Never Coming Home

by Evonne Wareham

  Kaz wondered if she was going to be sick. Oliver was rambling now. Talking not to her but to himself. She was listening to the voice of a madman.

  Sweat was trickling down her face and across her ribs. The air in the room was stuffy. Suddenly Kaz couldn’t breathe. There was a roaring in her ears.

  It took a second for her to realise that the noise wasn’t in her head. She wasn’t fainting. All she was feeling was real. Oh, no.

  She put her hand out, to jerk Oliver back to planet earth. ‘Dad, I think we have to –’

  ‘Katarina.’ His face cleared and focused. ‘You have to leave Jamie with me,’ he said earnestly. ‘I need to teach her. She’s mine now. I have to keep her!’

  ‘Dad –’ Kaz dragged at his arm. ‘We have to get out of here. I think something’s on fire.’

  She could smell it now, and see it, wisps of smoke threading across the floor. Oh, God. An artist’s studio. Solvents and oils, paint-stained rags. A small explosion sent a rush of heat across her back. She swung away from Oliver, eyes darting frantically. The door behind them, open onto a small antechamber, the way she had come in, was already blocked. Smoke was writhing around the frame. She could see something beyond. A bucket or a paint tin, dancing with flames. And beyond that a pile of smouldering canvasses.

  ‘Another way out?’ She yanked at Oliver’s arm, shaking him. He had begun to cough. ‘Which way?’

  ‘There.’

  Kaz’s heart spiked in relief as she saw the second door, untouched by any flame. ‘Come on.’

  Herding Oliver, dragging him when he stumbled, she scrambled to safety.

  They were a foot away when the door ricocheted open, bouncing against the wall. Behind them the fire roared, fed with a new supply of air.

  Valentina was standing in the doorway, with a shotgun in her hands.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The woman’s face was a mask of pain. Kaz recoiled instinctively. Heat battered on her shoulder blades. ‘Valentina, you have to let us out. The fire –’ Kaz gestured behind her. If the fire spread to the draperies, pinned to the walls and ceiling of the studio. If the flames flashed over …

  ‘You can go.’ Valentina glanced at her briefly. All her attention was fixed on Oliver. ‘You must go. Save your daughter. Your child.’ She let out a howl that was more animal than human. Tears were coursing down her cheeks. ‘You killed her, my bella Chiara, my light, my angel.’ She was crooning, but the gun was steady, pointing straight at Oliver’s chest.

  ‘Stop this!’

  Kaz turned, startled, feeling the heat now on the skin of her face.

  Oliver had hauled himself to his full height, jaw set, eyes fixed ‘Let us pass, woman.’

  All he got was a shake of the head. ‘You will burn. First here, then in hell.’ Valentina sounded quite confident about it. ‘With me. My angel, she will be in heaven.’

  Kaz bit her lip as she saw the fight go out of Oliver. His spine sagged and the light in his eyes faded. His face was bathed in sweat.

  ‘Go, Katarina.’ His voice was urgent, though he was coughing again. Kaz felt her chest tightening. ‘The tower. Save Jamie.’

  Valentina took a sideways step, opening the doorway to let her pass. The gun was still pointing at Oliver. Kaz took a small shallow breath. She could try to take the woman down, but they both might get damaged in the process. Or the gun might go off. Or both. Then the fire would get them. They would all die.

  Oliver was on one side of her, Valentina on the other. A mad man and a woman crazed by grief, locked in a battle over a dead child. She could stay and try to part them or she could go and find her daughter and get help. With a half-strangled prayer for some sort of forgiveness, she stepped past Valentina. The woman didn’t look at her. Oliver’s face showed her nothing but relief. ‘Find Jamie.’ She saw him mouth the words. The flames were flaring behind him, hot and ragged.

  She turned and ran.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Kaz fell twice on the way down. She arrived, sobbing for breath, at the main door, with grazed knees and elbows. She hauled the door open and fell out onto the terrace. Oh, God, more steps. She grabbed an urn, swaying drunkenly, gasping down air.

