Gucci Gucci Coo (28 page)

A
S
C
HRISTMAS DREW
closer, Ruby thought she might get a call or at least a card from Sam, but nothing came. She was sad not to hear from him, but bearing in mind the ease with which he had left her, she wasn’t surprised.

She spent Christmas Day with her parents. Ronnie, who looked almost ready to pop, wasn’t allowed to lift a finger.

On Christmas morning, Aunty Sylvia and Ruby arrived early to start preparing lunch. Phil had done all the food shopping a few days before. He’d bought everything apart from the turkey. That, along with several bottles of vodka, had been delivered courtesy of Ivan. The presents were a thank-you to Phil for helping to save his life. Apparently Ivan had also located the nurse who’d managed to restart his heart and sent her a turkey and vodka, too.

Aunty Sylvia took control in the kitchen. Ruby, who hated cooking roasts—even when it wasn’t Christmas—because she could never get the timing right, was perfectly happy to be her sous chef.

“You know,” Aunty Sylvia said, wiping the end of her nose with the back of a stuffing-coated hand, “I never really apologized for the dreadful scene Nigel and I caused the other day in the shop. We just got carried away. I’m so sorry. I feel so guilty that I was responsible for Stella pulling out of the business.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruby said, cutting another cross at the base of a Brussels sprout. “It wasn’t just you. Stella thought the whole event was tacky and she hated the fact that I’d organized it behind her back.” She put the sprout in a bowl of water and took another one from the bag.

“So, how’s Ivan?” Aunty Sylvia asked. Ruby said she had spoken to him and that he was back home and doing fine.

“Thank the Lord for that. Have you given any more thought to buying Stella out?”

Ruby shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of thoughts. What I need is the money. Stella’s attorney is putting pressure on me to pay up or agree to sell.”

“You know, I’ve got a bit of money put away. It’s not much, but if it would help.”

“That’s kind and I appreciate the offer, but you haven’t got enough to gamble with. If for some reason the business went belly-up, I wouldn’t be able to repay you and I couldn’t live with that.”

Aunty Sylvia grabbed another load of stuffing and shoved her hand back up inside the bird. “There’s always Nigel,” she said. “He’s pretty loaded.”

“Nigel? I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable asking your ex for money.”

“My ex? Who told you we’d split up?”

“Nobody. I just assumed…after the…you know…the whole underwear thing.”

“We’re working it out. He’s seeing a therapist. She’s helping him look at his relationship with his father. Apparently he was very domineering. As a result Nigel grew up feeling the need to reject his masculine side and embrace his feminine one.”

“So at least he’s stopped wearing women’s clothes.”

“Oh, no,” Aunty Sylvia said waving her hand carelessly so that a great lump of stuffing fell to the floor. “He’ll probably always want to do it. But I can live with that.”

“You can?”

“That’s your Aunty Sylvia—only happy when she’s got a project.” It was Ronnie. She made her way over to the sink and began filling the kettle.

“You know what, Ronnie? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do enjoy trying to help the men in my life. But it seems to work for me. We’ve joined a support group for couples in our position and Nigel thinks I’d be brilliant at advising the men how to dress and do their makeup. He thinks I should go into business selling women’s clothes designed especially for men. I’m thinking of calling it Girls with Big Hands.”

“Well, as long as you’re OK with the situation,” Ronnie said. “That’s all that matters.”

“I am,” Aunty Sylvia said defiantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs to wash my hands.”

After she’d gone, Ronnie turned to Ruby. “And how are you coping, darling?”

Ruby hadn’t wanted to worry her mother by telling her how she had broken into the storeroom at St. Luke’s, or what had happened between her and Sam. The problem was that Ronnie, whose antennae were always on full alert, could tell that Ruby was keeping something from her. She’d kept pestering Ruby to tell her what was going on and eventually Ruby had given in.

“I’m having second thoughts about exposing the surrogacy story,” she said.

“I can see that. The hospital would be finished.”

“And I’m worried that your care might be put in jeopardy. You and I have the same surname. Some bent midwife could easily make the connection.”

