d said. A moment later he’d found the toiletries section and bought a packet of safety razors. Outside there were overhead signs guiding him to the toilets.

  He walked in to find the row of stalls all occupied.

  He fidgeted while he waited for one to become free. He could just go home now, forget all about this. No crime had been committed. Yet.

  But he knew he couldn’t. Sergei wanted the fourth amulet, and over the time Edward had known Igor Kaprizov, he’d heard enough to know that you just didn’t mess with him.

  He felt himself starting to sweat. Then a stall became free and he entered the cubicle. Closing the door, Croxley rested his head against the fake wood and took a deep breath. This was when it started getting real.

  Flipping the seat down, Croxley sat on it and tore open the packet of razors, breaking the head off one of them to reveal the blade. His case on the floor, he focused on the bag containing his duty free. Inside, a bottle of Courvoisier VSOP was in an expensive gold and purple presentation box. Apparently Marcus had a thing for good brandy. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Croxley slid open the cardboard lid.

  Vittoria Devine had done her homework well.

  Inside was a bottle with a screw cap covered with a coated seal. This was the bit that might be risky but she’d explained how he needed to play it, how he needed to slice open the seal with the blade so it wasn’t visible, then he just needed to make sure he was the one who opened the bottle. She’d drawn him a diagram of the kitchen, had explained exactly what her husband would do from the moment he buzzed at the electric gates.

  Gingerly picking up the blade, he held the bottle between his knees and played the sharp edge along the lip of the cap. His face creased in concentration, tongue between his teeth, Croxley slid it along. The blade cut through the seal easily.

  Croxley untwisted the top of the bottle. Vittoria had given him a plastic canister of crushed tablets. He had no idea what they were, but she’d said they would take effect quite quickly, during which time Marcus would get a bit woozy, and then they’d knock out a horse.

  Popping the lid of the pill bottle open, Croxley tapped the contents carefully into the neck of the Courvoisier. Re-capping it, he turned the bottle upside down several times. She must have experimented with this, checking the powder would dissolve, that the dosage was right to be effective. She’d been very sure when she’d explained it.

  Croxley held it up and looked into the bottle. The fine white powder appeared to have dissolved. He turned the brandy bottle upside down a few more times to be sure. She’d said he needed to drop the pill bottle in a bin in the airport, to put it in a paper bag or something. He wrapped it up with the rest of the razors in the paper bag from the newsagent’s and slipped the bottle of brandy back inside its gold carton, tucking the flap of the l
id back in. He put it back into the duty-free carrier bag.

  She’d been sure that the new paintings would fit into his empty cabin case – he sure hoped so.

  He ran through everything she had said again. It would be fine that his fingerprints were in the house – he was expected, after all. She’d say that she’d called Marcus to see how the meeting had gone and he’d told her that Croxley had left – he’d be recorded on the CCTV walking back down the drive. She’d explain that in a previous call Marcus had said he was exhausted after the stress of the last few days and she’d suggested taking some of her tablets to help him sleep. When he was asked, Croxley would say that Marcus had seemed a bit slow and sleepy, but he’d never met him before so he’d thought that was his normal demeanour. Croxley stood up and took a deep breath, trying to centre himself. Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out Vittoria’s face, instead thinking of his little pug, Matilda. He’d be home tonight and this would all feel like a bad dream.

  At least he had the security of knowing that Vittoria had to have planned this meticulously. Any suspicion about him would immediately go back to her and Croxley knew she couldn’t allow that to happen. That was the whole genius of the plan. She was so far removed from the action that proving any involvement would be virtually impossible.

  Croxley slid back the lock on the stall door and ventured out. There was no one else there. Thank God. He slipped the pill bottle and razors into the bin.

  This was the first step.

