Edwina lifted her head, her gaze was empty. ‘Will my lover ever come back to me?’
Lilith concentrated on the flickering candles and slowed her breathing. She saw Thomas Rodd, late at night gazing out the window of his luxurious Dublin emporium. ‘He yearns for you but it’s primarily the excitement and drama that he misses. You’re the most exciting woman he’s ever had an affair with. But he will never return to you. He’s a man who’s heavily invested in being a protector, a knight. In a previous life he was a warrior fighting for lost causes. I’d describe him as a happy martyr.’
‘I’m being punished. My childhood was thoroughly miserable, I’ve been repeatedly disappointed in love and since my husband died I’ve had nothing but heartbreak. I now spend most of my time alone. I have all the material possessions anyone could want but nobody to love me.’
Lilith’s eyes narrowed. ‘There’s another question on your mind.’
‘Is it possible to make it go away? I want all this to stop.’
Lilith focused on the flame and as she did so, a young man appeared in her mind’s eye. He made threatening gestures and laughed contemptuously. ‘Tell me, Edwina, who is the angry young man with startling blue eyes and golden hair who strongly resembles you?’
Edwina gripped the sides of her chair. ‘That has to be Matthew, my twin brother. He’s been haunting me, provoking me, making my life a misery. Christ, how much longer can this go on? What the fuck does he want from me?’
‘I don’t know. He was sneering and belligerent so I sent him packing. The dead have no choice in the matter. If they are told to leave by a living being, they must go immediately.’
Edwina whispered, ‘Matthew’s never forgiven me. He despises me and is jinxing all my relationships.’
Hamlet leapt up onto the table and sat very close to Lilith. His hackles were up and he was watching Edwina intently.
Lilith said quietly, ‘What won’t he forgive you for?’
‘Matthew was the apple of my mother’s eye, the beloved. When we were younger we adored each other, we were all each other needed. But I got sick and tired of Matthew getting all the good things in life. I became the twin who came off second best and I suspected that he secretly took pleasure in my humiliations. Everything changed when he won Danny’s love. I really paid Matthew out. A light had gone out in my life and I’d been left sitting in the dark all alone. I was perpetually in a cold fury and terribly jealous. But by the time I’d come to my senses and was ready to reconcile, he’d gone. You see . . .’ Edwina struggled to get the words out, ‘Matthew died in a horrific automobile accident.’
A vision came to Lilith and she found herself standing on a street corner. It was a warm night. An open-topped sports car driven by Edwina’s twin careered around a tight corner and veered straight towards a brick wall. The female passenger gripped the front windscreen and screamed. As Lilith leapt backwards she heard Matthew yell, ‘Fuck, she’s really done it this time!’
The vehicle smashed into the brickwork at high velocity and the impact sent the passenger flying over the windscreen. Miraculously she ricocheted off the bonnet and landed clear of the car. With blood pouring down her face and her arm sticking out at an odd angle, she managed to crawl to safety before the car exploded and went up in flames. Lilith felt the searing heat of the inferno as the passenger scrambled to safety.
She opened her eyes and gaped at Edwina. Fortunately, she was preoccupied in raking through her handbag for a cigarette. With shaking hands, Lilith picked up a jade cigarette box and offered it to her. They lit up.
Lilith said flatly, ‘I think we both need a stiff drink before we continue.’
Across the English Channel, Josephine Marais was seated at her dressing table brushing her long, dark hair by candlelight. She was having an early night and had already changed into a flimsy satin nightgown. Putting down her hairbrush, she took another sip of her hot chocolate. Tonight she didn’t have to work at being alluring, for she was completely alone and it was the maid’s night off. Josephine could smear her face with cold cream and put her hair up in rags. Bliss. Her thoughts turned to the box of rose-flavoured Turkish delight awaiting her delectation. Even if she scoffed the whole lot in one sitting, nobody would ever know.
Her balcony window was open and a cool breeze blew through her apartment. Josephine was a big believer in fresh air. It was vital for the maintenance of one’s complexion. Her hairdresser recommended one hundred brushstrokes but Josephine preferred to do at least two hundred. Beauty was her divine right, but it didn’t hurt to be vigilant. ‘Vingt-six, vingt-sept, vingt-huit . . .’
