Private Lives (58 page)

He continued his sweep of the room.

‘Over there is Piggy Allsop; he’s some big noise in haulage. Deadly dull, but pots of money.’ He glanced down at Anna’s legs. ‘Piggy likes very skinny girls, though, so he’s probably out.’ He nodded towards a good-looking man in his late fifties. ‘And that fellow in the red tie is Peter Rees. He works in oil and engineering.’

Anna’s heart skipped a beat. Peter. Could he be Amy’s Peter?

‘And is he . . . attached? To a girl, I mean?’

Johnny looked at her, a wicked smile on his lips.

‘Do you like him?’

‘Perhaps. Is
he
single?’

He shrugged. ‘Wife back in Gloucestershire of course, horrible old trout, although you didn’t hear that from me. But no lady friends, as far as I know. I think he got his fingers burned a little while ago.’

‘Oh. What happened to her?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, looking away from her. ‘Sometimes they can get a little clingy. Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

Peter was standing on his own, swilling bourbon around a glass as they approached.

‘Peter, I’d like you to meet Natasha. Natasha is a fan of the arts.’

‘Really?’ said Peter, smiling at her. ‘That’s very interesting.’

Johnny gave Anna’s arm a squeeze. ‘I’ll leave you two to chat,’ he said and melted into the crowd.

‘Actually, I’m very dull,’ said Anna. ‘Johnny was just trying to talk me up.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. What branch of the arts are you in?’

‘Sculpture, oils, the Renaissance,’ she said vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t be a collector and call her bluff. ‘I want to hear all about you,’ she said quickly, touching his arm. ‘What do you do?’

‘I’m on the board of Dallincourt.’

‘Oh really? What’s that?’

‘We’re an engineering firm, largely we build oil rigs, do the casing for mines. Things like that. Rather dull.’ He smiled.

‘What do you do there?’

‘COO,’ he said with a hint of pride.

Anna gestured at the room with her wine glass.

‘So do you come to these things often?’

‘Well, Jamie Swann and I have interests in common, so we’re often to be found close by, yes.’

‘Business interests?’ asked Anna.

‘Sometimes,’ smiled Peter. ‘Tell me, has Johnny given you the grand tour?’

He linked his arm through hers and led her towards the rear of the house, where there was another comfortable lounge full of sofas and alcoves, the lighting somewhat more subdued.

‘This is the red room, designed by Kenneth Sway in the nineteenth century, I believe.’ Anna looked up towards the roof, which was dominated by a crystal chandelier suspended from an elaborate gold-leafed ceiling rose in the shape of an eagle in flight. ‘I thought you might be drawn to that,’ laughed Peter. ‘It’s magnificent, isn’t it?’

They walked on through an orangery looking down on to moonlit gardens, then back into the hallway.

‘Shall we take a turn upstairs?’ asked Peter.

Anna was beginning to feel a little out of her depth and looked around for Johnny, not that he would be much use. He was hardly anyone’s idea of a chaperon.

‘Are you all right?’ said Peter, reaching up and touching her chin. ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’

‘I’m fine,’ smiled Anna. Don’t wimp out now, she told herself. Okay, so this guy was called Peter and he came to Swann’s parties, but that didn’t make him Amy’s Peter, did it? She needed more information, and the only way to get that was to press on.

‘I can’t wait to see the rest,’ she said as he led her up the stairs and on to a corridor. A door to their left was open, and Anna almost gasped as she saw an overweight man, naked from the waist down, thrusting into a woman half-wearing a scarlet cocktail dress. As they passed, the woman looked at Anna and gave her a knowing smile.

‘Some people like to be watched,’ said Peter, opening a door and steering Anna inside. ‘I myself am a much more private person. How about you, Natasha?’

She found herself in a bedroom suite overlooking the gardens dominated by an old oak four-poster bed, the only light coming from a small tasselled bedside lamp. As Peter closed the door behind him, she walked quickly over to the window in a vain attempt to put distance between them.

‘The house is so beautiful,’ she said, looking out at the grounds, hoping to start a conversation about design.

‘Yes, but not as beautiful as you,’ he said in a low voice. He touched his hand to her cheek and she flinched. She knew why Johnny brought girls to the party, but she had naively thought that any relationships would be started afterwards. She turned away from him and looked out of the big bay window.

