Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1)

by James White

  “It’s okay, I’ll come. What’s this about?” Nick asked as they edged their way around the booth. A group of men in a far corner looked at Nick with frowns; one of them, a huge fellow with a flat cap, stood up. Nick caught his eye and shook his head.

  “I’ll tell you what this is about, Nick. This is about you now being on the scene of two murders.”

  “What?” Nick stopped.

  Carruthers span to face him. “Mr Aviv? He’s dead. We found him this afternoon, drowned in his own developing chemicals.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “You see, Nick, I’ve got a problem. You keep winding up at the scene of murders – murders I’m interested in. You want to enlighten me?” Carruthers leaned back in his chair. They were once again back in the sterile embrace of Tottenham Court Road Police Station.

  Nick took a drag on his cigarette; he was hoping it might kill the hunger.

  “I went to see Aviv, but he was alive when I left him.”

  “Why did you go to see him?”

  “I was following a lead.”

  “Following what lead? Dammit, Nick, we’re dealing with national security here!” Carruthers banged a fist on the bare table.

  “Are we? Or are we dealing with something else?” Nick looked at him through a fine mist of smoke, weighing up how far he should go.

  “Of course! What else? What are you talking about?”

  Nick shrugged. “I haven’t found out yet. But I will.” He stared at Carruthers. The other man sneered and leant back.

  “I’d suggest you stick to what I asked you to find out.”

  “You gave me a pretty wide brief, what with the lack of information you had and all.”

  “Don’t get clever. Why did you go and see Aviv?”

  “I told you, I was following a lead. I heard Ramona went to see him, so I went to ask him why.” Nick studied Carruthers carefully and noticed that he paled slightly.

  “Ramona? Why would she see Aviv?”

  “Maybe she had some pictures?” Nick stubbed his cigarette out on the table. He was enjoying this. Carruthers shifted in his seat.

  “Well, did she? What did Aviv say?” The man sounded desperate.

  “Yeah, she had some pictures, but she’d already picked them up. He didn’t remember what they were of specifically – some nudey shots; looks like she was trying a side-line,” Nick lied.

  Carruthers nodded and Nick thought he detected relief in the man’s face.

  “So why was Aviv killed?”

  “Who knows? You’ve seen inside his place? All those pictures? Take your pick: a husband, a jealous boyfriend, a queer, some pics that didn’t come out right.” He shrugged. “I’m sure Mr Aviv knew a lot that a lot of people would want him to keep quiet.”

  “And it just so happened to coincide with your visit?”

  “I don’t like coincidence any more than you do. No one in this business does, but yes, it just so happened that way.”

  Carruthers seemed lost in thought and was silent for some time. Nick cleared his throat. “We done?”

  “Yes, yes, we’re done,” Carruthers said, absentmindedly waving a hand.

  “One more thing, Carruthers.”

  “What?” the man replied irritably.

  “Next time you want to see me, wait until our meet. Don’t break protocol. The way you’re marching around, detaining when and where you want, you’re going to blow this thing wide open. No one’s going to talk to me if I keep getting picked up by spooks.”

  “Don’t presume to order me what to do, Mr Valentine. However, you have a fair point. Mr Aviv’s death was another unexpected development. We’ll keep to our rendezvous tomorrow evening in The Fitzroy. Let’s hope for both our sakes you can come up with some more information. I have to say, I’m disappointed with the lack of progress so far.”

  “Not as disappointed as I am with the pay.”

  “You’re being paid what you’re worth.”

  “I wonder. I was thinking I might drop by headquarters, for old time’s sake, maybe say hello to Jessop. He’s still there isn’t he? Let him know I’m back on the payroll.”

  Carruthers’ sudden pallor told Nick all he needed to know, making the burst of rage that followed redundant. “You’ll do no such thing! I’m running you, Nick. I’m running you! Jessop won’t see you, not after the way you were drummed out. You’re not to go in!”

  “Just a suggestion,” Nick said softly.

