‘Hello, anyone home?’
Vincent recognised her voice immediately. Grace Bonner was married to a friend of his from Kingshurst Golf Club. Of course, he used the word ‘friend’ lightly. Vincent hated all the men at the golf club with a venom he had to fight to contain. They had been born into money, and had lived a luxurious life since the day their mothers had proudly produced them, shortly before handing them over to the hired help. Vincent despised them all. Those men had no idea what it was like to have nothing. When they looked at him, they saw a rich Italian man, and they made assumptions about his background. They doubtless placed him as growing up in a grand Italian dwelling. All they knew of his home country were trips to La Scala Opera House in Milan, or the art galleries of Florence. They often asked if he’d grown up anywhere near the Grand Prix at Monza. Ignorant bastardos!
Vincent’s parents had been children at the start of the Second World War, and even though Vincent’s father had worked hard all of his relatively short life, his worth had never amounted to much. Even dying young had not helped, as he had never invested in a life insurance policy. As sometimes happens, Mr and Mrs Rocchino’s own frugal childhoods had shaped those of their offspring. The people that Vincent met now could conceive nothing of his early years. They could not begin to imagine a house so small, and so full of women, that the youngest child had to spend his entire life sharing a bedroom with his sisters. It would not cross their tiny minds that having chestnut cake and hot chocolate at his nonna’s house could be the closest Vincent had come to eating sweets as a boy. He had always wanted nothing more than to be rich, to be envied and to be accepted by the elite men of the world, and yet, ironically, he loathed them and wished them all dead.
‘I’m here. Come aboard,’ he replied.
Grace nimbly stepped onto the yacht. A little over fifty and still incredibly well presented, Vincent was struck by just how much her name suited her. She moved like a swan. Elegant and willowy, she was the personification of the word graceful.
‘My dear. You look amazing.’ And she did. She was dressed in a white sheer blouse that gave a delicious suggestion of her breasts beneath it, but didn’t announce them with a bloody foghorn, as Abbie’s clothes had done. Grace also wore a pair of well-cut trousers that hugged her bottom snuggly and finished neatly at her slim ankles in a capri style. On her feet were a pair of deck shoes in the palest of grey and the softest of leather. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied up loosely, with just the right number of delicate strands released to blow in the wind. She was perfect. Vincent’s eyes misted over. This was it. This was the woman he had always wanted. So stylish, so refined.
Blinking, he took a step towards her. ‘You are impeccable.’
Grace glanced down at herself. ‘Oh, these old things!’
‘I can’t thank you enough for joining me at such short notice on the Cristina’s maiden voyage.’ And for wearing flat shoes! He closed the gap between them and kissed her on the cheek. For now, he was happy to be chastened and a tad old fashioned. When he’d first met Grace, she’d had a skin-full of champagne and had been quite forthcoming. But he knew better than to rush this. A delicious meal and some time spent drinking on his yacht, and Grace would be his.
‘It’s so lovely eating Italian food with an authentic expert, Vincent.’
‘I only ever advise. I never insist.’
‘Of course. But everything you’ve served so far has been delicious.’
‘I’m glad.’ Thank goodness money could buy anything, even a full Italian meal, delivered out to your yacht by a local restaurant.
‘I suppose it’s the norm for you. You must’ve grown up eating this kind of thing all the time.’
Vincent thought of the wholesome rustic meals his mother and sisters had produced. He remembered the excitement he’d felt when he had been allowed bread and jam. ‘Well … my mother was a good cook.’
‘How lovely. What was she like? I’d like to hear all about her.’
Why was Grace talking about his mother as if she were dead? Had he used the past tense? Maybe he had. She was, after all, most definitely in his past. Deciding it was easier not to correct his companion, Vincent launched into a speech about his childhood. Some of the facts were true. He simply elaborated on the situation they’d been in. The house he grew up in became grander in his mind and the lifestyle became far more ostentatious. Grace seemed to enjoy the fairy tales. She smiled. She tucked tiny strands of her hair behind her ears. And, occasionally, she reached out and ever so gently touched the back of his hand as she said, ‘Oh, how charming.’
‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. Tell me all about you, Grace?’ Vincent had begun to feel a little nauseous. Talking about his family, even in a totally embellished way, always made him emotional.
‘There’s not much to tell. I was born in Hertfordshire. My dad was an accountant and my mum stayed at home with me and my sister. We weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor either, if you see what I mean. It was all rather uneventful. I met Graham when he went to the boys’ boarding school near my home. I had a summer job there, in Housekeeping. He seemed kind, and, dare I say it – well off. He was rather taken with me. As soon as I got the chance, at just twenty, I married him, and we moved to Kingshurst. Three children later and here I am – bored! Don’t get me wrong; Graham is nice enough, if a bit of a snob!’
Vincent thought Graham Bonner was more than a bit of a snob. He was a total upper-class twat, but Vincent decided to keep his mouth shut.
‘I suppose I was always rather pleased that he wanted me. I mean, his family had more money than mine. He could’ve had his pick, and yet he chose me.’ She shrugged her slender shoulders.
‘Because you are beautiful, and kind, and intelligent, and …’ Vincent stopped himself. I think I’m falling for this woman. I genuinely meant all those things.
‘Aww, bless you. That’s so kind of you to say.’
‘It’s all true.’
‘It was fine when the children were little. I had a lot on my plate and Graham was good enough to pay for everything. I never needed to work or worry about money. But the children are grown now. The youngest is twenty-two. There’s nothing to keep me busy, and nothing for Graham and I to discuss. We’ve drifted apart so much. I think that’s why I …’ Grace shook her head.
‘Go on.’
‘It’s why I’ve been a bit naughty of late. I’m just looking for someone who’ll notice me. Someone who’s interested in my thoughts. Graham so rarely is.’
‘That’s completely understandable. If your husband isn’t giving you the attention you deserve, you have absolutely no option other than to seek out new … friendships.’
‘You’re right. I know you are. I just feel guilty. Yesterday, when you called and invited me to join you on your yacht, I knew I ought not to come. But it was just so tempting. You’re such an interesting man and I find you very stimulating.’
Vincent’s heart soared. Grace was delectable. He could eat her. Grabbing the champagne from the ice bucket, he instructed, ‘Pass me your glass, you gorgeous woman. You and I are celebrating.’
Thrusting her delicate flute under the flow of champagne, Grace asked, ‘What is there to celebrate?’
‘You!’ He raised his glass. ‘We’re celebrating what an amazing woman you are, and how incredibly lucky it is that you’ve found someone who appreciates you so much.’ He gestured towards himself.
Downing the glass of champagne in one, Grace stood up. Excusing herself, she skipped down the four steps to the cabin area below and headed towards the bathroom, grabbing her little case on the way. Vincent had high hopes that she was about to slip into something more comfortable. And, by that, he did not mean a pair of leggings and a crop top, such as Abbie often chose to lounge around in.
He would give her a couple of minutes, then he’d go and see. He felt himself grow hard at the prospect. As he sat back down, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. Unlocking it, he was surprised to see that h
e’d had a few missed calls throughout the day. He now had numerous text messages that all seemed to be arriving at once. Maybe he hadn’t been in a good area before. The Solent was notorious for bad signal.
All the texts were from Abbie. Various requests to call her back. Several questions, such as – where are you now? Why are you still not home? Have you really been working? None of your business, you little bitch!
As Grace returned and made her way up the steps, dressed in a silk chemise that left just enough to the imagination, he read the most recent text from Abbie. “Fine. Don’t answer my calls. I didn’t wanna tell you by text, but I’m gonna have to. I’m pregnant, Vinnie. And it’s your baby. And my dad says if you don’t marry me – he’s gonna fucking kill you!”
