Royal Heist (27 page)

“Did you meet up with him?”

Clint shook his head. “No. There were trucks and stuff around, big diggers, so I reckoned it had to be the right place. It was still quite dark and there were lights on, but I couldn’t see him or his car, so I took a walk around, and a few streets away I saw his Lexus parked, which I thought was odd. I hung around it for a while, maybe ten, fifteen minutes, then started walking back along the lane. I could hear machines turning over, so I reckoned the builders were starting work. I headed into the drive, and the noise was really loud. Then it stopped, so I kept walking, and what had been making all the noise was a machine to flatten down the earth in the bottom of the swimming pool.”

“So work
had
started?”

“I dunno. There was just this one guy working the big compressor machine. There was no one else around. I wondered if maybe I’d got the wrong place. Like I said, Alex’s car was some distance from the site.”

“Did you go in?”

“No. I stood watching for a while, then I left to go back to the Lexus.”

“Could you describe the man you say was using this machine?”

“Er, not really, he was a good distance away from me. But it wasn’t Moreno. Too big for him.”

Sylvia licked her lips. She opened her bag to look for the photograph. “What did you do next?”

“I hung around at the car, maybe another ten minutes or so, then I went back to the garage cos I had Moreno’s cell phone number. There’s a pay phone there, so I reckoned I’d better call him and find out what was going on.”

“Did you get hold of him?” she asked impatiently.

“No, I tried, but it just rang then clicked into his message service. I wasn’t sure what to do and I was hungry now, so I grabbed some breakfast. I was thinking of giving up, then decided I’d check one last time to see if Moreno’s car was still there. Then, just as I was heading back across the road, I saw it turning left onto the highway. He had to drive right past me almost. I waved and yelled, but it just drove on.”

“With Moreno driving?”

“No, it was the guy I’d seen by the pool. I never got a good look at him. All I could see were wide shoulders—he was hunched over the wheel and in profile to me.”

“Then what?”

“So now I go back again to the building site. Figured maybe this guy was getting coffee or somethin’ for Moreno. It was quite a walk, and I had a big bag to carry. All the guys were starting work. They were concreting over the bottom of the swimming pool for the lining.”

“Did you see Moreno?”

“I asked if anyone knew where he was, but nobody had seen him. I finally gave up and went home.”

“Did he contact you again?”

“No. I called his cell phone a few times, but it was dead.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”

Sylvia was chilled to the bone, but she wasn’t through, not after paying out five hundred dollars. She brought out the photograph of herself and David at the Christmas party. Her hand shook, partly from the cold and partly because she knew this might be the confirmation she had been looking for.

“Was this the man you saw at the building site?”

Clint looked at the photograph intently. There was a short pause and Sylvia held her breath.

“I think so. Can’t be sure, though. Now I think of it, the guy I saw had reddish hair and this guy’s blond, right?” He tapped Edward de Jersey’s image.

She sat tensely. “Is this the man who was at the building site?”

Clint took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure it is. But, like I said, it was dark, and when he drove past me I only got a profile. But it could be him.”

“Could be isn’t good enough,” she said. “Please, really look at the photograph. It’s very, very important.”

Clint sighed. “It was a while back now, three months.” He stared hard at the photograph. “Yes, it’s him.”

Sylvia replaced the photograph in her handbag and smiled. Her lips were almost blue it was so cold. No wonder de Jersey hadn’t wanted to help her trace Philip Simmons. He’d threatened her, and now she was pretty sure that those threats had been designed to throw her off the scent, but she’d show him! Edward de Jersey, alias Philip Simmons, was going to pay her handsomely for what she had discovered.

CHAPTER

20

O
ver lunch a couple of days later, Christina told de Jersey that she was planning a dinner party.

“Who do you want to invite?” he asked, as he unfolded his napkin.

“I don’t know. Maybe some of the jockeys and trainers, make it a fun evening.” She ladled out the spinach soup. “What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me. We’ve not had a staff get-together for a long time.” He broke up his bread and dipped it into the soup.