  “No. You’re my asset. This is my operation.”

  “That because you’re running it without headquarters knowing?”

  Carruthers flushed. “They know what they need to know.”

  Nick nodded. “Why don’t we go in and brief Jessop together or whoever it is you report to?”

  Carruthers leaned forward menacingly. “Now you look here, Valentine. You know how this works; the field man gets to pay agents, gets to play them, gets to keep their names off the books for security reasons. It’s all above board.”

  “Even keeping the operation off the books?”

  Carruthers narrowed his eyes. “You sure you told me everything you found out?”

  Nick smiled and spread his arms. “I’m just fishing.”

  “You can fish all you want. I’ve told you how it is.”

  “I know how you say it is. I also know you can find me some more money if you want to.”

  “You’re pushing your luck.”

  “It’s the only way I know.”

  “Okay. Full pay. Let’s hope we can clear this up quickly, before it gets too expensive for all of us. All I’ve got at this point is another dead body and more questions than answers.”

  That makes two of us, thought Nick, but he just nodded and left.

  Twilight was fading into darkness by the time Nick got out of the station. He lit a cigarette and pondered his next move as he paced slowly towards home. He should try to patch things up with Clara, but he felt drained already. He couldn’t face another scene. The inevitable tears, the soft words of making up, all of it required effort he didn’t have right now. Nick suddenly realised that he wanted this over. He wanted his life back to normal, to lie in Clara’s arms relaxed. He’d been enjoying it, but he wasn’t anymore; the memories were coming back, pressing on him more closely. Not just those of the last years of the war, of silent murder administered in strange city streets, but further back, of the trenches, of the time… Nick shook his head. It did no good to remember. If only he could forget. He was tense. He didn’t want go through it all again: the uncertainty, the lies, the looking over your shoulder. That was his past. He had to finish this. He had to look to his future, and his future was with Clara, that much he knew. He didn’t care where, or how, as long as he was with her.

  It was a dead cert that Jurgen had killed Aviv, which probably meant he knew that Nick had taken the photos; the old man would have talked. Nick felt a twinge of regret; Aviv had just been a frail old man trying to get by, now he was dead and it was probably Nick’s fault, or at least partly his fault. Nothing had felt good about this job from the start, now it was starting to feel a whole lot worse.

  Nick steered towards the vinegar- and oil-scented odour of a fish and chip shop and picked up a portion. He munched them in the flickering streetlight outside, savouring the salty tang of the fish. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. The thought of the uneaten pie nagged at him as he walked parallel to Charlotte Street and considered his next move.

  Lucia had Nick’s name; a few questions anywhere around the West End would mean that Jurgen certainly would know where Nick lived. Hell, Lucia might even ask Clara and that would be a disaster. They might have already been to his flat. Nick had been hoping to avoid the German; he’d have woken up with a hell of a headache and a bad temper. Lucia, though, Nick kind of wanted to see her again. He stuffed the empty chip papers in a bin and wiped his hands on his coat. His flat would be under surveillance by now. If he went home he’d draw them out, but he still wasn’t sure what they wanted a
nd he’d rather meet them on his own terms, when he was ready, if it came to that. He should warn Clara. He looked at his watch and had an idea. A florist stall still stood open by Goodge Street Station. He wandered over.

  “Could you do me a favour?” he asked.

  The man eyed him suspiciously. “I sell flowers, guv, nothing else.”

  “It’s flowers I want. I just wonder if you could get someone to deliver them to an address round the corner. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The man shrugged and nodded at the lad he had helping him. “Suppose so. He can take ’em for you.”

  “Good.” Nick picked out some flowers and as the man wrapped them, he composed a quick note.

  Dearest Clara,

  I am so sorry about last night and this morning. I know I have behaved badly. I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused at the club, but I can explain. For now, all I can tell you is that I am in some trouble and that it would be best if you didn’t come to my flat. Should anyone trouble you, say that you don’t know where I have gone. I want you to meet me at The Savoy. A break will do us good, darling, and keep you safe. Don’t say anything to Lucia, and don’t trust her. Please, trust me. I love you always and I don’t want any harm to befall you. I will be in touch.

