by Robin Storey
Reuben adjusted his bow tie and waistcoat, and stepped out into the night. The rain had cooled the air to a refreshing crispness. The pavement, the buildings and even the other partygoers hurrying to their celebrations, all glistened with freshness and vibrancy, in sync with the coming new year. Reuben found a seat, still wet from the rain, in King George Square. He pulled his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and punched in a message.
‘King George square car park. Level 6, row e.’
His finger hovered over the send button. Once Bomber knew the location of Lucy’s car, the plan was in action. Every cell in his body was resisting it, but he couldn’t not do it. Hand shaking, he pressed the button. ‘Sending.’ He imagined the message whizzing through cyberspace, landing in Bomber’s phone. ‘Sent successfully’. He slipped the phone in his pocket and got up. His trousers clung to his backside from the seat as he crossed the square to the Grand Plaza Hotel.
CHAPTER 30
Although it looked like every other hotel in the city, it was obvious from the moment you approached the front doors of the Grand Plaza Hotel that it considered itself a notch above all the others. A swarthy, uniformed doorman watched Reuben approach. His expression didn’t change one iota, but Reuben sensed his disapproval. Surely he wasn’t going to refuse him entry? He was conforming to the required dress code even if he did look as if he’d had a bath in his suit.
The doorman stepped in front of him. ‘May I help you, sir?’
‘I’m going to the charity ball.’
‘Do you have a ticket?’
Shit, the tickets. In his haste to pick up the rental car, he’d forgotten to bring his ticket. In any case, Carlene would have it.
‘My wife has it. She’s already here.’
The doorman’s heavy-lidded eyes flickered over him. ‘The ballroom’s on the third floor. But you won’t be allowed in without a ticket.’
He stepped aside and waved him through. ‘Have a good evening, sir.’
It was clear from his tone of voice that a good evening was highly improbable in a wet dinner suit without a ticket, supposedly in the possession of a wife who may or may not exist.
He shared the lift with two couples of sixty-odd, the men portly and ruddy-faced and the women, wide-arsed and aggressively bosomed. An aroma of aftershave mingled with heady floral perfume. Reuben kept his gaze fixed on the lift doors.
‘The last time I wore this suit was to Muriel’s Wedding,’ one of the men boomed.
‘The gallery opening wasn’t what I expected,’ his wife said to the other woman, ignoring him. ‘Very under-catered, if you know what I mean.’
The other woman nodded, pursing her lips.
‘That wasn’t a bad movie,’ the second man said. ‘But that’s going a bit over the top, isn’t it, mate? Wearing a suit to the cinema?’
‘I think Helen’s losing her touch,’ the first woman said. ‘Ever since her husband was … you know ... downsized.’
The first man inclined his head towards his wife. ‘Muriel’s her mother. Got married at eighty-five. In white, too.’
His wife frowned at him, as if he’d just revealed a dirty family secret. Reuben, visualising an elderly woman hobbling down the aisle on a zimmer frame, her long white dress flowing around her ungainly ankles, couldn’t avoid catching the man’s eye. He nodded to Reuben.
‘Get caught in the rain, mate?’
Reuben gave a resigned grin. ‘Hood wouldn’t go up on the Porsche. Brand new, too.’
The two men looked anew at him and Reuben fancied he saw the glow of envy in their eyes. Not because he supposedly owned a Porsche – he was sure money was no object to either of them – but because he was young enough to drive one. There was an age after which a man in a Porsche looked like a poser, trying to compensate for his declining attractiveness and sexual prowess.
The first man shook his head. ‘They don’t make ‘em like they used to.’
As the lift door opened, the strains of a saxophone floated in. The ballroom was an acreage of polished floor, bordered by giant carved pillars and lit by several ornate chandeliers. Balloons and decorations were strung across the walls along with the usual ‘Happy New Year’ banners. On the stage was a seven-piece band called The Groove Merchants, playing a torch song Reuben vaguely recognised. No one was on the dance floor – people weren’t drunk enough yet. Waiters with trays of food and drink glided amongst the crowd like evening-suited storks.