  Outside the main doors a road ran between the terminal building and what seemed to be the car parks. It was sunny, warmer than he’d expected, the sky pure blue, hardly a cloud. Croxley looked around and saw a row of waiting taxis. Striding down towards them, he focused on looking relaxed and confident. It was important if anyone reviewed the airport CCTV that he looked like he was going to a meeting, not that he was worried sick and his stomach was churning, his underarms feeling clammy and uncomfortable.

  He needed to look innocent.

  He was innocent. As far as everyone was concerned Marcus was going to have an unfortunate accident shortly after their meeting. Vittoria had explained that he just needed to remember to put his own glass in his case with the paintings before he left. Then, as he reached the drive, he needed to wave in the direction of the pool house as if he was saying goodbye. The security cameras would pick up everything. It would look like Marcus had followed her advice and taken some of her sleeping tablets, then had the brandy and the two had reacted badly, making him woozy and unsteady on his feet. With all the pressure he was under they might even think it was suicide. There was nothing to worry about. The whole business with Arabella had been in the UK, and he hadn’t ever been a suspect. There was no connection at all. The only thing he needed to worry about was getting the last amulet to Sergei. And Vittoria had made it perfectly clear that that would all happen once he played his part today.

  The taxi driver took the address and put it into his GPS. Croxley hoped to fuck he didn’t get lost or that would mess up the timing totally. It was at times like this he fully appreciated London black-cab drivers and their training in the knowledge. From this guy’s behaviour there didn’t seem to be much going on upstairs, never mind knowledge.

  ‘OK, mate, we’re on the way.’

  The driver pulled out and Croxley sat back, a bead of sweat running down between his shoulder blades. Thank God he hadn’t brought his overcoat and was only wearing a tweed jacket over his crisp blue cotton shirt.

  The way out of the airport seemed to involve a lot of lane switching and traffic lights. Then they were onto a motorway, heavy with traffic. Croxley pulled out his phone, not even looking at the screen as he flicked between Twitter and Facebook, anything to distract himself from the intense feeling of nausea growing in his stomach.

  When the driver eventually pulled off the motorway, Croxley could see mountains against the skyline to his right.

  ‘Nearly there now, mate.’ The driver flashed a smile in the rear-view mirror, his teeth yellow.

  Croxley glanced at his watch. ‘Great. That’s just great.’

  The minutes were ticking on.

  Chapter 48

  HOLDING THE GOLD wire carefully, Lily leaned over and reached for her nylon jaw pliers. The tiny ruby she was about to mount into the tail of the jewel-studded bird of paradise she was making was lying on a velvet cloth in front of her. Around it, the surface of her work bench was scarred and pitted, so worn away from generations of jewellers sitting here crouched over their work that the whole of the front edge was curved, as if the bench itself was hugging her. And really, with everything going on today she needed a hug.

  Lily glanced at her phone, her stomach fluttering with nerves. Vittoria had been so precise with her instructions that Lily knew she couldn’t mess up. And the timing was crucial. Lily closed her eyes tight, willing the nerves to subside, grateful that she had the workshop to herself.

  She’d found the padded envelope this morning when she’d helped Jack open up in Great Russell Street. He had been right behind her, balancing the coffees, as she’d slid up the shutter on the back door. Switching on the lights as she went, Lily had gone straight to open the front door to check for post. She didn’t know what Vittoria was planning exactly, but something was definitely happening and it involved Edward Croxley.

  While Jack was still getting the float out of the safe, she’d slipped the yellow envelope into her bag and left him to it. She needed some peace and quiet to run through the plan in her head and make sure she had it exactly right.

  It had worked perfectly so far.

  Last night when she’d gone to the desk, the staff at The Hogarth Hotel had been talking about the eccentric American who had made such a fuss insisting on booking room 520, paid for it in advance and then cancelled – literally a moment before she’d walked up to the reception desk. Overhearing them, her voice had been full of relief.

  ‘Is 520 available? Thank goodness – I’ve booked in down the road and it’s absolutely awful. Could I take it for two nights? I was so worried you’d be booked out.’ As Vittoria had predicted, they’d been delighted to welcome an Irish tourist happy to pay cash in advance.