  Be safe.

  All my love,

  Nick

  He handed over some coins and with a heavy heart and even heavier sense of foreboding, watched the boy walk off. Clara wouldn’t take this well, but he couldn’t risk her getting involved. She had to be protected from this. Apart from Stephen, she was the only constant in his world, the only person he could almost open up to. He shook his head. He had to get himself out of this mess. He couldn’t even risk going home. This way he could try to repair some of the damage with Clara, plan their future and buy some time to think.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Just what are you mixed up in, darling? Nothing good if you can suddenly afford to put us in here.” Clara swept a hand around the sumptuous suite. She plunged on before Nick could answer. “How many times? I’m not with you for your money.” She smiled and stepped over to him, draping a hand over his shoulder, close enough that he could inhale the sweet floral scent of her perfume. “I’m with you because you’re you, and I love you.”

  “I know. Still, I like to look after you. Consider this a treat. I can afford it, for once. With what happened to Ramona, I’d feel happier knowing your were safe here.” He pulled her close, his hand in the small of her back. “Besides, what woman wouldn’t like a night at the best hotel on earth?”

  “Or a night with you at the best hotel on earth.”

  They kissed. A long, lingering kiss, that went on and on before Clara gently pulled away. She crossed to the walnut desk where a champagne bucket stood perspiring. The wireless set beside the bed crackled out slow swing in gentle tones, some orchestra session on the BBC. Clara poured two crystal flutes and passed one to Nick, perching herself elegantly on the end of the bed.

  “We should do this more often,” Nick said.

  “Spend a fortune?”

  “No. Treat ourselves. When was the last time we went down to the sea? We used to love that.”

  Clara’s brow furrowed. “I can’t remember. Too long.” A troubled look passed over her face. “It’s this damn city. I feel like we’re stuck here, Nick. We’ve talked and talked about getting away, our little home by the sea. What would we do?” She looked at him imploringly. “A singer, and a, well, I don’t know what you are, Nick. Do you?” There was an edge to her tone that chilled him despite the warmth of the room.

  He smiled weakly. “I don’t know what I am, but I do know that I can find something. Maybe it’s time, Clara. I don’t want you dancing and singing in clubs anymore, pawed at by strangers, any more than I want to be here, sliding from pub to pub along filthy streets. It feels like every day I hate myself a little more.” He stopped abruptly and turned away.

  “The nightmares again?” she asked softly.

  Nick nodded.

  “Nick, you have to let it go. I know bad things, terrible things, happened in the war. Dwelling on them won’t help.”

  “You think I want to? The trouble is: how can I forget?” The words tumbled out fast and instantly he regretted them. Clara looked taken aback and he could see that yet again he’d hurt her with his words, with something he could never fully share with her, that she would and could never understand. He sat beside her and laid a hand on her knee. “That silk gown suits you.”

  “It should,” she smiled. “I’m sure you paid as much for it as for this room.”

  “Almost, but it’s worth it.”

  And it was. Clara looked stunning in the emerald green gown. He stared at her, trying to burn this moment in his mind. Why were his dreams never of moments like this? As quick as it had begun, it was over, the frown on her face signalling the change.

  “So what are you mixed up in? And what does Lucia have to do with it?”

  “Do we have to talk about it?” His tone was unconvincing.

  “You’ve dragged me out of my home, even if it is to The Savoy. I need to know.”

  Nick nodded, stood and began to pace the room. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure myself. Poor Ramona’s death seems to have set in train a set of circumstances that I’m now slave to, and that grow ever more complicated.” He stopped and poured himself another glass of champagne, topping up Clara’s. “It looks like Ramona was mixed up in a lot of things. In debt, having affairs with high-ranking military officials, and who knows what else. At the moment I’m being paid to try to sort out some of the mess and find some answers. Trouble is, the more answers I find, the more questions there are.”

