Red Crystal (42 page)

Henry said, ‘You don’t worry, do you, about these bombers?’

‘What? Oh no. Anyway they’ve caught one of them, haven’t they? I mean, very quickly. So they’re bound to find the rest, aren’t they? Thank God. That poor woman.’ She shuddered. ‘So dreadful.’

Henry hugged her to him. He suddenly felt exceptionally happy. Here he was in this warm bed with a woman he loved more than anything in the world, secure in a nice comfortable house, with no money worries, and a job that, even if it was causing him worry at present, was on balance most satisfying and rewarding.

‘I do love you,’ he murmured.

She kissed his neck.

‘And you know, I am pleased about the baby.
Really
. They always say that late parenthood is an unexpected joy. And I
know
it will be for me too. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to it.’

‘We’ll still be able to go to Venice. We’ll just leave him behind.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s right. We’ll still be able to go.’

A few minutes later, as Caroline’s breathing became deep and steady beside him, Henry thought about the baby again and discovered that he had meant every word he’d said. Now that he had got used to the idea, he was most definitely looking forward to it.

V
ICTORIA DREAMED THAT
Bella was in the farmhouse kitchen, eating rotten vegetables out of the fridge. The floor was covered in mud and dirt; the creature had obviously been there a long time without food. She walked into the hall. Her footsteps echoed through the cold empty house. The curtains were drawn in the ground floor rooms. She climbed the stairs. The door of Martin and Janey’s room was ajar. She pushed it open and looked in. The room was empty. She started up the passage towards her own room. The door was wide open. She hesitated, suddenly sickened. The air was thick with flies. She didn’t want to go in alone. But there was no one else in the house.

She woke up, holding her breath. She exhaled with a long sigh. The bedside clock read one. She’d been asleep for less than half an hour. The other side of the bed was empty.

She lay still, trying to shut out the dull ache of the loneliness and the knowledge that he was probably with someone else.

She thought: It’s my own fault. I should have known. A man like that was never going to be easy. But the constant uncertainty was hard to bear. It was so wearing. Never knowing when he would be back. If at
all
.

And then there was the awful business of the bundles in the van. If only he could be more definite about what he planned to do with them. He couldn’t just
leave
them there. Doubtless he was hoping they would just disappear. But life wasn’t like that. He had to
do
something about it. She would make another effort to persuade him. When she saw him.
If
she saw him. She sighed unhappily. What a mess.

There was a sound. She lay tense and still, listening. A window rattled. The wind.

Another sound.
In
the flat.

She got out of bed, her heart pounding.

Giorgio. It must be.

She padded into the living-room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light spilling in from the hall beyond, and at first she thought the room was empty.

Then she saw something move.

‘Giorgio!’

He was standing in the shadows, staring at her, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

She went to him and, reaching up, kissed him. The smell of drink was strong on his breath.

She said, ‘You’re late. I was worried … Is your friend all right?’

He frowned mockingly. ‘All right?’

‘You said …’ She trailed off. She could see he was in one of those moods. He was going to pretend he’d never said anything about visiting the friend in trouble. It was one of his favourite tricks, pretending not to remember.

He reached out and, lifting her shift, began to caress her thigh. ‘You missed me?’ he murmured thickly. ‘You want me? Mmm?’

She looked into his face. She sensed he was taunting her. And yet …

Closing her eyes, she leant her body against his, and put her arms round him. It was impossible. She just couldn’t turn him away. It didn’t matter what he thought of her. He brought out strong feelings in her that she’d never realized she had. He made her feel brazen and shameless. He made her feel
alive
.

She laughed, warm and low, and started to unbutton his shirt.

He breathed, ‘You want me very badly? Do you? Do you?’

‘Oh yes, oh
yes. Now
. Every part of you … Every
inch
of you.’

‘You’ve been waiting for me, have you?’

‘Yes.
Yes
.’

He laughed triumphantly and pulled away. ‘Such passion.’

She took his hand to pull him gently towards the bedroom, but he held back.

He was looking at something on the other side of the room.

She followed his gaze.

At first she saw nothing.

Then she jumped back, uttering a small cry.

Somebody was there
.

She stared, aghast.

The person moved, coming further into the light. It was a woman, tall and dark.

The memory of what she’d just been saying hit Victoria first, and she flushed with embarrassment. Then came the sickening realization that Giorgio had staged the whole thing. He had
known
the woman would hear. He had set up the scene just to humiliate her.

She turned on him. ‘
My God
!’

Ignoring her anger, Giorgio said smoothly, ‘Oh, I forgot. This is my friend Gabriele. She needs a place to stay. I said she could come here.’

Victoria gaped at him. What was he trying to do to her? She spluttered, ‘Really …
Really!
How
could
you?’

Giorgio spread his hands in a wide gesture of surprise. ‘She only wants the sofa. I thought you wouldn’t mind. She is in need of a bed, that’s all.’

Victoria hardly trusted herself to speak. ‘You might have told me.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘That she was
here
, I mean.’

He shrugged. ‘She didn’t mind. Did you, Gabriele?’

The woman sat calmly down on the sofa. ‘No, I didn’t mind.’

Victoria thought: This is a nightmare.

The woman lit a cigarette. She said, ‘This sofa’ll be okay.’ She was very composed. She stared at Victoria with cold assurance, her gaze steady and unblinking. But there was no warmth in the gaze, nothing that invited further contact.

She was very good-looking, Victoria noticed, the face dramatically pale against the dark hair, the features strong and well formed; a woman who could be attractive to men.

