The Savages (7 page)

Now he found himself under the same roof as a film crew. Just thinking about them poking about down there made his temples throb. What's more, he had work to do. A lot of it. If the takeover was going to happen, he needed to go through reams of documents to be sure everything was covered. Normally at weekends, Titus liked to close the door and spend time with his family. Instead, he faced a day of hell.

‘Dad, can I talk to you?'

Sasha had been sure to knock at the study door first. Even though it was wide open, she wanted to do everything right this time.

‘Honey, can it wait?' asked Titus, without looking around from his desk.

‘Please? It won't take a moment.'

Titus glanced over his shoulder, sighed to himself and then swivelled around in his chair.

‘So long as it doesn't end in slamming doors,' he said. ‘I'm too old for strops.'

Sasha smiled, embarrassed, and headed across to the window. It looked out over the back garden. From this viewpoint it was striking just how much better the plants and flowers thrived compared to neighbouring plots. Mindful of her grandfather's advice, Sasha took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

‘I'm thinking it might be good if you met Jack after all,' she said. ‘Just so you can see what he's like.'

‘There's no need,' replied Titus, sounding disappointed. ‘I already have a good idea.'

Sasha reminded herself to stay calm.

‘When Ivan first blabbed that I was going out with him,' she said, ‘you suggested that I invite him round.'

‘That was before,' said Titus gruffly.

‘Before you found out he was a vegetarian?' She glanced at her father, found him staring at his desk but nodding at the same time. Sasha had been ready for this response, however.

‘What if he was black?' she asked cautiously, facing the window once more. ‘Asian or Chinese? Would you still refuse to let him in the house?'

‘Of course not. Honey …'

‘It's still prejudice, Dad,' she continued, finding her voice now. ‘You're judging someone before you've got to know them.'

An awkward silence opened out between them. Titus had always considered himself to be a fair man. This accusation, from his own daughter, hurt him deeply.

‘Is that all you came to say?' he asked.

‘I was also hoping we could talk about this evening,' she began, facing him briefly one more time. ‘It would mean such a lot to me if you let me go.'

The way she phrased this brought a catch to his throat. Letting go at some point was all part of raising children. Not just for a couple of hours, but when they came to leave forever.

‘It's difficult,' he began, and rose from his chair. ‘We have traditions in this family. It's what makes us strong. To bring a fruit-picker into the fold would risk destroying everything.'

‘I don't want to marry Jack,' she said, and turned to face him with both arms spread. ‘It's just supper.'

Titus drew breath, only to respond with what sounded to Sasha like a long sigh of resignation. Just then, Titus realised that he needed to back off. If he didn't, he really could risk losing her.

‘I want you back by ten o'clock,' he told her warily. ‘Keep your mobile with you. If you're worried at any time then call me, understood?'

‘Understood,' she said, beaming at her father. ‘But you don't have to worry. He's a vegetarian, not a sex offender. There's a difference.'

Before he could reply, Sasha skipped over, planted a kiss on his cheek, and then left him alone in the study. Titus watched her disappear. He gazed at the open door for a moment.

‘There may well be a difference,' he muttered to himself, ‘but both are inexcusable.'

On an empty stomach, Lulabelle Hart could be somewhat fractious. Given her dietary habits, it was a mood that often lasted for much of the day. That morning, fuelled by a second glass of warm water (and a grape she had plucked from the fruit bowl in a moment of temptation) her performance was professional but underscored by a very short temper indeed.

‘Yes, we can try the lighting in a different way,' she replied to the shoot's director, a diplomatic and gifted helmsman who was simply trying to get the best from his cast. ‘Although I had expected to be working with a crew who could get that right first time.'

To be fair to Lulabelle, she could pose as well as she could swagger and strut. She just pushed the boundaries when it came to being civil. Approaching lunchtime, the poor props guy had been forced to empty the air freshener and fill it with a sample from Lulabelle's perfume atomiser, before she ‘blew chunks into the camera lens'.

‘OK, let's break for lunch,' announced the director, sensing that he might need to turn down the emotional temperature. ‘Thirty minutes, everybody!'