He darted in from the balcony and was across the room before she could scream. She felt his cold gun pressing against the back of her neck. Josephine glared at his reflection in the mirror. Clearly she’d underestimated him. It had just never occurred to her that the young man would be clever enough to track her down.
Jules Bartholomew picked up the cup and finished off her hot chocolate. He grimaced and said in fluent French, ‘Too much sugar. You’ll rot your pearly whites. You know, I’ve been knocking myself out to catch up with you. Just as well we’ve got all night because I’ve got plenty to say. Here’s some timely advice, Mademoiselle – if you’re going to blackmail a lad and have him beaten up, don’t employ amateurs to get the job done. They have a habit of leaving a trail as wide as the fucking Nile.’
Josephine feigned fear and submission. Then, when Jules tossed his flat cap aside, she ducked under his arm and sprinted across the bedroom floor. She seized the door handle but the door had been locked and the key was gone.
Jules was right behind her in an instant. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck and his gun pressing into the tender part of her spine. ‘Big mistake, Mademoiselle Marais. I was going to keep it polite but now it’s too late. Hey, Alain, truss her up and tie her to a chair, will you? If she starts carrying on, shut the bitch up but don’t cut her face. Just beat her black and blue and knock her senseless. I don’t want you giving her the same fucking treatment that she dished out to me. Yet.’
Another young man stepped out from the shadows. In the candlelight his teeth seemed preternaturally white and he moved like a panther. Both arms had been tattooed, one decorated with an overblown red rose and the other a bleeding heart embellished with the word Mother. He didn’t seem the type of man a woman could ingratiate herself with. In fact he didn’t look like a man who even had a mother. Josephine suspected he’d sprung fully formed into the world, flaunting his sailor’s tattoos and gold earring.
Her eyes widened when Alain jerked her arms behind her back, tied her wrists and shoved her backwards onto a chair. He lashed her ankles to the chair legs and she winced. The bonds were unnecessarily tight and he knew it.
Jules leant down until his face was nearly touching hers. ‘Dammit, I need a drink. Breaking and entering is thirsty work. Where do you keep your top-shelf alcohol? And those fancy cigarettes you like.’
Josephine tilted her chin defiantly but tears glistened on her cheeks. ‘Spirits and tobacco are kept in the cocktail cabinet. Front room.’
Jules grinned. ‘That’s more like it, darling. You’re adorable when you play the consummate hostess. Alain, let’s break out Mademoiselle’s best booze and cigarellos.’
Josephine tried to assume a haughty demeanour but her trembling mouth gave her away. ‘Why are you here, Julian?’
‘Just a social visit. I’ve been trying to catch you at home alone, without that rich sucker being on the premises. By the time Francois Richelieu the Third realises he’s been duped, you’ll have milked him dry. Shame, really. He seems a decent sort of chap.’
Alain was in no hurry to fetch and carry. He slowly caressed Josephine’s bare back, his hands cold but surprisingly smooth. Alain cupped her breasts and made appreciative noises. Josephine shrank from the intimacy of his touch. He sniggered.
‘Hey, Jules, her teeth are chattering like fucking castanets. Don’t fret, we are criminals
, not rapists. Your virtue is safe tonight.’
Jules tossed Alain the bedroom door key. ‘Throw a blanket or something over her, will you? We don’t want her to die of pneumonia before we’ve thrashed out an agreement.’ Jules leant down so he was eyeball to eyeball with Josephine again. ‘But don’t flatter yourself that your tears have softened me up. I’m not going to let you off easily. You are going to make full financial restitution for what you did. Dispatching trigger-happy thugs to do me over was simply not cricket.’
Josephine squirmed. The rough rope was biting into her tender flesh. In the back of her mind she identified the distinctive sound of cellophane wrapping being torn from her box of Turkish delight. Clearly it was going to be a long night.