  The terrace and garden were deserted. On this side of the building there was no sign of the fire. Just a roaring, that might have been in her ears, and the faint smell of smoke. She might have been alone on a stage set. The car was standing on the sweep of the drive, where she had left it.

  And Devlin was straightening up, away from the back door. Relief almost pitched her over on her face. She slithered forward and hurtled down the steps.

  ‘Kaz!’ Devlin caught her as she fell off the last two, into his arms. ‘What the heck – ’ She gestured, panting too much to speak.

  Above them there was an abrupt explosion. Flame and smoke billowed out of the windows under the eaves. She felt Devlin’s muscles tense, already primed for the stairs.

  ‘Valentina has Oliver up there. He killed her daughter. Jamie is alive.’ She cast wildly round. ‘We have to find her.’ She was clinging to Devlin, fighting for breath.

  The rear door of the car creaked open, propelled by a small hand. ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Oh, God, baby!’ Kaz stumbled forward. ‘You found her.’ Kaz had one hand on Devlin and the other outstretched to her daughter. Tears began to spill.

  Devlin kissed her hard and swift on the lips, and shoved the car keys into her hand. ‘Get out quick, fast as you can. It’s not safe here.’ He looked up at the pluming smoke. ‘Get help. I’m going up.’ He was already half-way to the terrace.

  ‘Valentina has a shotgun,’ Kaz yelled after him.

  He made a sign to show that he’d heard, before plunging through the main door to the villa.

  Kaz turned towards the car. Jamie had tumbled out, and wound herself around her mother’s legs. Kaz gathered her up into her arms, covering her face with kisses. ‘We have to go, sweetheart.’ She hurried her back into the car and ran round to the driver’s side. She could hear the sound of sirens. Someone had seen the smoke. She started the engine and rammed the car into gear.

  The sirens were getting closer. If she left now, she would meet them head on in the narrow space near the gate. There was a grassed area on the other side of the drive, half-sheltered by young trees; safe from flame and falling masonry. Kaz pulled into it and stopped the engine. Swinging round she leaned over the seat to her daughter. ‘Granddad’s house is on fire, sweetheart. There will be lots of people and fire engines. We just have to sit quietly here while they put the fire out.’ She slid out of the car and into the back seat to cuddle her daughter.

  ‘Where are the fire engines? Can I look at them?’ Jamie bounced on the seat, ready to scramble up to the back window.

  Kaz bit her lip. ‘I don’t think they’re here yet, sweetie, but listen, you can hear them.’ The sirens sounded even nearer now. She twisted round. The little she could see of the front of the house was unscathed. There was no sign of Devlin. She tried to relax the tension in her body, but Jamie had already picked it up. Her small, beloved face screwed up into a frown. ‘Where’s Mr Devlin? Is he fighting the fire?’

  ‘He’s doing what he can, yes.’

  Jamie eyed her carefully. ‘I think you should go and help Mr Devlin,’ she pronounced solemnly.

  ‘No, sweetie.’ Kaz hugged her close. ‘Mr Devlin can take care of himself.’

  Jamie was shaking her head. Her jaw jutted mutinously. ‘I want you to go and find Mr Devlin. I like Mr Devlin.’

  Kaz looked down helplessly at her daughter. Another Elmore female under the Devlin spell. She tried again, ‘Wouldn’t you rather I stayed here –’

  Jamie’s headshake got even fiercer. ‘You go and help Mr Devlin.’

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Kaz didn’t know whether she was laughing or crying. S
he held her daughter close, dropping a kiss on the dark head, then let go. ‘Just for a minute then.’

  She was half-way out of the car when she remembered. She dived into her bag, rummaging in the depths.

  ‘Patchy!’ Jamie let out a crow of delight when she saw the splayed-legged, piebald horse. Kaz hugged them both. ‘You look after Patchy and he’ll look after you.’ She kissed her daughter again. ‘I’ll be quick as I can. You stay in the car now.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy.’ Jamie curled up, cuddling the toy horse, already whispering her adventures into his ear. Kaz carried the image of her smile as she quickly crossed the drive.