‘You are one of Johnny’s girls, aren’t you?’ he said, coming closer behind her.

Her heart was hammering. Amir Khan had volunteered to come out to Buckinghamshire with her; he knew he would not be allowed access to the party, but had offered to wait in a nearby pub until she had finished. Now she wished she had taken him up on his offer.

‘Of course,’ she replied.

‘Good,’ he said, pressing himself into her as he kissed her neck softly. ‘Take off your clothes,’ he whispered.

She swallowed hard.

‘Let’s take this slowly,’ she said quickly.

His fingers began to pull down the zip that ran the length of her spine.

‘Fine by me,’ he murmured. She felt a cool rush of air on her bare back as the dress parted. Her mouth turned dry. She knew she had to get out of here, but not before she got what she came for.

She turned around to face him. Peter had begun undoing the belt to his trousers.

‘On the bed,’ he said.

She smiled coquettishly, although she was frightened. ‘I heard you were a good lover,’ she said, playing for time.

He looked pleased to hear it. ‘And who told you that?’

‘A friend of mine. Amy Hart.’

Peter’s face was only partly lit, but his expression told Anna all she needed to know. Amy’s name brought on surprise, quickly followed by fear, then anger. Not sadness, not shame, not even regret. You bastard, she thought.

‘Tell me, what did Amy say?’ His voice was almost a bark.

Peter Rees
was
Amy’s Peter.

‘She said that you were very generous,’ she replied, trailing her finger down his shirt. ‘In every department.’

His expression softened.

‘It was sad about her, wasn’t it?’ added Anna.

‘Sad?’

‘Her death.’

‘Yes, it was very sad.’ She saw his eyes narrow a fraction. Enough to register disapproval.

‘How well did you know Amy?’ he asked.

‘Barely. And you?’

‘The same.’ His eyes were cold.

Anna knew now what sort of people she was dealing with: men who would use young girls until they became inconvenient, until they threatened to undermine their cosy domestic situation – the golden handcuffs, as Johnny had put it – at which point they were disposed of like flat champagne, casually tossed down the sink.

‘Are you going to take off that dress?’ Peter said finally. He moved up against her and pushed her gently back on the bed.

Not a chance, she thought.

She stood up and stroked his cheek. Her pulse was racing.

‘Stay there and close your eyes,’ she commanded.

‘Where are you going?’ said Peter.

‘I’m going to get my friend Tanika, that tall blonde I came in with. I can see you’re more than one woman can handle.’

‘Wait,’ he said firmly, taking her arm in a strong grip. ‘Just you,’ he added quietly.

‘No,’ she said, trying to wriggle away.

He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His hand pushed against the bare triangle of skin on her back.

‘Get back on the bed,’ he ordered, breathing strong whisky breath all over her.

‘Hang on,’ she said, pulling free and tugging her dress back on to her shoulders. ‘I’m getting Tanika.’

She raced towards the door, stumbling into the corridor and hurrying downstairs as fast as she could.

‘Having fun?’

Anna’s heart gave a lurch. Johnny Maxwell was standing at the door of the drawing room, a slight frown on his face. He’d clearly seen her leave with Peter and was wondering why she was back so soon.

‘Just stepping outside for a cigarette,’ she purred. My goodness, Natasha really is coming to life, she thought.

‘And what about Peter?’

‘Waiting upstairs.’

She scurried outside, inhaling deeply as if she had just come up for air.

The drive was empty. Shit, where are you, taxi? she thought, stepping from one foot to the other.

‘You all right, miss?’ asked one of the security guards, stepping forward, his hand on a heavy walkie-talkie strapped to his hip like a Western gunslinger.

She fumbled in her clutch bag for a cigarette and lit it.

‘Fag break,’ she said as casually as she could.

Come on, she pleaded silently, willing the taxi to arrive. She glanced back at the house, realising how stupid she’d been to come. It was one thing to infiltrate the society swingers’ ball posing as a bohemian good-time girl; it was quite another to reveal to Peter Rees that she knew something about his past.

But then, like the cavalry coming over the hill, Anna heard hope driving towards her. The grumble of a taxi’s diesel engine. She tossed her cigarette away and ran towards it.

‘Taxi for Natasha?’ she whispered.