*
Over the weeks Jim Blade had become the nurses’ favourite patient. Unlike their other charges, he never complained. Jim refused to be glum and he liked making them laugh. At the same time he was utterly serious if they sought his professional opinion about shifty boyfriends, unfaithful husbands or a salesman’s trickery. For reasons they couldn’t comprehend, the nurses felt completely safe with Jim and pretty soon he was in possession of all their secrets. It was easier to tell the detective their problems than it was to talk to their lovers, spouses or in-laws. In turn, they treated Mr Blade exceedingly well and he never had to ring the bell to request anything. His every need was met, even before he knew he had one. They also let him bend the hospital’s rules right out of shape.
In the middle of the night two of Mr Blade’s associates had come up the fire escape – thus avoiding the Charge Sister and the night watchman at the front desk – and disappeared into Mr Blade’s private ward, quietly closing the door behind them.
Nurse Petros had crept up to the door, put her ear against the door and listened in for a few minutes before creeping away. She reassured the other nurses on duty, ‘No need to call the watchmen. I think from what they were saying that they work for Scotland Yard but I don’t think they’re here on official business. I reckon they’re close friends of his and I got the impression he was expecting them. Let’s give Mr Blade some privacy, eh?’
A wise decision given the fact that Jim was quietly enjoying a flask of premium double malt whiskey.
The following morning, Nurse Jones announced, ‘Your wife and daughter just arrived downstairs, Jim. Here, let me get you a fresh pyjama top before they come in.’
Nurse Chichester walked in. ‘And I’ll just spruce your bed up a bit. Do you fancy a nice cuppa?’
By the time Cat and Bertha entered, Jim was lounging like a king on his freshly plumped pillows. They settled on either side of the bed. Jim said, ‘Mary will be back in a minute. Close the door, will you, Cat? We don’t want to be disturbed.’
Cat placed a basket of cherries on the bedside table. ‘Henri sent you these. Flown in from Spain this morning. Doc Ahearn will be in later today to see you. He’s going to bring you some of Henri’s special orange juice. Squeezed from Spanish oranges.’
Cat discreetly gave him the thumbs up signal and Jim grinned. Excellent. His old friend had thought of a way of smuggling in contraband vodka. He’d just have to put up with the orange juice.
Jim smelt the cherries and sighed with pleasure. ‘Dicing with death gives a man a renewed appreciation of life. Small pleasures become more important. The smell of sun-ripened fruit, the sound of laughter carried on the breeze. Ah, here’s Mary.’
Jim took a swig of tea. It was already sugared, just the way he liked it. He felt like an overindulged maharaja. ‘I had another visit last night from two of Scotland Yard’s finest, you’ve probably met them in the boiler room – Clem and Stavros. They’ve been following up on Gary Smythe.’
Bertha leant forward with anxiety etched on her face. ‘Jim, you never told me what happened.’
‘I didn’t want to give you further cause for worry, Bertha. Basically I dropped by his posh apartment after midnight, when I knew he was out. I let myself in using a skeleton key and waited until he got home around one. After a minor disagreement –’
Bertha interrupted. ‘Don’t give us a bedtime story. I want to know – what did you do to him?’
‘I gave him the water treatment. He got to see the inside of his lavatory bowl and then when he got lippy I acquainted him with his stylish bathroom tiles. I made a bit of a mess of his white evening shirt and inflicted some damage on his handsome face. A tooth was lost and blood was spilt but it wasn’t mine. Can I go on now, dear?’
Bertha nodded grimly.
Jim took another sip of his tea. ‘After that we had a cosy little chat. When I put forward the proposition that he’d blackmailed Daniel, he flatly denied it. And kept denying it despite me applying a wee bit of pressure. In short he insisted it was a business deal. He’d sold Daniel a house in Brighton and he had documents to prove it. Given the skill of London’s best forgers, legal documents mean fuck all. I fully intended to follow up on the matter – but instead I wound up in here.’
Cat leant over Jim’s pillow, with a stricken face. ‘So he was the one who attacked you in the gymnasium?’
He touched her cheek. ‘Not so fast, kid. Although I must admit that did cross my mind when I went arse over tit down the stairs. I’ll get to my attackers later. On their first visit I asked Clem and Stavros to follow the paper trail and find out why Daniel would buy property from the likes of Smythe without involving his lawyers.’