  She could hear Vittoria’s voice in her head as she mentally ran through her instructions, visualising her sketch, the sounds of the fountain and children playing in Russell Square preventing anyone from hearing their conversation.

  ‘In the envelope with my phone will be a Dublin telephone number. I need you to go through the connecting door from 520 into 521, and at 3.30 p.m. to call the number from my mobile. It will be answered, but don’t say anything. The man who answers will think it’s a bad line. After a few minutes, hang up.’ Vittoria glanced at her to make sure she was following. ‘Wait a few minutes and then ring the same number from the room phone in 521. The number will be engaged but hold on for a few minutes.’

  ‘I understand: I use the mobile first then the landline.’ She’d drawn a curly telephone cable down the side of the page.

  ‘That’s it. Then I need you to call Marcus’s mobile number from my mobile phone. He won’t answer, he has it switched off, but when the message minder starts recording, play the message that’s on the USB key.’

  ‘Won’t the sound quality be terrible?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. The mobile reception is very patchy at home, so if it sounds a bit fuzzy that’s fine.’

  Sitting at her work bench trying to concentrate, Lily ran through everything in her head. She had no idea what these calls could be part of, but obviously Vittoria had a plan. Lily smiled. Vittoria’s plans so far had been rather incredible.

  After she’d made the calls she had to stay in room 521 until around six and then call room service and say that she was feeling unwell, ask if they could deliver some chicken broth and toast and a glass of water. Vittoria had recorded an extra piece so Lily could listen to her accent and practise – if she held her nose she’d sound like she had a cold, which would help. She had to
tell them that the ‘do not disturb’ sign would be on the door and she would probably be asleep, but that the waiter just needed to leave the tray in the room and not wake her. Then she had to get into the bed, pulling the duvet over her head. Once the food had arrived, she was to go back into her own room, through the connecting door, and leave from room 520. Lily just had to make doubly sure the ‘do not disturb’ sign was still on the door handle of 521 when she walked past on her way down the corridor, so that the staff didn’t come in to turn down the bed.

  It seemed a small price to pay for getting the shop back.

  Whenever Lily thought about it, about holding the keys in her hand again, she felt such an enormous sense of relief that she teared up. And Jack hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d got the shop back. The place would be a mess for a while yet – there was a lot to do upstairs – but he’d made a start and had got open again, and nothing seemed to have been damaged. Thank God.

  Putting down the jewelled bird that she was working on, barely able to concentrate, Lily looked at the time again. The Hogarth Hotel was only fifteen minutes from Hatton Garden by tube from Farringdon, but she was going to get a taxi, had one booked to collect her. She was leaving with plenty of time – she knew she could wait in 520, but today of all days she couldn’t afford for there to be an incident on the line or a train breakdown that held her up.

  Vittoria had smiled when Lily had looked worried. ‘There’s absolutely no danger, honestly. Just do exactly what I’ve told you.’

  ‘Right, got it. And what do I do with your phone when I’m done?’

  ‘Leave it there in 521. I’ll collect it.’

  ‘And then I leave?’

  ‘That’s it. Easy. Come back Sunday morning and check out before twelve. I’ll make sure your bed looks slept in.’ Lily had nodded slowly, thinking it through, as Vittoria continued, ‘It’s very important that you don’t try and contact me at all again, except as agreed. When you get to New York ask them to put my email on the invite list for the launch and I’ll see you there. The shop is sorted now. Sergei will call in on Monday and ask for you. Give him the fourth amulet and the painting. You don’t know anything about them.’ Vittoria had paused. ‘You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, really.’ As if she’d detected Lily’s nervousness, Vittoria had put her hand on Lily’s arm and looked at her intently. ‘Remember that, please. Whatever happens, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll see you in New York at the launch.’