His tiredness from the trip, coupled with the throbbing pain in his cheek, all added to the weight of sadness that pressed on Joe’s heart as he put Hugo to bed in the room which he and Fliss had spent so much time organising for their baby son when they were waiting for him to be born. There was a stack of old soft toys, each of them carrying a different memory, and pictures on the wall which the boy had probably outgrown. Pride of place now went to the computer, and the television which doubled as a PlayStation.
Joe found one of Hugo’s favourite books and settled himself on a beanbag beside the bed. He read aloud until Hugo’s breathing had sunk into the steady rhythm of sleep.
By the time he was coming back downstairs Fliss and Paolo, both in evening dress, were letting themselves in through the front door.
‘What happened to you?’ Fliss wasn’t able to stop herself from laughing at the sight of Joe’s face. She seemed to have had a bit too much to drink.
‘A little accident in Manila. It’s nothing.’
‘Have you seen Hugo?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you given him a talking to?’
‘I’ve tried, but I don’t think it’ll have much effect,’ Joe said, coming the rest of the way downstairs. ‘It’s like water off a duck’s back. He seems to be totally without fear.’
‘Well, you’ve got to get a grip on him,’ Fliss said. ‘You’re supposed to be his father.’
Joe opened his mouth to respond, but changed his mind. Paolo gave an embarrassed cough and moved as if to escape through to the kitchen.
‘Darling, wait,’ Fliss commanded him. ‘I need your support. Neither of you seem to be taking this seriously. Why does everything always end up being my responsibility?’
‘I’ll take him back to the school tomorrow and talk to the headmaster myself,’ Joe said, feeling his temper rising and forcing himself to control it. The worst thing for Hugo now would be for him and Fliss to go to war. ‘I’ll need to rent a car. I don’t think it will help his credibility to turn up in my old Fiat.’
‘You can take the Range Rover,’ Paolo volunteered, eager to show he was being supportive. ‘We’re not using it tomorrow.’
Joe was about to decline and then thought better of it. It was time to be gracious. He was going to need Paolo as an ally. ‘Thank you,’ he said, curtly, before turning back to Fliss. ‘Then you and I will start looking at local schools where he can be a day boy.’
‘I’m not sure we should allow him to get away with it that easily…’ Fliss started.
‘Let’s talk about this when I’m less jet-lagged and you’re more sober,’ Joe said, irritably.
Fliss took a deep intake of breath and glared at him. ‘Piss off, Joe!’ she said, and stormed off upstairs.
Paolo exchanged a sympathetic raised eyebrow with Joe and showed him to the door, pulling out a bunch of keys from his pocket. ‘The Range Rover is parked in the mews at the back,’ he said. ‘Take it home and then come back and get Hugo in the morning.’
‘Cheers.’ Joe took the keys and nodded his appreciation. He had a feeling Paolo genuinely wanted to help him with Hugo, and he resented feeling grateful.
‘Bloody hell, Joe!’ Cordelia exclaimed as he came into the kitchen in Earls Court. ‘What happened to your face?’
Doris was cleaning the cooker while Cordelia and Annie sat drinking wine at the table.
‘I bumped into your friendly plastic surgeon in Manila,’ Joe said to Doris.
‘Mr Rose?’ Doris looked shocked. ‘Mr Rose was in Manila again? That man works so hard. He helps so many people.’
‘Chris Rose did your operation?’ Cordelia asked her.
‘You know this man?’ Joe asked Cordelia, slumping down into a chair and allowing Annie to pour him a glass of wine.
‘Everyone knows Chris Rose,’ she replied. ‘He did Mum’s face. Several times. He’s supposed to be the best in London. Dad’s used him to patch himself up once or twice and I know a few blokes he’s given completely new identities to.’ She pointed at Joe’s face. ‘He did that to you?’
‘Well, not personally. But I’m pretty sure he instructed the gentlemen who did.’
‘He’s working with Maisie Martin?’ Cordelia seemed to be trying to work out something. ‘Seems a bit strange.’
‘Why?’ Joe asked.
‘Well, no offence, Doris; but have you seen the mess her chest’s in? Not exactly precision surgery. Why would Maisie want to fork out for one of the most expensive surgeons in the world just to do a botched-up job like that? She could have got a first year medical student to do it for a bag of jelly beans.’