  Clara shook her head. “Nick,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper, “I thought this was behind you – behind us.”

  “Sometimes you don’t always get a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice, Nick.”

  “Is that why we’re still here regretting the life we have?”

  Clara’s eyes showed immediate hurt and she leapt up, putting the champagne flute down so firmly, half its contents were lost, fizzing over the pale walnut veneer of the desk. “You’re right, and that’s why I hate what you’re saying. I am tired of this, of staying up all night, of sleeping all day in this Godforsaken city. For what? For the next gin fizz, the next pay check, the next hangover. God!”

  Nick moved over to her and went to place an arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off angrily.

  “Darling, please. We can–”

  “We can what? Hold on to our dream of our quiet life by the sea while our time ticks away? As if things aren’t bad enough, you now tell me I can’t even go home because you’re mixed up in something you don’t even understand yourself.”

  “Look, I didn’t ask for this. It came to me. Let me do what they want me to do, find the answers they’re looking for, then we’ll go away. Far away, like we always said we would.” He was alarmed to see a tear roll down her porcelain cheek as she turned away and gazed out the window over the Thames.

  “I wonder, Nick. I wonder.”

  He moved behind her, encircled her waist, but she didn’t yield. Her body stayed stiff, like a statue, as she gazed out into the darkness and the twinkling lights along the river.

  “How about dinner?”

  She gave a sniff, wiped at her eye and gave a little laugh. “We’re here; we might as well enjoy it.”

  Among the gentle hum of diners in the lavish surroundings of the River Restaurant, they could almost pretend they had normal lives, as their silver cutlery tinged on finest porcelain and the rich food was washed down with fine wine. Nick smiled, Clara glowed and that made him happy. He hadn’t seen her look like this in months, maybe years. She was right; they had to get away. London was poisoning them, slowly eating away at what was left of their souls in their soulless existence.

  Clara paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What is it?”

  �
�What?” replied Nick, confused.

  “You’re positively beaming, darling. Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

  “I was just remembering last summer, when we got away to Cornwall for that week. How nice it was to relax and take long walks, breathe fresh air and spend all that time together.”

  “Yes, yes it was.” Clara’s clear, blue eyes took on a faraway look. “Can we go away again, Nick? Just for a break?”

  “I don’t see why not…” Nick began.

  “Next week? Please, darling. Let’s take the train away from here, back down to Cornwall, even if it’s only for a couple of days.”

  Nick wanted nothing more, but there was Carruthers. Then again, what would a couple of days hurt?

  “Yes, let’s do it.”

  Clara’s eyes shone with excitement. “I’ll go and buy tickets tomorrow. Could you find us somewhere to stay?”

  “Of course.” Nick reached over the table and squeezed Clara’s hand.

  “I’m so happy. This was a good idea, Nick.” She looked around happily. “Stepping into a different world, even for a night, I feel like we’ve escaped, and now we’re making plans.” She popped the last of her food daintily into her mouth and settled her knife and fork neatly on the plate.

  “Dessert?”

  “You know, I fancy a bath, before I slip into something more suitable.” She gave Nick a meaningful look. “Why don’t you have a nightcap and follow me up in half an hour or so? I promise not to be asleep.” She stood and cast him a coquettish look.

  “Of course. I’m not sure I can wait half an hour, though.”

  “Do your best, darling…” She let the words hang as she stepped elegantly away through the tables and towards the lifts.

  Nick nodded to the waiter, settled the bill then stalked towards the Beaufort Bar where the Savoy Orpheans were already playing to probably the most rarefied nightclub crowd in England, if not the world. It wasn’t too late and Nick managed to bag a table tucked away to the side of the stunning black walled and gold-leaf embossed room. Everyone raved about the American Bar, but the action was in here, the elegantly louche atmosphere perfectly matching the gilded noir of the decoration.