Ronnie nodded. “If you do decide to go ahead with the story, I’ll arrange for Dr. Beech to deliver the baby at the Portland.”

Ruby agreed that might be for the best.

“Darling, I’m so sorry about you and Sam. I know it sounds trite, but the pain will ease sooner or later.”

Ruby said she just wished it could be sooner rather than later. Ronnie put her arms round her daughter. “You know your dad and I are always here if you need us. I don’t want you to think that little Sigmund’s arrival is going to make any difference to that.”

Ruby smiled. “I know it won’t. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Ronnie kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Just then the switch on the kettle clicked itself off. “You stay there,” Ruby said. “I’ll make the coffee.” She had taken no more than a couple of steps when she felt herself starting to slide across the floor. She reached out to grab the counter, but it was just out of reach. Several times she almost righted herself. Finally she fell backward and landed hard on the floor.

“You OK?” Ronnie gasped, heaving herself off her chair.

Ruby had managed not to bash the back of her head, but she had landed awkwardly. Somehow her foot had ended up underneath her. As she eased it out, she grimaced with pain. She also noticed that it was covered in sage and onion stuffing. “Actually, no, I’m not. I’ve done something to my ankle.”

Aunty Sylvia, who was her company’s official “firstaider,” diagnosed a bad sprain and wrapped up the ankle. For the rest of Christmas Day, Ruby sat next to Ronnie on the sofa, her foot up on the coffee table. At one point Ruby and Ronnie needed to go to the loo at the same time. Phil said watching the pair of them trying to climb the stairs was like watching two old-age pensioners trying to rock-climb.

Nigel, who’d had Christmas lunch with his elderly parents, arrived chez Silverman around teatime. Phil, who knew all about Nigel’s penchant for ladies’ lingerie, barely knew where to look. His awkwardness wasn’t helped by the fact that he had downed a substantial amount of Ivan’s splendid vodka before lunch, not to mention several glasses of wine with lunch. “What can I get you, Nigel? A glass of champagne or a cuppa?”

Nigel said tea would be great.

“So what cup size would you like? Sorry, I mean would you like a mug or a D cup. I mean teacup.”

His faux pas didn’t stop there. A few minutes later he was asking Nigel if he’d seen the Manchester United game the previous week. “What a load of big girls’ blouses. If you ask me they were complete rubbish.”

Before anyone could stop him, he began admiring Nigel’s new tawny-colored sweater, which Aunty Sylvia had bought him for Christmas. “So what color is that, Nigel? Sort of gusset, would you say?”

As usual Ruby had no plans to reopen the shop until after the first week in January. People who shopped at Les Sprogs tended to go away just before Christmas or shortly after and were never back before the fifth of January. Since her ankle was still very swollen and painful and she couldn’t drive or stand on it, she was grateful for the time off.

On New Year’s Eve she took a taxi to Chanel and Craig’s. Earlier in the week Chanel had rung to say they were planning a quiet dinner and would she like to join them. She’d been invited to Fi and Saul’s, but they were having a family evening with his parents and loads of other relatives, and even though they assured her she wouldn’t be intruding, Ruby still felt she might.

She had also been invited to a couple of parties, but since she was still getting teary over Sam and her ankle hurt, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to party. She decided that a quiet evening with friends was just what she needed.

Chanel and Craig were still looking after Alfie. Hannah was sure she didn’t want him back and the couple was about to contact Social Services. “I’m not sure ’ow the law works in these cases,” Craig said to Ruby while Chanel was in the kitchen making coffee. “It’s possible we may not ’ave this little fella much longer. If Chanel is forced to give ’im up, ’er whole world’s gonna come tumbling down…not to mention mine.”

After they’d had coffee, Chanel asked Ruby if she’d like to come upstairs and see Alfie.

“I’d love to.”

The nursery was perfect. Of course it hadn’t been created for Alfie. Craig had decorated the room during Chanel’s only—and very brief—pregnancy. “We never ’ad the ’eart to change it.”