‘You want I cook you something, American Joe?’ Doris piped up cheerfully.
‘No, I’m fine thanks,’ he said. ‘Are you staying here at the moment?’
‘Cordelia need apartment for important clients. So I have come here to look after you all.’ Doris gave a little giggle of pleasure at the prospect.
‘Lucky she came here, as it turned out,’ Cordelia said. ‘We can’t have been out of there for more than a couple of hours before someone let themselves in and destroyed the place. It’s a right mess.’
‘Where are your “important clients” then?’ Joe asked, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice. ‘Are they camping out in my room?’
‘They’re at the Savoy,’ Cordelia replied. ‘They had an empty suite. Thank God.’
‘So, who trashed the apartment?’
‘Gawd knows,’ Cordelia said. ‘But Dad’s pretty sure it’s someone linked to Mike and Maisie Martin, and he’s very pissed off about it. He thinks they want to put him out of business.’
‘Which business is this?’ Joe asked, but Cordelia ignored the question.
‘I’m not so sure, myself,’ she went on. ‘I’ve got a feeling that if it was Maisie’s people, they may have been looking for Doris rather than trying to reach out to Dad. I think they were giving her a warning. I don’t think they know the flat has anything to do with Dad.’
Joe looked across at the Filipino who appeared completely unconcerned at the possibility she might have been the target of the attack. It was as though she had complete faith in her new-found friends and their ability to protect her.
‘I saw Tikki while I was in the Philippines, Doris,’ Joe told her.
‘Ah, yes,’ Doris smiled broadly. ‘My village is beautiful, no? One day I would like to go back and build myself a house, right next to my mother’s. And start family of my own.’
‘What the hell are you doing here, then?’ Annie enquired.
‘You need money to build a nice house and buy furniture,’ Doris said, her face filled with seriousness.
‘If Chris Rose is involved in whatever scam the Martins are pulling, here,’ Cordelia was thinking aloud, ‘he would be the one we need to get to, if we want to find out what’s going on. He would be the weak link in the chain. He has a big mouth and a lot of weaknesses.’
‘What sort of weaknesses?’ Joe asked.
‘Drink, coke, cannabis, pretty girls.’ Cordelia shrugged as if to say the list could go on for ever.
‘Could you get to him?’ Joe asked.
‘I couldn’t, no,’ she said. ‘He’s known me all my life. He would never open up to me. You need someone new, someone he’d want to impress.’
They both turned simultaneously to look at Annie, who had been listening to the conversation with as much of her mind as the wine bottle had left her with.
‘What?’ she wanted to know.
‘He’d show you a good time,’ Cordelia said. ‘He throws money around like there’s no tomorrow. You could go to him as a potential customer and let his aged hormones do the rest.’
‘I don’t need a facelift,’ Annie protested. ‘Do I?’
‘You don’t have to commit yourself,’ Cordelia said. ‘Make an appointment and tell him you’re worried about your future career. Tell him you want to be sure you’re doing the right things to make your face last. You’re a
n actress. You can do it.’
‘He’s hardly going to tell me all about importing illegal Filipinos at an appointment,’ Annie protested.
‘Make him fancy you,’ Cordelia said. ‘Shouldn’t be hard. You’re quite attractive really. Specially to an old geezer like him.’
‘Thanks!’
‘Get him to ask you out and take it from there. It shouldn’t be beyond your skills to get him talking. I’m sure Dad would be happy to pay for any information you get out of him.’
‘Hang on.’ Joe rubbed his eyes to try to force the tiredness away for a few more moments. ‘This could be dangerous. These people are killing girls who threaten to expose them.’
‘Killing?’ Annie rocked back in her chair. ‘They’re killing people?’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Joe admitted. ‘But a body has been found which would seem to be one of Doris’ friends.’
Doris stopped her work and sat down at the table with them, sinking into the chair as if finally defeated by exhaustion, both from her endless work and from being reminded of her missing friend.