Immediately, a nasty suspicion sprang into Victoria’s mind. She looked from Giorgio to the woman. There was no reason for believing it, nothing she could put her finger on. And
yet
…

Giorgio said, ‘She’ll need some blankets.’

Sick at heart, Victoria went into the bedroom and dug out a spare eiderdown and pillow from a box under the bed. She could be wrong, of course, about the woman. But she knew she wasn’t. One got a feeling about these things.

She took the bedding back to the other room and dropped it on the floor by the sofa.

The woman said, ‘Thanks.’

For an instant Victoria thought there was some warmth in the tone, then she looked into the woman’s face and knew she was mistaken.

Victoria went into the bedroom and closed the door. There was a pause then she heard the low murmur of voices. They were talking about her, she knew they were. She wanted to scream. What a fool she’d been.

A door opened and closed: the bathroom.

Victoria climbed quickly into bed. A moment later Giorgio came in and turned on the light. She closed her eyes. She heard him undress. Then the light went off and he got into bed.

After a few seconds his hand came across and stroked her leg.

She hissed, ‘Don’t touch me.’

He took no notice, and rolled his body next to hers.

‘Don’t
touch
me!’

He pulled her over on to her back and, pushing her shift up round her neck, began to kiss her body.

‘You’re
foul
. You humiliated me. On
purpose
!’

He paused. ‘Vittoria. No. I was proud of you. Proud. Otherwise why would I have kissed you in front of her?’

She didn’t believe him. It was a complete lie. She should have said so, but she couldn’t. Instead, she let him continue, hating herself for being so weak, loathing herself for what he must think of her, yet wanting him terribly.

It might be the last time. It
would
be the last time.

And if she was never going to see him again, what the hell did it matter anyway?

The night seemed to have lasted for ever. It was only two-thirty. Nick made himself a cup of coffee and, leaning back against the work top, looked dully around him. The kitchen was old-fashioned: the wooden cupboards of a type popular thirty years ago, the wallpaper old and over-fussy. The paintwork was an oppressive mid-blue, the overhead light inadequate, the effect dim and depressing.

Yet once she had been a child here; once she had eaten her breakfast at the table under the window in the brightness of the early morning. Once she must have run in and asked for sweets, and been given a kind word, and run out again to play. Surely it can’t have been so terrible.
Surely
.

The telephone rang in the hall.

He drained the coffee and went to answer it.

It was Conway.

‘Cleaned out. Not a sign of life. The forensic people are going over the place now.’

Nick rubbed his forehead. It would have been too simple to find her at the mews house.

‘What about the Fiat?’ he asked.

‘Parked outside. Nothing in it.’

‘What about Records? Anything in the passport details?’

‘No. Nothing to say she was adopted anyway. Usually they put a special note on the form, don’t they? When it’s checked.’

‘Yes. Let me know if you find anything.’

He rang off, feeling very low. She’d done a bunk. It shouldn’t surprise him. It was becoming increasingly obvious that she was a real pro. That was what hurt the most, the way she’d completely fooled him on a professional level. He’d never had a flicker of suspicion. And yet all the pointers had been there if only he’d chosen to see. It made him cringe to think of the things she’d been doing under his very nose – things he could have
prevented
. The bombings. He thought of Mrs McCabe and felt bitterly ashamed.

He’d never
checked
on Gabriella.

He’d meant to. He’d intended to.

He’d just never bloody well
done
it.

There was a footfall on the stairs above. It was Mr Wilson.

Nick met him at the bottom. ‘Is Mrs Wilson better?’

‘Yes, but she’s resting. I’d really rather she wasn’t disturbed until morning.’

‘Would it be convenient to have those few words now?’

Wilson nodded. He looked tired, but the stiffness, the unrelenting formality, was still in place. Nick sensed that Wilson was not a man who ever let go.

They went into the living-room and sat down.

‘She was always wilful,’ Wilson began slowly. ‘She never wanted to be told what to do. She never listened.’

‘When did she first become involved in politics?’

‘What? Oh, at university. She picked up all sorts of –
rubbish
. She couldn’t stop talking about it. She got very aggressive. Used to shout at us when we didn’t listen. It was all complete nonsense, of course. Half-baked theories about this and that …’

‘About what exactly?’

He made an impatient gesture. ‘Oh good God, I can’t remember now. I don’t think I listened much. It was all about’ – he sighed heavily – ‘changing the order of things, or something like that. Complete nonsense.’

‘Mr Wilson, apparently Linda was under the impression she was adopted. Is that true?’

Wilson hesitated slightly, then said vehemently, ‘No! Another of her fantasies. She was always romanticizing everything.’

Nick eyed him thoughtfully.

‘Was there any particular reason for this fantasy?’

‘No, no. She was just over-imaginative. She could never come down to earth. Always felt that the world owed her something. She was – selfish, demanding, difficult. We could never do anything with her.’

‘Can you think why she should choose the name Gabriella?’

The slight hesitation again. ‘No.’ He dropped his eyes and stared at the empty grate.

‘Or Schroeder? Or Carelli?’ pressed Nick.

‘No.’

The denials were being delivered more confidently now, as if he were getting used to a lie.

Nick rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Mr Wilson, I don’t have much time. Please tell me – is there anything more I should know?’

A woman’s voice said, ‘Tell him, Leonard.’

The two men turned. Mrs Wilson was standing in the doorway. She said awkwardly, ‘I couldn’t sleep—’

She came and sat down. Folding her hands in her lap, she said again to her husband, ‘Tell him.’

Leonard Wilson stared at her and shook his head briefly and violently.

Marie Wilson raised her eyes to Nick’s. Taking a deep breath she said coldly, ‘She’s not our child.’