Ruby looked up. Minuscule electronic stars twinkled in the dark blue ceiling. There was just enough light to make out the Winnie the Pooh mural Craig had painted. In his crib, Alfie had kicked off his duvet and was lying on his back in a white sleep suit covered in rabbits. He was making tiny snoring sounds.

“I keep trying to prepare myself for losing him, but it’s so ’ard.”

Ruby put her arms round Chanel and hugged her. “Oh, sweetie…I hope you get to keep him, but there’s so much to sort out. You can’t rely on it. You have to be prepared for Claudia to want him back.”

“I know, and I’m trying to be realistic, but Claudia ’asn’t been in touch with ’annah. She ’asn’t seen ’er or spoken to ’er since she refused to take Alfie ’ome from the ’ospital. If she took ’im now, what sort of a life would ’e ’ave with ’er? You’ve seen what she’s like with Avocado. She’s a dreadful mother.”

“Yes, but she still has rights.”

“Rights she bloody gave up months ago when she rejected ’im for ’aving ginger hair.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how the law sees it.”

“Well, the law needs bloody changing.”

Ruby gave her another squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs and have some more coffee.”

Chapter 19

Ruby spent the next couple of days resting her ankle, which had started to swell up again because she’d been putting too much weight on it too soon. She passed the time reading and watching trashy TV. Every so often she would get up off the sofa and hobble to the loo or the fridge.

By lunchtime on the second day, she decided that if she watched another
Will and Grace
rerun, or based-on-a-true-story made-for-TV movie, she might be forced to eat her head.

She picked up the latest David Baldacci, which Aunty Sylvia had got her for Christmas, but she couldn’t settle. She began flicking through
Hello!
and put it down. Then she phoned Ivan to wish him a Happy New Year. He sounded full of beans and was talking about being back at work by March. “Doctors ver’ pl’zed with me. I phone you soon. You hef more jobs maybe? I could build bookshelves in lounge, yes?”

Much as she liked him, the last thing she needed was Ivan farting around for another three months trying to do a job that should take three days. But she felt sorry for him. Even though he sounded pretty upbeat, his heart attack must have shattered his self-confidence, and the last thing
she wanted was to make him feel useless and unwanted. “Good idea,” she heard herself say. “Bookshelves would be great. Why don’t you give me a ring when you’re ready to start?”

She said good-bye to Ivan and went into the kitchen to make yet another cup of coffee. When she came back she sat with the mug in one hand and the TV remote in the other. For a full five minutes she channel-surfed. When nothing took her fancy, she lay back on the cushions and closed her eyes. Eventually she dozed off with CNN still on in the background. She could only have been half asleep because all the time, she was vaguely aware of a voice talking about some court case or other. A name kept being repeated over again. Even in her semi-asleep state, she was aware that the name meant something to her. Suddenly her eyes were wide open.

“…and that was Dan Rozenberg reporting from New York on the Josh Epstien retrial, which begins Tuesday.”

Ruby sat up too fast, causing her head to swim. She blinked at the screen, but the report had finished. The anchorman had moved on to an item on oil prices. “Hang on,” she said out loud, “did he say Josh Epstien?” Was it possible he was referring to Josh Epstien as in Sam’s brother, Josh? Surely not. She knew Sam’s brother was a drug addict, but Sam had said nothing about him being a criminal. Then again, there were quite a few things Sam hadn’t told her about his life. All she could think was that if Josh Epstien’s trial was being reported on CNN, he must be one hell of a villain.

She hobbled into the bedroom and sat down at the computer. Then she Googled Josh Epstien, clicking on “images.” Before she went any further she wanted to see if the face that came up looked anything like Sam. She needed to be certain this was the same Josh Epstien.

The first photograph showed a twenty-something man and woman on their wedding day. The dark, good-looking man in his late twenties was the image of Sam. Her eyes went to the woman standing next to him. The joy on her face left Ruby in no doubt that this was the happiest day of her life.

Long blonde curls lapped at her bare shoulders. Of course she’d cut her hair since then and had it dyed. She was also a lot plumper now. Even so, Ruby recognized her at once. Underneath the picture, the caption read “Josh and Kimberley Epstien on their wedding day in 1999.” So, that explained Sam’s link to Kimberley. She was married to his brother. What it didn’t explain was why Sam had kept this fact a secret.