‘They aren’t people to kid around with,’ Joe said. ‘I just thought I ought to warn you of that before you go off on some mission of discovery.’ Cordelia squeezed Doris’ hand comfortingly. ‘I really have to go now,’ Joe said and stumbled away to his room, collapsing onto his bed fully clothed as sleep took over.
‘What do you think then?’ Cordelia asked Annie once Joe had gone. ‘Would you give it a go?’
‘Sure.’ Annie drained the wine bottle into her glass. ‘Sounds like Mr Rose could be exciting company.’
‘Attagirl!’ Cordelia said and Doris gave Annie an excited round of applause.
Joe was woken by his phone ringing. At first, as he fumbled around trying to find it, he thought it must be Fliss calling to discover why he hadn’t yet arrived to pick up Hugo. It wasn’t. It was Adele.
‘Listen,’ she said, her voice urgent and discouraging of any small talk. Not that Joe could have mustered any anyway. ‘Marion Ray’s in town and she wants to see you again. Can you make lunch at the Dorchester?’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Nine o’clock.’
‘Shit. No. I wouldn’t be able to make that. I have to get Hugo back to school.’
‘Can’t his mother do that?’
‘No.’ Joe didn’t intend to get into a conversation with Adele about his relationship with his ex-wife. ‘I could make it for tea-time. Ask if I can see her for cucumber sandwiches at about four. She’ll like that.’
‘Christ, Joe,’ Adele sounded angry. ‘I thought you were keen for this job. She’s not the sort of person you mess around.’
‘I’m not messing her around, Adele,’ Joe remained firm. ‘I just can’t make lunch. Let me know if she can see me later.’
He hung up and went in search of some breakfast.
Two hours later he and Hugo were heading down the motorway to Sussex.
‘I was serious with what I was saying last night, you know,’ Joe said.
‘What was that?’ Hugo asked, most of his attention focused on making Paolo’s CD player work.
‘About running away from school all the time. You can’t keep doing it. Your mother and I understand you don’t like it there and we will look at other schools. But it’ll take a little time. If you keep going off on your own you’re likely to end up getting into real trouble.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I know, Dad. Don’t keep on.’
‘But if I don’t keep on you just do it again.’
‘I understand!’ Hugo spoke firmly and Joe decided to let silence fall for a few minutes, to give the boy time to think over his words, and for him to make sure he didn’t lose his temper.
‘Dad,’ Hugo said a few minutes later.
‘Yeah?’
‘How come we never get to see your Mum and Dad?’
‘You have seen them.’ Joe protested, taken by surprise. ‘They came over for your christening.’
‘Oh, right! Like I remember that.’
‘We went over there when you were five.’
Hugo gave him a look which suggested he wasn’t going to be fobbed off quite so easily.
‘It’s a long way to America from here,’ Joe ended lamely.
‘Did you run away from home?’
Joe couldn’t stop himself from laughing. ‘I suppose in a way I did. But I was eighteen, not eight, when I left home. There’s a big difference.’ He remembered the stifling boredom of his parents’ well-meaning company which had eventually driven him to leave the country altogether. He could all too easily imagine the effect which Hugo’s dull-witted peer group might be having on him.
‘I think children are more mature these days,’ Hugo said.
‘I dare say you are,’ Joe agreed, trying not to smile. ‘But not that much. It also happens to be legal to go wandering around on your own when you’re eighteen. It is not legal for you to keep walking out of school when you’re eight.’
‘I didn’t walk out of school this time. I walked out of Ben’s house.’
‘You know what I mean. Doesn’t anyone ask you what you’re up to? Bus conductors, ticket collectors, those sorts of people?’
‘Not often. When they do I just tell them you’re meeting me off the train or the bus or whatever. That always makes them happy.’
The phone rang and Hugo was glad of the diversion. He answered it and passed it over.
‘It’s for you,’ he said.
‘Joe? It’s Adele. She can see you at three, but only briefly. It would have been better if you had been able to get there for lunch.’
‘I’ll be there at three,’ Joe promised. ‘Thanks for setting that up.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Adele said and hung up. Joe could tell she hadn’t yet forgiven him for putting Hugo before his work.