“Shall I organize it, then?”

“Sure.”

He looked up in surprise as her roll hit his head. “What was that for?”

She glared at him. “Do you think I’m blind, stupid, or what? I want you to stop treating me like a child and start telling me the truth. The yard is like a morgue. The entire east wing is empty, and half of the staff are missing. We’re in dire financial trouble, aren’t we?”

“Ten points.”

“Don’t use that sarcastic tone with me.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was using any specific tone.”

“God, I hate you when you’re like this. It’s like I’m sitting opposite a stranger. If things are bad, then we should discuss it like adults.”

“And what could you do about it, my darling? Did your mother leave you a vast legacy?”

She stood up, walked round to him, removed his soup plate, went to the kitchen, and threw it into the sink. She returned with a large bowl of salad and banged it down on the table. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” he said. She returned to the kitchen and came back with a roasted chicken. She banged that down too, jabbed it with a carving knife, then returned to her seat.

“Throwing a tantrum, Christina, is not going to help. Pass me your plate and I’ll serve.”

It whizzed past his head and crashed against the wall. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what is going on,” she said. “Or do you want me to go out and ask Donald Fleming?”

She poured herself a glass of wine as he carved the chicken breast. Eventually he said, “It’s those investments I lost out on. The situation is worse than I initially thought. A lot worse.”

“How long have you known?”

“Quite a while. I just didn’t want to bother you with it. With your mother’s illness, I felt you had enough to worry about without me adding to it.”

“How bad is it, then?” she asked.

“Well, I’ve had to sell off a lot of the horses, and I’ll probably have to sell more. Now is the time to do it. I shouldn’t be away too long. Couple of days.”

“Where are you going?” she snapped.

“To look at some auctions, maybe Dublin. I’m not sure.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“If you want.”

“What I want, Edward, is for you to be honest with me. If you’re saying we’re in financial trouble, why buy more horses?”

“I’m more than likely going to try to find buyers for the ones I have to let go. Does that answer your question?”

“Why are you being like this?”

He pushed away his plate and sighed. “Because it’s breaking my heart.”

“So you have to hurt me too?”

“Not intentionally. But I have a lot to think about and—”

“Maybe if you shared it, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

She was shocked when he met her eyes. His were brimming with tears.

“Oh, Edward,” she said softly.

“Christina . . .” He turned away from her, and she got up to put her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Darling, whatever happens, no matter how bad, if we see it through together we’ll be okay. That’s what’s important, sharing it.”

He drew her down to sit on his knee. “This is what happens when you marry someone old enough to be your father,” he told her. “I should be taking care of you and the girls, and here I am getting tearful because it’s all crumbling about my ears.”

Christina hugged him tightly. “So, from the beginning. I know it started with David Lyons’s suicide. I want you to tell me everything.”

He sighed. “David got me into this mess. He stiffed me rigid. He delved into every account and proved to me how dumb I was to place such trust in him. He had carte blanche.” He rocked her. “Let’s continue this in more comfort. I need a brandy.”

De Jersey walked with his wife into the drawing room. The fire was blazing, and she drew the curtains as he poured himself the brandy. He was working out in his mind how much to tell her. He lit a cigar and sat in the center of the sofa. He patted the cushion, and she curled up next to him, more like one of his daughters than his wife. She seemed so young and he felt so very old.

“I forgot to tell you. You must promise me that you’ll be free on the second of May.”

“What?”

“We have a school open day. They’re doing
The Taming of the Shrew,
and Natasha’s got the lead part. We have to be there at about six.”

He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“So, now that you have your brandy and your cigar and I’m sitting comfortably beside you, start with David Lyons’s suicide.”

He blew a smoke ring, then closed his eyes. “I can’t believe you threw a roll at my head.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Followed by a dinner plate.” He laughed but stopped when he saw her expression. “I love you so much,” he said quietly.

“Don’t cut me out, Edward. Please. How bad is it?”