At the reception desk, a Kojak look-alike in a three-piece suit was taking tickets. Reuben peered through the crowd, straining to find Carlene, or even one of the other family members.
‘Yes? You have a ticket to pick up?’
Reuben stepped up to the desk. ‘No, I mean yes. My wife has my ticket. She’s here already.’
A thought dawned on him. ‘Maybe she left it here for me. Littlejohn.’
The man flicked through his box of tickets. ‘Nothing in that name.’
Of course not. That’d be too easy. She had to make him suffer.
‘Can I go in and find her? I promise I’ll come straight back and give you the ticket.’
The man shook his head. ‘Sorry, mate.’
Reuben reached into his pocket for his phone to ring Carlene then remembered he’d left it at home. The only one he had was the one Frank gave him. The number would show up as unknown on Carlene’s phone and she’d want to know whose phone he was using.
He moved away from the reception desk and peered through the glittering sea of suits and evening dresses. He felt Kojak’s eyes upon him, as if suspicious that he might make a run for it into the crowd. What colour dress was Carlene wearing? He couldn’t remember if she’d even told him – once upon a time, before a social occasion, she’d involve him in a detailed discussion about her choice of outfits and the pros and cons of each one. She was probably deliberately avoiding him. Maybe she was so mad she hadn’t even brought his ticket. Don’t even think it.
The room was packed and it wasn’t surprising that he couldn’t see the rest of the family either. A group of people in the middle of the room dispersed and suddenly there were Lucy and Duncan talking to another couple. His heart jumped. Lucy wore a long, strapless silver and black evening dress and her hair was up, with soft tendrils falling onto her cheeks. A pendant hovered above her cleavage and her bare shoulders reminded him of a movie star from the forties – seductive, yet vulnerable. She shone from the crowd as if someone had highlighted her with a fluorescent marker.
For God’s sake get a grip. She was facing him and she only had to avert her gaze for a moment to catch him staring. He looked away and caught the flinty eye of Kojak. He smiled and shrugged.
‘Can’t seem to find her.’
Then he did see Carlene, in the far left-hand corner, talking to another woman. She wore a long, cherry-red dress, if wore was the right word for something that looked as it had been poured onto her in liquid form and set on her body. It accentuated her curvaceous body but also made her look tarty. He couldn’t help comparing her to Lucy, whose outfit didn’t need to scream ‘Look at me, I’m sexy!’ because it was there, in the way she stood and moved, and smiled.
Reuben waved and gesticulated to catch Carlene’s attention, but she was standing side on and engrossed in her conversation. He jumped up and down and waved some more, and finally a woman standing near Carlene noticed him and raised her eyebrows. Reuben pointed behind her and drew a curvy figure in the air. The woman looked behind her, spotted Carlene and tapped her on the shoulder. Carlene swung around and the woman pointed to Reuben. Her expression changed in an instant. She made her way through the crowd. The band was playing ‘Strangers in the Night’.
She stood in front of him. ‘I’m not even going to ask you where you’ve been because you’ll probably give me some pathetic, totally unbelievable answer.’
She leaned forward and pinched his jacket. ‘And you’re all wet!’
Reuben opened his mouth to answer.
‘Don’t both
er, I’m not in the mood.’
She reached into her evening bag, pulled out a ticket and thrust it at him. ‘You’re lucky I brought it. I was so tempted to leave it at home.’
‘Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.’
She drew her shoulders back and gave him her Nancy look. ‘Don’t honey me. And I’ll have a champagne, thanks.’
She swept back into the crowd. Her buttocks, jiggling against their tight confines, radiated so much anger they looked in danger of self-combusting. Reuben handed in his ticket. Kojak, who’d been watching Carlene’s butt, swivelled his eyes back to Reuben.
‘Looks like you’ve got a bit of making up to do.’
Reuben ignored him. Entering the ballroom, he grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. As he wove his way through the crowd, he looked around to see if he could spot Frank’s spies. Perhaps a couple of guys without female partners who didn’t quite fit in with the crowd. If they were proper spies, they’d bring along partners for cover, but Reuben suspected they were probably just a couple of thugs Frank had hired for the night. People milled around in couples or groups, balancing drinks and paper napkins of hot savouries. No one stood out. Then he spotted Carlene. She was standing with the rest of the family, and they all watched him as he approached.