All eyes were on Jim as he took another leisurely sip of tea. Mary was on the edge of her seat, Cat fiddled with her bracelet and Bertha looked like she was about to combust. Jim said, ‘Cat, would you mind sticking your head out the door and asking a nurse for some water.’
Cat did so and then perched on the end of the bed. ‘Jim, you’re killing us. What did they find out?’
He grinned. ‘Sorry, my mind does tend to wander. It’s all the first-class drugs these charming nurses keep administering to me. Would you like the long or the short version?’
‘Give us the short.’
‘All right. Smythe was telling the truth. The house was owned by the head barman at the Hotel du Barry Brighton. The poor bastard drowned in a boating accident. He owed Smythe money over a failed business venture and had foolishly used his house as collateral. So Smythe took possession of the house and kicked the barman’s widow and her five young children out onto the street. Smythe’s not usually described as a Good Samaritan. Can you see where this is going?’
Mary nodded. ‘So Daniel stepped in, bought the house from Smythe – probably at an inflated price – and quietly moved the widow back in.’
Cat added, ‘Danny probably gave the title deed to the widow and pretended he hadn’t done anything. Christ, you’ve no idea how often he used to do this sort of stuff. He believed that if you were going to do charitable things you should do so as anonymously as possible.’
The nurse came in with the water. ‘Is there anything else you need, Jim?’
‘No, Simone. Thanks for that.’
She glided out quietly.
Jim nodded approvingly. ‘If you want some peace and a place to do some serious thinking, then hospital is the place to be. Although I must say I’m busting to get back to the hotel. As to your question, Cat, regarding who beat me up – Smythe was coerced into tracking down my attackers.’
Cat sat down almost on top of Jim. ‘Blimey, how did that happen?’
‘Clem put it to Smythe – off the record, in a somewhat persuasive manner – that he was the prime suspect in the case of the Hotel du Barry gymnasium attack. And that Smythe would be considered guilty until he came up with an alternative suspect. You can get away with that sort of irregular proposition if you weigh 350 pounds and are a big knob in His Majesty’s Service.’
He took a sip of water and his eyes became drifty. Everyone waited but Jim was impervious to their tension. Bertha sighed. The sooner they stopped doping her man the better. She hadn’t seen him like this since the night they experimented with hashish at a rest
aurant in Istanbul.
Jim put the glass back onto the bedside table. ‘Well now, ladies, I’m busting to hear the latest on the widow du Barry.’
Mary said, ‘Jim, who beat you up?’
‘Ah, of course. I knew I’d forgotten something. Smythe used his connections to track my assailants down. It turned out that they were two layabouts from the Sailor’s Arms who beat up civilians on a cash basis. No matter how much pressure Smythe applied – and he can be a bit heavy handed – they insisted the job was given to them through an intermediary and they didn’t know who ordered the job or who paid their fee. Shortly after that they disappeared and haven’t been heard of since. Clem and Stavros are following it up but I suspect that the whole thing is so convoluted that we’ll never get to the bottom of the matter. Let’s move on – how did the clairvoyant go?’
Cat glanced at Mary. ‘Well, apparently Edwina is trying to contact the dead so she can cut a deal. Lilith also told us that Matthew Lamb’s automobile spun out of control just before it crashed. He was sober and not doped up as reported. At the time of impact he was desperately trying to brake but nothing was happening. The crash was horrific, an inferno.’
Jim frowned. ‘So Cat, what are your deductions so far?’
‘Just before he crashed he yelled, “Fuck, she’s really done it this time.” Which suggests to me that there was a woman in his life who was out to get him. And maybe she’d sabotaged his brakes.’
‘Edwina?’
‘It may or may not have been Eddie. I don’t know too much about Matthew Lamb because I was never allowed to mention him. She once told me that he was the twin who was mothered while she was pushed away. I sensed that although they were very close, there was bad blood between them. Eddie told Lilith she resented him winning Danny’s love. So I guess there’s also motivation.’
Bertha murmured, ‘Even Matthew Lamb didn’t deserve to die in an inferno.’
Cat said, ‘Eddie doesn’t have both oars in the water. Lilith said she’s barely functional. She’s obsessing about past mistakes, missed opportunities and cock ups.’
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