“Well, for me to lose one horse hurts like hell, so to lose an entire wing was a catastrophe. But I made enough from the sales to cover a substantial part of my losses. The estate is worth millions—the land alone is worth a fortune and I can sell some if I need an infusion of cash.” He talked on, embroidering the lies for his wife, wishing they were true.

That following afternoon, de Jersey went into the yard with Fleming to look at the horses, particularly Royal Flush, who was being saddled for a training session. De Jersey stroked his neck. “How you doing, my son, eh?”

“He’s a special one, isn’t he?” Mickey Rowland, the jockey, had joined them. He was fixing the strap beneath his riding helmet. “He’s been a bugger the last few days. If he gets downwind of the stud he’s a right handful. Couple of mares are in season, and you know what the young colts are like, randy sods.”

De Jersey nodded. It was rare to have a racing stable and a stud in the same vicinity—a colt could smell a mare in season from a good distance away. This was why racing stallions did not go to stud until they had won enough races to make it worth the stud fees. Once they had mounted a mare, they became willful.

Mickey took the reins and could not resist kissing the horse’s velvety nose. “I love him, he’s a real character,” he said.

De Jersey helped him into the saddle. “Yes, he’s special, Mickey, and he’s going to win the Derby.”

“That’s every racehorse owner’s dream,” Mickey said as he slipped his feet into the stirrups. “It’s my dream too, Boss. I’d give a lot to ride him in the Derby.”

“It’s your ride, Mickey, but you’ve got to bring him in first at Lingfield, yeah?”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”

De Jersey watched as his beloved Royal Flush walked out of the yard, Mickey talking to him as he tossed his head, eager to get to the gallops.

“Tony.
Tony!
”

Driscoll sat up in bed, his heart beating fast.

“What?” he yelled back.

Liz walked in with an invoice in her hand. “You’ve not paid the florist and they’re saying that if we don’t settle up they’ll take legal action.”

He flopped back onto the pillows. “Shit, is that all? I thought there was a bleeding fire.”

“I’d like to throw you in one,” she snapped. “The caterers are screaming too—and don’t you hide under the duvet, cos I’ve not finished. I had Michelle on the phone this morning. She tells me an estate agent’s been walking in and out of the villa showing buyers around. They’re on their honeymoon, for God’s sake!”

Driscoll closed his eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed and prodded him. “You’d better come clean with me, Tony. What the hell is going on?”

Driscoll burped, and she threw his antacid tablets at him. “I’m waiting. Have you not told me the full story about these bad investments?”

“I lost everything I invested.”

“And how much was that?”

“A lot. We’re in trouble now, but I’m gonna sort things out. In the meantime, though—”

“In the meantime you’ve got to pay these bills. It was your daughter’s wedding, and you know how people round here talk.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well, I do!” She paused. “Do you need the money from the villa to pay for the wedding?”

“Yeah. Soon as it’s sold I’ll sort out the florist.”

“But it might not sell for ages—and what about all my stuff there?”

“I’m selling it furnished.”

“But I worked my butt off doing that place up! I could have a real go at you, Tony. I really could.”

“Oh, go and work it off with your muscleman. I can’t take any more of your yelling.”

“I’m not yelling. But I think we’re gonna have to sit down and talk this out. I need to know just how badly off we are. We don’t have to sell this place, do we?”

“Not yet.”

“
Not yet!
I’ve got a garden party arranged for this summer. We
can’t
sell. Please don’t tell me we’re in that deep.”

He sat up and rubbed his head. “Can you just leave me alone? I’ve got a headache.”

“You’ve had one for months,” she said and stormed off.

Kevin was warming up when Liz came in. She was about to join him when she burst into tears.

“I’ve just about had my fill of him.” She sniffled. “He’s selling the villa without even asking me.” Kevin handed her a tissue. “He’s got into some terrible financial difficulty. It’s just unbelievable that he’s not said a word to me.”