‘Evening, everyone.’
He handed Carlene her champagne.
‘Thanks,’ she said, in a tone which said, ‘I’m only being gracious for the family’s benefit.’
‘I trust you finished your business satisfactorily?’ Nancy asked. She wore a long black skirt and cream chiffon blouse and was accessorised right down to her formal glasses, edged in a black and white geometrical design. In the nouveau poor style manual, the rule was the simpler the outfit, the more expensive it was. The idea was to look as if you’d bought it from Target, a look Nancy had managed to achieve with ease.
‘Yes thanks,’ Reuben said.
‘Unfortunate having to do business on New Year’s Eve,’ Alex said. ‘Is it something you can tell us about? Or is it all hush-hush?’
‘It’s still in the early stages, but all will be revealed soon.’
Carlene looked at him and rolled her eyes.
‘Hey mate,’ Wayne said, ‘is that the new wet look, or are you too dumb to come in from the rain?’
Reuben didn’t answer. Wayne’s speech was slurred, his face blotchy. His suit strained against his bulk. It was obvious he’d begun his New Year celebrations well before he arrived.
‘Rubie,’ he said in falsetto, ‘I asked you a question.’
Jo nudged Wayne. ‘Honey, don’t be so rude.’
Reuben looked levelly at Wayne. ‘If you don’t call me Rubie, I’ll answer your question.’
Wayne shrugged. ‘No matter. I think it’s option “b” myself.’
Jo looked horrified. ‘Wayne!’
‘Oh Jesus. I’m going to find someone to have an intelligent conversation with.’
He wandered off, just stopping himself in time from upending his beer into a passing woman’s cleavage.
‘Oh shit,’ Jo said.
‘You’d better keep an eye on him,’ Nancy commanded. ‘The last thing we want is for him to disgrace us by getting thrown out.’
‘Look’ Alec said, relieved. ‘Here’s John and Edna.’
A grey-haired couple bustled up and greeted Alec and Nancy. Jo trotted off after Wayne. Carlene pulled Reuben aside.
‘Now tell me the truth,’ she hissed.
Reuben took a gulp of his champagne and grimaced. It tasted like vinegar. You’d think that for the price of the tickets they’d supply a decent drop. ‘You said you didn’t want to know.’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid. Where were you? Or perhaps I should ask, who were you with?’
Reuben took another sip, playing for time. ‘I wasn’t with anybody and I’m sorry, I can’t tell you what I was doing. As soon as I can, I promise you’ll be the first to know.’
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re a Russian spy. Or a member of the CIA.’
‘Nothing like that. Someone’s life is at stake, that’s why I can’t say anything.’
‘And that someone wouldn’t happen to be a woman?’
He hesitated. ‘It is. But I can assure you I’m not having an affair with her.’
Only in my mind. That doesn’t count.
‘So tonight you were out saving her life, but you weren’t actually with her.’
‘Yes.’
She stared hard at him. ‘You’re so full of shit. Being in that TV ad has gone to your head; you think you’re James Bond.’
Reuben took her empty champagne glass. ‘Let me get you another drink.’
‘And don’t think you can ply me with alcohol and get all romantic, because it won’t work!’ she called after him.
Where was a waiter when you wanted one? They were like cops, hung around like a bad smell then disappeared when you really needed them. He saw one in the distance, made a beeline for him and came face-to-face with Lucy.
‘Reuben!’
His mind raced for a witty reply, something James Bondish.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘What a surprise!’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Reuben said. He guessed the last place she’d expect to run into one of her clientele was at a a-hundred-and-twenty-a-head gala ball.
Her husband appeared at her shoulder. His evening suit barely contained his powerful build and he exuded the radiant good health of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. James Bondish repartee was out of the question.
‘Duncan, this is Reuben.’
They shook hands. Duncan regarded him with curiosity but was too polite to ask how they knew each other.