She clicked out of images and into text. There were hundreds of references to Josh Epstien, but the first told Ruby all she needed to know.

Two years ago Josh had been tried and sentenced to life imprisonment for murdering a New York mafia boss in some kind of drug turf war. At the time he had pleaded guilty. Now he was claiming that he had been arrested simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and that the real killer—a billionaire New York businessman named Herbert Garcia with gangland connections—had threatened to kill Kimberley and the children if he didn’t take the murder rap.

For the last few months, Josh’s lawyers had been fighting to get the case reopened. During this time, Kimberley had been receiving death threats. Eventually she and the children had fled abroad. Very recently, DNA evidence linking the businessman to the killing had been discovered. He had since disappeared.

Ruby sat back in her chair. Now she understood. Kimberley had come to London because she thought she would be safe. On top of that, Sam was there to look out for her and offer what protection he could.

It was then that Ruby remembered the black Porsche Cayenne that had tried to run them off the road in Richmond Park. Was it possible the gang had followed Kimberley here and that they knew Sam was helping her? Were they trying to threaten him in the same way they had been threatening her? It was dawning on her that the reason Sam went back to New York was connected to Kimberley and Josh and the new murder trial. But why had he lied? Why hadn’t he trusted her with the truth? He must have assumed she wouldn’t stay with him if she knew his brother was a convicted murderer.

She needed to speak to Sam. It was only just dawning on her that all the time they were going out, he must have been under the most unbearable pressure and stress. He must have been so frightened—not only for Kimberley, but for himself as well.

Ruby needed to make him understand that whatever Josh had or hadn’t done, she still loved him. She picked up the phone and dialed Sam’s mobile, only to be told the number was no longer valid. She tried his flat. The phone had been shut off. Finally she called the hospital. “I’m sorry,” said the woman on the switchboard, “but Dr. Epstien no longer works here.”

Ruby could only assume that with the new trial coming up, Sam wanted to be near his brother and had decided to go back to New York. Since he’d left his job, he clearly wasn’t planning to come back.

Moments later she was on the phone to Fi. “Have you got a number for Buddy and Irene?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I’m trying to find Sam. I think he might be on his way back to New York.”

“Ruby, why on earth would you want to speak to Sam?” She sounded really concerned. “You have to let him go. The man is bad news. He’s done you nothing but harm.”

“But I’m not convinced he has. At least not intentionally. Please, Fi, could you just let me have the number?”

Fi went off to find it.

“Thanks,” Ruby said after she had read it over. “I’ll phone you when I know more.”

“What more? What is it you’re trying to find out?”

“I’ll explain later. Promise. Bye.”

Buddy picked up the phone on the first ring. Before he said anything Ruby heard him muttering to Irene about who could be phoning so early.

“Buddy, it’s Ruby Silverman. You remember we met in London, after Connor’s circumcision?”

“Ruby, hello. Great to hear from you.” She thought she detected a slight edge to his bonhomie—as if he didn’t quite know what was coming next. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I know all about Josh, the murder, everything,” she said.

“I see.” His voice was grave suddenly. “How did you find out?”

She explained.

“I’m sorry we lied to you, Ruby, but we both thought it was for the best. Sam thought that by telling you the truth he would lose you. The reason he left London was to bring Kimberley and the children home. Those sons of bitches had followed her to London and were threatening her. They kept saying that if she didn’t get Josh to change his story, they would kill her and the children. We had to fight to get it, but in the end she was offered round-the-clock police protection in New York, so she decided to fly back. Sam came with her and stayed on for a few weeks to keep an eye on her.”

“But if he’d told me the truth, I would have understood.”

“Maybe. He wasn’t prepared to take that risk.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Isn’t he at his flat?”

“No, I’ve tried him there and at the hospital. He seems to have changed his cell number as well.”

“Then I have no idea where he could be. He’s due back here for the retrial, but we’re not expecting him for a few days.”