47
Lottie – 2019
Lottie hoped Hannah was telling the truth when she promised to stop her killing Vincent. When it came to it, when he was stood in front of her, she was going to need someone like Hannah to remind her that, even though she thought she’d lost everything, she did in fact still have her freedom, and beating the crap out of Vincent could lose her that.
‘Look. A light just came on in the house.’ Hannah pointed.
‘Yes. That’s the drawing room.’
‘Ah ha, the place of all the tea parties.’
‘Yes. My poor mum. She was so swept away by him. I doubt she’d ever met anyone as charismatic as Vincent before.’
‘What about your dad? Wasn’t he charismatic?’
‘Not particularly. He was quiet and old fashioned in his ways. Growing up, I was a little bit scared of him.’
‘How so?’
‘He was just … you know … a bit moody. You never knew if you were seeing the full picture.’
‘Uh huh, I get what you mean.’
‘You know, I heard something about him last year that made me… oh, I can’t explain it. I just never knew him like I knew my mum. But still, he was my dad and I loved him.’
‘Of course. My dad can be a moody git too. You should’ve seen him the day I was called in for the final decision on the investigation into my misconduct. He was well angry.’
‘It’s such a shame you couldn’t persuade them to keep you on. It sounds like it was all the other guy’s fault.’
‘My guv’nor was right. There were things I could’ve done. Things I should’ve done. Maybe if I had, Dawn would still be alive.’
‘But you learnt from your mistake. You never would’ve repeated it. You’d have been so much more on the ball the next time.’
‘As you well know, Lottie, sometimes we only get one chance to do the right thing. If you had your time over, you’d do whatever it took to get Vincent out of your mum’s life, and if I had mine, I’d call that argument in and wrestle the steering wheel out of that lazy dickhead’s hands, like a shot. We both messed up. But life is a cake that cannot be unbaked.’
‘Very poetic!’ Lottie smiled.
‘What you say is true though. We’ve both learnt our lesson, albeit the hard way. I’m not that innocent girl who joined up. I’ve changed. I know my strengths now. I’ll never let someone else decide my destiny again. Neither will you.’
‘How close to prosecution did you come?’ Lottie wondered.
‘Way too close. I still can’t believe Chippy didn’t get sent down for what he did.’
‘Dismissal was bad enough for you though.’
‘Yeah, but it was far worse for him. I lost some mates, I won’t lie. But Chippy … When the whole truth came out, people were so cruel to him. Plus, he lost his wife and kid over it.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yeah. She was already halfway out the door. Finding out that he’d driven off and left a young woman to attend to an incident alone, and that she’d been stabbed in the guts and died, was enough to make his wife up sticks and head to her mum’s. I heard he’s drinking more than ever, and he hardly sees his boy now.’
Lottie shook her head. ‘I’m not that sorry for him though.’
‘No, me neither. Oh look, the light’s gone out.’
‘Han, what are we doing?’
‘Huh?’
‘We’re standing in my old meadow, watching someone we don’t know turn a light on and off.’
‘Yeah. I suppose we are. Have you seen enough?’ Hannah asked.
‘Have you? You were the one who wanted to see the scene of the crime, although in the case of my dad’s death, there was no crime.’
‘What about your mum’s?’
‘Her suicide?’
‘Yeah. Do you think there was any way Vincent could’ve had something to do with that? Did he have an alibi?’
‘He was seen by a few people showing off in his silly little car. It honestly seemed like it was her decision. But I still think he was responsible in his own way.’
‘And you never worked out what she felt guilty about?’
‘Never. It still haunts me.’ Lottie gazed back at the house she’d once called home. ‘If only Mulberry House could speak. I reckon it knows some secrets.’
Hannah shivered. ‘It’s getting chilly. Shall we go?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Fancy stopping at a pub for a drink?’
‘Umm …’
‘My treat,’ Hannah offered.
‘You’re the best.’ Lottie gave her a hug and headed back to the car.
With a hot chocolate for the driver and a rare glass of Sauvignon Blanc for Lottie, the girls talked tactics.