Kevin hovered. “Perhaps he didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me? He can’t pay for his daughter’s wedding. I’m worried all right.”

Kevin took another tissue and handed it to her as she blew her nose. “I’m sorry. Do you want to leave the workout this morning?”

“No, no I don’t. I want to work this out of my system. I want you to really push me this morning, Kevin. Take my mind off that husband of mine.”

“I can think of a number of ways I can do that,” he said, taking her in his arms. They went into a passionate embrace as he tried to peel off her red leotard.

“No, Kevin, we can’t. He’s in the house.”

“So? He’s been in and around before. It never bothered you then.”

“Well, it does now. I’m just not in the mood. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, but you know sometimes? You should think about the way you treat me, like I’m just a hired stud.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? You pay for me to train that body. How long’s it gonna be before you start asking me how much I charge for a fuck?”

“Ah stop it. You know I care about you.”

“So you say.”

“I do. But I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“You said that about the wedding, so you didn’t see me. Now it’s something else, but I’m not taking it, Liz. This has been going on for almost a year now.”

“Kevin, don’t do this to me, please.”

“It’s my doing it to you that you said kept you sane. Your old man can’t get it up, so is that all I am? Sex therapy? You said you two don’t do it anymore. Well, what’s going on, Liz? I care about you, you know that.”

“Kevin, it’s not the way it looks. I really care about you, I do. But he’s my husband, impotent or not. He has been a real pain for the past six months. You know that. He’s never home. I dunno what he’s doing. He’s hardly said two words to me.”

Kevin flexed his muscles and stared at his reflection in the gym mirror. She came to his side and touched his arm, resting her head against his back, staring at their reflections. Kevin’s body was honed to perfection. His hair was just starting to recede at the front, but he was handsome and he noticed her. If she had a new haircut, he noticed. When she had her nails done, he noticed. He’d even recommended the doctor who’d pumped her lips up and noticed when she’d had it done. Tony had asked if she’d got a cold sore because her lips looked puffy! Lately Tony seemed to be in a perpetual bad temper, burping and complaining about his stomach and snoring beside her every night, usually without so much as a good night kiss.

As she thought about her husband, Kevin gently eased her around to face him and began kissing her neck and stroking her breasts. He lifted her off her feet and laid her down on the bench press, stripping off her leotard and sucking at her nipples. If Tony tried to lift her in his arms, he’d put his back out! They became more passionate.

“Not here, Kevin. Take me into the sauna.” She sighed and hugged him close.

The pair was having such a good time that neither heard Driscoll calling her name, or the sound of him at the sauna door. He opened it only a fraction, but he saw enough: his wife naked with her legs over Kevin’s shoulders and her face flushed in pleasure. He shut the door, saying nothing. He left the house fifteen minutes later. His initial anger was gone; in its place there was a cold, seething calmness. He was going to be risking his neck in a few weeks’ time, and in many ways he had been risking it for her; he had not wanted to let her down. Now he didn’t care if he ever saw her again. Win or lose, he would do this last one for himself alone.

Driscoll drove to Chelsea and parked in the underground car park at Chelsea Harbor. He went into the apartments and up to number 204. The apartment was now on the market, but he’d not yet had time to tell Nikki, his patient longtime girlfriend.

Nikki opened the door and immediately wrapped her arms around his portly little body. “I’ve missed you. I’ve not heard from you in weeks.”

“I know, darling, but I’ve had big troubles.”

She brewed coffee the way he liked it with hot milk and then heated up some ginger biscuits. He also liked them hot. Driscoll, for all his fury against his wife and the trainer, never considered that his having a mistress was in any way a fault. In the good old days, when he had been flush with money, Liz had shopped till she dropped and he had screwed until he dropped.

“Nikki, I’ve got financial problems. I’m gonna have to sell this place. I’m sorry. There’s no way round it. But if you go and live with your mum for a while, maybe . . . I can’t say why or how, but I think I might be free and you and me can go off abroad to live together.”