Ruby was starting to feel sick with dread. “Buddy, do you think these people could have hurt Sam in order to stop Josh testifying?”

“My God,” Buddy muttered. She imagined him collapsing into a chair, fearing the worst. “Find him, Ruby. Please, please find him.”

“OK. I’ll start with his flat. I still have a key.”

“And Ruby.”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

H
ER FIRST INSTINCT
was to phone the police, but it would take too long to explain everything and lose her precious time. She needed to get to Sam’s flat now. She still had the set of keys he had given her. She grabbed her coat and bag and made her way gingerly and frustratingly slowly down the stairs. She was just about to hail a cab when she saw her mother coming toward her. She was holding a large dish covered in silver foil. Whatever was inside was enough to feed ten people.

“Mum! What are you doing here?”

“I knew you couldn’t get to the supermarket and I was worried you might not have much in, so I brought you a lasagne. It just needs heating up.”

“That’s really kind of you, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Where are you going?”

“Sam’s.”

“What on earth for?”

“He’s changed his mobile and he’s left his job. I think he might be in danger.”

“What do you mean, ‘danger’? What possible danger could Sam be in?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s something to do with this surrogacy thing, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s nothing to do with that.”

“OK, but if he’s in danger we have to call the police.”

“There isn’t time. I have to get to his flat now.”

“God, I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. Look, if you have to go to his flat, at least let me take you.”

“No chance. You’re almost nine months pregnant. I don’t know what I’m going to find there.”

Ronnie’s face was full of concern. She put her hand on Ruby’s arm. “Darling, are you really suggesting somebody might be out to hurt Sam?”

“Possibly.”

“Right, pregnant or not, I’m coming with you.”

“Mum, please…”

“If you get a cab, I’m only going to follow you. So make up your mind.”

“God, you’re an obstinate woman when you choose to be.”

Ronnie smiled. “I’m parked at the end of the road.”

The two women, one heavily pregnant and carrying a giant lasagne, the other half walking, half hopping, made their way to Ronnie’s car. They put the lasagne on the backseat and headed for Kensington. Since it was only two days into the New Year and people were still off from work, the roads were practically empty.

“Mum, I don’t suppose you could put your foot down a bit, could you?”

“God, who are we? Cagney and Lacey?” She hit the accelerator. “So come on, tell me what’s going on.”

Ruby told her what she had found out. “I don’t care what you say,” Ronnie said. “We have to tell the police. We don’t know what we’re going to find at Sam’s flat. What if he’s being held hostage? Or worse?”

Ruby was adamant that there was no time. “Tell you what, you wait outside. If I’m not out in ten minutes, then you call them, OK?”

“OK.”

They practically screeched to a halt outside Sam’s flat. Ruby let herself into the building and began the slow, painful climb to the second floor. Over the years she must have sneered at hundreds of TV cops and movie heroes for doing what nobody would think of doing in real life—going into a life-threatening situation alone. Now, here she was doing precisely that. Only this wasn’t TV. It was real life.

Ruby put her ear to the door and listened. There were no sounds coming from inside. She rang the bell and waited. Nothing. Heart racing, hand trembling, she tried to slide the key into the lock. She was in such a state that it took three attempts. She turned the key. Slowly, she opened the door. The first thing she saw was the junk mail scattered over the mat. She left the front door open in case she needed to make a quick getaway. Then she took a few steps down the hallway. There were no signs of a disturbance or a struggle. There was no upturned furniture. More to the point, there were no blood-spattered walls or carpet. She poked her head round the living room door. It was perfectly neat and tidy. Ditto the bedroom. Even though she still had no idea where Sam was, for the moment at least, she started to relax.

Then, as she turned to go back into the hall, she collided with a granite-hard, T-shirt-clad chest. For a beat, maybe two, she stood staring at the faces of Wallace and Gromit. Frozen with fear, her eyes moved upward. The giant, unshaven man had his arm raised above his head. His hand was wielding a hammer. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream. She was quite literally paralyzed. So this was it. This was what it felt like in that moment before death. Before the lights went out. She closed her eyes and waited for the hammer blows to rain down on her head.