  In the moments that she’d been with Jamie, everything had got a whole lot worse. Flames were licking all around the top of the building. Muffled explosions flared over the roar of the blaze. She stuffed her hands in her mouth as a plume of fire flashed suddenly out of one of the windows. Glass cracked and pattered on the stones of the terrace. Thank God she’d moved the car. She cast a glance over her shoulder. It, and its precious cargo, stood serenely, guarded by the trees.

  When she looked back, Devlin, smoke-stained and coughing, was shouldering open the main door. He had Valentina in his arms. Kaz leaped forward to help him carry her down the steps and across the drive, to lay her on the grass behind the car.

  ‘Is it smoke inhalation?’ Kaz bent over the unconscious woman.

  ‘Some.’ Devlin dropped onto the grass, head between his knees, breath rasping. ‘She wasn’t planning on leaving. I had to persuade her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kaz could see the small round bruise coming up on Valentina’s jaw. ‘Oliver?’

  ‘He wouldn’t come, either.’ Even in the midst of chaos the disgust in Devlin’s tone almost sent a quiver of laughter through her. ‘He was trying to pull canvases away from the flames.’

  Devlin’s breathing had settled. He looked up at the car, shielded by the trees. ‘You didn’t get far.’

  ‘I was afraid of meeting the fire brigade coming up.’

  Devlin nodded. ‘Jamie OK?’

  Kaz followed his glance. No sign of a small face at the window. ‘Yes.’ Thank heaven for Patchy.

  Devlin was heaving himself to his feet. ‘I have to go back. Christ!’

  A fire engine was making its way up the last section of the drive, but that wasn’t what had Devlin’s attention. He was looking up.

  Above them Oliver was inching his way along a ledge, beside the villa’s turret. He had a picture under his arm and the shotgun in his hand.

  Kaz was dimly aware of men tumbling from the vehicle, of orders being shouted and equipment marshalled. Her eyes were riveted to the tableau above her. Oliver had reached the widest part of the ledge. He stopped.

  Kaz bit down on her lip and ground her nails into her palm as he swayed dangerously. She felt a touch on her leg and looked down in panic. Surely Jamie –

  Valentina was struggling to get up. Kaz dragged her to her feet, but didn’t let go. The woman’s face was ashen, eyes drenched with fear and pain. They clung together, mesmerised by what was playing out above them.

  Oliver had the picture clutched to his chest. The gun waved wildly for a moment, threatening to overbalance him.

  ‘The illness … his hand trembles,’ Valentina breathed in Kaz’s ear. The woman’s body was rigid in her arms.

  Oliver had the gun under control. Kaz felt the churning in her stomach ease. He was going to throw it and the painting down.

  Behind them ladders were being broken out. Men in breathing gear were already on the terrace.

  Kaz saw it at the same second as Valentina, felt her own and Valentina’s indrawn breath. Oliver was tucking the shotgun under his chin. Valentina’s hands went up over her eyes. Kaz couldn’t move.

  With a curse Devlin spun Kaz round, holding her against his chest, as Oliver pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Kaz wondered if she’d talked to every policeman and fire investigator in Italy.

  It felt like it.

  The police from Tuscany, investigating Chiara’s death, had arrived shortly after the fire engines. Kaz thanked them, with a few tears. Valentina was led away sobbing, in the care of a nurse. Back at the hotel a doctor put salve on her knees and elbows and checked Jamie over, pronouncing them both fit. Various policemen and officials took statements. Devlin disappeared for a while, and came back with a new plaster cast and dressings on his singed hands. Food appeared, and was eaten. Sometime in the evening Suzanne swept in, with a full set of luggage, trailing an old flame in her wake.

  ‘Who else was I going to call, darling?’ She winked at Kaz and hugged Jamie fiercely. ‘He has a private plane.’

  Jamie sat in her mother’s lap through it all, until Devlin gently disentangled the sleeping child, to carry her to bed.