When they reached the school, Joe made sure he parked Paolo’s car directly outside the front door, so any passing boys would be able to see Hugo descending from it. He then steered the small boy in to see the headmaster. He noticed Hugo seemed utterly unconcerned by the prospect of being told off, whereas he was feeling decidedly jittery himself.
As he listened to the headmaster pontificating about Hugo’s duties towards his school, his friends and his family, Joe became increasingly convinced they had to find another school. The man sounded like he was speaking from a pulpit placed firmly in the nineteen-fifties. Once or twice Joe was tempted to intervene on his son’s behalf, but, since Hugo appeared not to be listening anyway, he decided to save his energies.
‘Run along now, Hugo, and find out which class you are supposed to be in.’ The headmaster eventually dismissed him, obviously having decided he had imparted enough wisdom to the lad for one day.
Hugo, waking from whatever daydream he had been in, jumped up, kissed his father goodbye and disappeared. Joe felt sick with unhappiness as he watched the dark panelled door closing after his son.
‘Mr Tye,’ the headmaster said. ‘You have a remarkable young man there. You can trust us to make the most of him.’
‘To start with you had better concentrate on keeping him under armed guard,’ Joe replied, the unexpected compliment having taken him by surprise.
‘Oh, I don’t think we’ll be having any more trouble. It always takes them a while to settle down. I think he’s learnt his lesson.’
Joe didn’t share the headmaster’s confidence.
On the way back to London he stopped at a service station to buy himself a sandwich and a black coffee. The jet lag was starting to creep up on him again. He drove straight to the Dorchester, parking Paolo’s car amongst the limousines on the forecourt, relieved that he hadn’t arrived in his Fiat Panda. He slipped a ten-pound note into the doorman’s hand with the keys and told him he would be with Miss Ray if they needed him.
The sitting-room of Marion Ray’s suite was filled with people on telephones. A publicist was shouting at a journalist and an assistant was arguing about a dress tha
t should have been delivered. Two men in suits sat with their briefcases on their laps and their phones to their ears as they carried on a conversation with one another at the same time as the people on their phone lines. Another woman was changing the flowers and Marion Ray’s secretary promised to let the star know Joe was there.
‘So there you are, you genius writer,’ Marion Ray’s voice cut through the babble of the room like a knife as she emerged from the bedroom with a hairdresser and make-up artist trailing behind her. ‘These people are driving me mad. They want to take my picture and I keep telling them, “I’m an old woman. It’s the grey hairs and wrinkles that make me interesting”, but they want me to be twenty again!’ She elbowed the others aside and sat beside Joe, her hand on his knee, her eyes only inches away from his, her voice like a runaway train.
‘My dear, you look terrible! What happened to your face?’
‘A little accident,’ Joe tried to wave it aside. ‘It was nothing.’
She seemed happy to change the subject. ‘I read the book you did for Garbo. It was stunning! Wonderful! I wept. How did you ever get her to tell you all that? All the childhood stuff. So lyrical. So beautiful. You must be a magician as well as a genius writer.’
‘Thank you. I…’
‘Will you be able to make me sound as wise and interesting? Can you do it for me? Can you make them weep for me?’
‘Of course,’ he laughed, allowing the tidal wave of flattery and enthusiasm to wash him away. ‘But only if you can find the time to talk to me.’
‘Time, pah!’ She flapped her hands at him as if trying to cool his face. ‘If I had more time I would be a rich woman!’
‘Take a week off and we’ll go to a mountain cabin somewhere,’ Joe coaxed. ‘It’ll be like an extended therapy session for you.’
‘My God, doesn’t that sound like heaven. Let’s do it. Get your people to contact my people and arrange dates.’
‘Couldn’t we just do it between us?’
‘I need my diary. I don’t have it.’ She called to her secretary. ‘I don’t have my diary!’
‘I can get your diary,’ the girl said, smiling calmly.
‘I don’t have the time. We have to do these damn pictures. Talk to her.’ She waved Joe and the secretary towards one another like a matchmaker. ‘Let’s make it work. You’re a genius. I want to spill my heart out to you. We have to do this thing.’ She leant forward, and kissed him on the unbandaged cheek and then was gone, back into the bedroom in a flurry of activity, shouting orders at the photographer waiting for her inside.
Pretty Little Packages Page 19