Hannah said, ‘If we just knew what name he was using now. That would help enormously.’
Lottie took a sip of her drink, enjoying the cool liquid on her throat. ‘He’s not got much imagination when it comes to reinventing himself. I mean “Robinson”! I’ll bet he’s using another English name.’
Hannah agreed. ‘It won’t be anything like Rocchino.’
‘Do you think it starts with an R?’
‘Probably!’
They both laughed.
‘Did his sister have any ideas about what name he might be using?’
‘Not really. I don’t think it occurred to her that he might change it. It’s odd, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’ Lottie took another sip, trying not to rush the precious elixir.
‘She came all the way over here to tell him his mum’s dying. But she hates him. Families, huh!’
‘She sounds like a nice person.’
‘She is.’
‘I kind of hope you don’t find him in time. God help me, but I think I’d be delighted if he missed out on a fond farewell to his dear old mum. I mean, let’s be honest, I didn’t get to say anything to either of my parents before they died.’
Hannah knew it would be wrong to judge Lottie. Still having both her parents alive, she had no idea how it felt to lose one without so much as a goodbye. ‘Do you want me to take my time about finding him then?’
‘No way. You need to do the best for your client. If his mum has got any sense, she’ll jump right out of her death bed and head butt the bastard anyway.’
‘You nutter.’
‘You do whatever you need to do for your business. Honestly, don’t delay on my account.’
‘Okay. Actually, I did have a couple of ideas.’
‘Uh huh?’ Lottie was intrigued.
‘Well, obviously we don’t know where he’s gone. But we do know he’s rich.’
‘No shit, Sherlock!’
‘So,’ Hannah carried on, evidently ignoring her friend’s sarcasm, ‘we need to think about the kind of places rich men might visit.’
‘Like decent hotels?’
‘Yeah. He won’t go back up north. His face is known up there. According to Paul, there were a couple of rather nasty lads looking for him up there a few years ago. Down here is where he can safely access the luxury he’s always wanted.’
‘Oh, that reminds me. I found this in a book the other day.’ Lottie produced a business card from her bag. ‘It’s some bloke called Harper-S
mythe; he sells Porsches, Ferraris, that kind of thing.’
‘Why have you got that?’
‘Like I told you, when I left the house that day, I just grabbed everything I could. I think I took a couple of my dad’s books, as well as my own.’
‘Oh right, so your dad was using it as a bookmark?’
‘No. I think that arsehole had the cheek to read my dad’s books. They both liked Lee Child. The business card must’ve been Vincent’s. My dad would never have driven anything as crass as a Ferrari, or even a Porsche.’
‘Greedy old Vincent. You said he already had a Merc.’
‘Yeah, and mum bought him a little MG for their third anniversary. But he clearly thought he was entitled to several cars. You know how he likes to spend money.’
‘Other people’s!’ Hannah took her phone out of her bag. Clicking on notes, she said, ‘Right, let’s make a list.’
‘Of what?’
‘The things we’d buy if we were Vincent.’
Lottie knew the answer immediately. ‘I’d buy a fucking shot gun and blow my own brains out.’
‘Seriously, Lottie, this could help.’
‘Okay, okay. Well, there’s the cars.’
‘Yep.’
‘And he was always talking about motorbikes. Harley Davidsons, I think.’
‘That’s good. Anything else?’
‘He was thinking about buying some art. Apparently his mother named him after Vincent Van Gogh.’
‘He told you that?’ Hannah seemed surprised.
Lottie laughed cynically. ‘No. Not me. He never told me anything. It was my mum. I heard him once telling her his mother’s favourite painting was the one of the sunflowers. My mum bought him some a few days later. Poor deluded woman.’
‘Bless her. That was a sweet thing to do. Your mum was a good person.’
‘Yes … and gullible.’
‘Well, he’s not rich enough to buy a Van Gogh. But I’ll put art on the list. Anything else to add?’
Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1) Page 15