  Devlin had watched as Kaz fussed, settling her daughter. He’d been uncertain whether the presence of even one near-stranger was appropriate, but Jamie seemed to have accepted him without comment. Briefly he recollected the feel of the child’s head, resting against his chest as he carried her down the tower steps, and the small hand, confidingly in his, as she scrambled into the car. He swallowed down what felt like a golf ball lodged in his throat.

  They’d eaten room-service pasta together.

  Like a family?

  Kaz had sat for a while beside her sleeping daughter and Devlin had taken a chair and joined her by the bed. He’d never sat at a child’s bedside before. It was one of the most peaceful hours of his entire life.

  Now it was midnight. Kaz leaned her weight back into Devlin’s arms as they stood near the window, watching the new moon. The police had moved Kaz and Jamie to a small suite of their own. Suzanne was down the hall. With or without the old flame. They hadn’t asked.

  Jamie was fast asleep, barely visible in the wide bed. One of Suzanne’s cases had contained every soft toy she’d been able to find in the house in Chelsea, but Patchy still had pride of place on the pillow.

  Kaz shivered and Devlin held her a little tighter.

  ‘What the hell happened today? Why did he do it? Because I was taking Jamie?’ she asked softly.

  Devlin moved restlessly against her body, then forced himself to be still. ‘He did it because he’d schemed and cheated and killed, not once, but over and over – he was obsessed, Kaz. This has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘You didn’t give up and you have your daughter back and she’ll grow up with a proper childhood and she’ll paint if she wants to. Or not.’ Kaz looked up over her shoulder, clearly puzzled at his vehemence. ‘What was the alternative?’ he asked softly. ‘Oliver gets away with a trail of killing? He knew it was all over, Kaz. He was a sick man, whose scheme had fallen apart. What else was there for him?’ Devlin shifted his grip, wrapping his arm around Kaz’s waist. ‘I think he’d made up his mind what he was going to do, before I got up to the studio. He wasn’t trying to save the paintings, he was hunting for one. The one he was holding when he fell. It was a portrait of your mother, Kaz, with you in her arms, when you were a baby. Perhaps he’d finally realised what he was and what he’d done and decided to end it – on his own terms.’

  ‘I …’ Kaz sighed. ‘I still can’t believe …’

  ‘He killed his own daughter, Kaz. That was always Oliver’s plan – to substitute the gifted child for the unwanted one. In time, Jamie would have become Chiara.’ Maybe. A small, defiant face drifted across his memory.

  ‘That poor woman – she was kind to Jamie.’ Kaz looked towards the bed. ‘Jamie said she cried a lot.’

  ‘She overheard what he said to you, about her daughter. She set the fire. The investigators were quite clear that it was started deliberately.’

  ‘Destroying Oliver, and all his work?’


  ‘Those she could get at. There was a time lock on the cellar.’

  ‘If he’d explained to me, about his illness –’

  ‘Don’t go there.’ Devlin turned her round, to face him. ‘Would you really have handed Jamie over to him, because that’s what he would have demanded?’

  ‘The whole thing …’ Kaz shook her head. ‘How much could he have taught her, in the time he had left?’

  ‘I don’t know if it was just about teaching her.’ Devlin had been thinking about it. ‘There’s been speculation lately about a new Kessel style, a new kind of naivety. I think he may have intended to pass Jamie’s work off as his own.’

  Kaz buried her face in Devlin’s chest. He stroked her hair.

  ‘When Oliver found out he was ill, he planned it all,’ he said, into the soft curls. ‘Jamie’s death was staged, so she could be taken from you. Chiara was killed and her death was hidden, so Jamie could be put in her place. Then everyone else who might uncover or reveal anything was systematically eliminated. Oliver and Luce even used Chiara’s body. They moved it, to throw everyone off the scent. It could have worked.’

  ‘The only people he didn’t get were you and me.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Devlin had his own theory on that. That Oliver Kessel had maybe valued his elder daughter more than she realised.

  ‘I still can’t believe he’s gone.’ Kaz straightened up. ‘There’s going be a hell of a lot of sorting out to do. And the press …’ Her voice quivered to a stop.