‘Hop in, love. Where to?’

‘London. Richmond.’

The cabby glanced in the mirror, then pulled the car away. As it built up speed, Anna felt her fast-beating pulse slow.

She took her mobile out of her bag and tapped in a message to Amir Khan, Andy’s investigator. Amir had asked her to tell him the moment she knew anything new. ‘Amy’s Peter is Peter Rees, COO of Dallincourt. Any use?’

She pressed ‘Send’ and sat back in the seat. The car was surrounded by blackness, only the occasional farm or house revealed by a gap in the trees. She tried to relax, but her body was still tense, her heart thumping with adrenalin. At the same time she felt strangely dejected, wrung out. In truth, she’d been lucky to get out of there in one piece – and for what? She had Peter’s name, she knew he had been with Amy, knew that the mention of her name had made him frightened and angry, but where did that really get her? She had to admit to herself that she hadn’t thought any of this through properly; she’d just been stumbling from clue to clue, hoping that the next one would reveal how Amy had really died. The reality was that she might well never know.

‘Look at this wanker behind us,’ said the cabby, shaking her from her thoughts. ‘Pissed, I bet you.’

She turned in her seat, but she could only see the too-bright full-beam headlights of a car coming up fast behind, dangerously close.

The cabby sounded his horn, but the car only seemed to get closer, the lights filling the taxi’s interior. Then Anna grabbed the door handle as she felt a bump behind her.

‘Christ!’ shouted the cabby. ‘What’s he doing?’

The car had pulled out and had drawn up against the side of them. It was a black SUV, but Anna couldn’t make out any driver or passenger, as the windows were tinted. She heard metal scrape against metal as it slammed against them.

‘Shit!’ cried the cabby as the SUV banged into them again, forcing them up on to an embankment, skidding to a halt. They both watched in disbelief as the red lights of the other car disappeared into the distance.

‘You all right, miss?’ said the driver, turning in his seat. ‘Did you get his plates?’

Anna shook her head.

‘Me neither,’ said the cabby bitterly. ‘There goes my bloody no-claims. What the hell was he playing at?’

But Anna knew exactly what the driver had been playing at, and she had no doubt what that little road race had meant. She had been well and truly warned.

60

‘You sure this is where you want to go, love? I thought you said Richmond.’ The cabby pulled up outside an anonymous-looking block of flats behind the Tate Modern.

‘This is just fine,’ said Anna, handing him a fistful of tenners.

‘Ride is on me, love.’

‘You sure?’

He nodded. She could tell he was relieved that she hadn’t taken his insurance details and done him for whiplash.

She looked down at Amir Khan’s address, which he had sent by text message. She had called him on the taxi ride home, partly because she was so shaken, and partly because she had become even more determined to nail Peter Rees for what he had done. If the car had slammed into her taxi intentionally, then Rees had sent it. Perhaps it had been because he was angry that she had run away from their bedroom tryst. Or perhaps it was because the mention of Amy Hart had rattled him. Why? Anna asked herself. Because he had something to do with Amy’s death?

She felt a shiver of worry for her own safety. Thankfully the South Bank was still busy, despite the late hour. Wanting to get off the street, she pressed the intercom of the building in front of her and was buzzed inside.

Inside, it was just as blank-looking as outside. Long cream corridors lit up by fluoro strip lights.

A door at the end of the corridor creaked open and made her jump.

‘You looking for me?’ Amir asked, smiling.

Relieved, she almost ran into his apartment.

‘Don’t creep up on me, I’m jumpy enough as it is.’

‘I hope you don’t mind coming to my flat after dark,’ he said politely. ‘But this is where I work most of the time.’

Anna nodded. Andy had filled her in on how Amir worked. Apparently he was the master of the long-range sting, which meant adopting new personas for weeks, sometimes months at a time. He couldn’t be seen coming in and out of the Media Incorporated offices too often, as it would mean blowing his cover.

He made her a cup of coffee and a piece of toast and she was grateful for the hospitality. She told him what had gone on at James Swann’s mansion. Clutching their mugs, they went from the living space into a large office.

‘Bloody hell, Amir, it’s like MI5 HQ in here,’ she said, looking at a large whiteboard covered in words and photographs.

He grinned, his coffee-coloured eyes dancing.