‘Are you enjoying the night?’ Lucy asked.
‘Yes, I am. How was Scotland?’
He felt Duncan’s eyes boring into him, probably wondering how Reuben knew about their trip. Reuben felt a brief moment of panic before remembering that Lucy had mentioned it in their last interview.
‘It was great. We only arrived back two days ago and I’m still jetlagged.’
The only sign of it was the washed-out pallor of her skin, which even her make-up couldn’t disguise. But to Reuben it made her look more vulnerable and desirable. How much more vulnerable would she look if she knew that at that very moment someone was preparing to plant a bomb in her car?
Reuben swallowed hard and looked down at the two empty champagne glasses in his hands. ‘I’d better go. I’m supposed to be getting my wife another drink. She’ll send out a search party soon.’
He nodded at Duncan. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘See you … er, later,’ Reuben said to Lucy – he’d nearly said ‘at my next appointment.’
He fetched a glass of champagne and a mineral water for himself from the bar. He’d had his quota of alcohol for the night – he had to keep a clear mind as well as drive the MG home. How was he going to explain that to Carlene? Forget it, that’s the least of your worries. He felt in his coat pocket for the reassuring touch of his mobile phone and checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Ninety minutes to go before Bomber even arrived at the car park. It was going to be a long night.
When he returned to Carlene, she was tucking into a mini quiche from the selection of tidbits on her napkin. She offered it to him but he shook his head. The thought of food made him feel ill.
‘Who was that woman you were talking to?’ she said.
‘That was Lucy, my parole officer.’
‘Really?’ Carlene looked disbelieving. It probably hadn’t occurred to her that his parole officer would be young and attractive. It hadn’t occurred to him, either, till he’d met Lucy. ‘She looks a bit like that woman in your photos, the ones you were playing around with in the middle of the night.’
Reuben shrugged. ‘Maybe. But it’s not her.’
Carlene looked at him accusingly. ‘Why didn’t you call me over and introduce me?’
‘I wanted to get b
ack to you, honey.’ He put his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘Maybe I’ll get a chance to introduce you later.’
He’d have to make sure that Carlene and Lucy were on opposite sides of the room for the rest of the night. Once Carlene had Lucy’s ear, she was sure to raise the topic of his supposed PTSD, thereby giving Lucy a reason to send him to a psychologist. But being on the opposite side of the room to Lucy would make it difficult for him to keep an eye on her. From a quick reconnaissance of the ballroom he’d ascertained that apart from the emergency exit stairwell, there was only one way to leave – the same way they’d come in. He had to make sure he had a clear view of it at all times.
‘Let’s get out of the crowd a bit,’ he said, steering Carlene to the edge of the crowd. The band broke into the Blues Brothers’ ‘Shake Your Tailfeather’. The dance floor started to fill up.
‘Come on, let’s dance,’ Carlene said. It was a command rather than a suggestion. Reluctantly, Reuben placed his drink on a nearby bar table and followed her onto the dance floor. He mooched his way around, scrutinising the crowd standing around it, for disguised thugs. He spotted Lucy leading Duncan onto the floor and immediately picked up his pace, jiggling and bouncing and swirling Carlene around, to show Lucy he wasn’t one of those guys who just shuffled around on the dance floor looking embarrassed and trying to peek down his partner’s cleavage.
Carlene jiggled and bounced back at him with grim, martyred enjoyment and Reuben had the absurd impression that they were duelling for the title of fastest bopper. Lucy and Duncan set a more sedate pace, and during ‘Brown-eyed Girl’, Duncan put his arm around Lucy’s waist and held her close as they danced. Reuben looked away.
After a couple more dances, he’d had enough and nodded to Carlene in the direction of the bar. She followed him off the dance floor and immediately three women she knew from Orphans International appeared, engulfing them both in hugs and excited squeals. Standing in a pool of frenzied female chatter, Reuben had an idea.
‘Just going to the Gents,’ he told Carlene. He made his way through the crowd to the toilets at the back of the hall. Frank’s spies were sure to follow him into the Gents, as that was the only sure way he could make a private phone call.