While the cast and crew worked on the shoot in the front room, the catering manager had been busy in the kitchen. When everyone filed through, they found a buffet on the table with dishes appealing to every taste. Lulabelle wasn't the first in line. The transport guys got in before her, but she was close behind. Without word, she began to fill her paper plate until there was no room for anything else. She went for the lime shrimp tacos, the fettuccine with chicken and sun-dried tomatoes, a slice of courgette and goat's cheese tart, a wedge from the pistachio and pork pie, several scoops of beetroot and couscous salad, two bread rolls, four individually wrapped, reduced-fat butter pats and three super-chocolate cupcakes. Nobody liked to comment, of course. Everyone was hungry after such an early start. Still, it didn't go unnoticed when Lulabelle took herself to a chair overlooking the garden that her lunch was less of a snack and more of a banquet. It took her the full half-hour to clear the plate. This was partly down to the fact that she spent much of it on a call to her agent.

‘The catwalk work,' she was heard to say, still chewing on a Thai fried rice ball. ‘It's why I signed with you … yes, I realise my career has matured, but there has to be more on offer than … well, this.'

As a result of the exchange, most of the crew returned to work fully expecting Lulabelle to be difficult, abrupt and even outright rude. Instead, she performed three further set-ups without complaint. She was also witty and even motivational with the child actress when the afternoon lull set in. On the last take, following a nod from the marketing lady sitting quietly in the corner, the director began a round of applause directed at Lulabelle.

‘You were brilliant,' he told her. ‘The product will fly.'

With only some close ups of the air freshener left to shoot, Lulabelle asked politely if she could now leave the set. The make-up artist offered to cleanse her face, but by all accounts she was in too much of a hurry. She seemed happy, they said, if a little troubled, like someone who was questioning whether they had left the iron on before setting out for work that day.

Having thanked every crew member, Lulabelle collected her coat and left the front room. She closed the door behind her, but instead of leaving the house she headed straight for the toilet at the far end of the hallway. As she reached for the handle, the sound of the bolt withdrawing on the inside caused her to take a step back. Then the door opened outwards and the lighting man appeared. He seemed surprised to find anyone waiting, and hurried away without making eye contact. Unconcerned, Lulabelle took his place in the toilet, only to come right out again with her face pinched in an expression of utter disgust.
Good grief, what had he been eating?
There was no way she could bear to go in there for at least ten minutes. The way she felt just then, that was ten minutes too long. Which was what persuaded her to take to the stairs and find another bathroom.

Ivan Savage did not enjoy killing time. He liked to keep busy. That morning, having spent an hour battling zombies in his bedroom, the boy grew tired of videogames and turned his mind to other matters.

He had heard Sasha talking to their father in the study. No doubt his sister was hoping to sweeten him up so she could see her new boyfriend. Ivan knew Jack from school. The guy was good at buttering up girls, but that's not how he treated boys in the years below him. If you didn't step out of his way in the corridor, Jack would just barge through like you didn't exist. It had happened to Ivan on several occasions. If anything, it just reinforced everything his father said about vegetarians. They were just so self-important, strutting around like they had life all worked out. Well, thought Ivan as the day stretched ahead, he would show Jack that sometimes you couldn't simply have everything on a plate.

Even if Sasha talked her way into an evening out, Ivan decided that she should show up at Jack's place with a headache. That would take the edge off any special time they had planned. Not only would it teach Sasha a lesson for making cheap jokes at his expense, he would do it in a way that afterwards everyone would look back and laugh.

At the top of the stairs, Lulabelle Hart decided not to disturb the family. She could hear someone at work in the study, clattering away on a keyboard, while all the bedroom doors on this level were closed. Lulabelle really didn't want to venture up to the next floor and disturb the chatter, gurgling and laughter up there. It sounded like some old guy and a woman playing with a toddler, and left her feeling as if she was trespassing.

So, treading lightly, Lulabelle crossed the landing for the family bathroom. She would be in and out in moments, after all. They would never know.

Lulabelle didn't recognise that she had a problem with food. She loved to eat, when she allowed herself. It helped her to forget what a slide her career was in. What she loathed was the feeling of guilt that expanded in her stomach soon afterwards. In her business, you just couldn't afford to lose your self-control as she did, which is why she had developed a strategy for indulging herself without piling on the pounds.

‘Let's get this done,' she said to herself, on locking the door behind her.

This wasn't something Lulabelle enjoyed. There was some satisfaction to be had from the way it preserved her figure, despite the stomach cramps, but the procedure itself she found to be a bore. She knew just how to trigger the required response, which she prepared to do having knelt in front of the toilet bowl and lifted the lid. Inserting two fingers into her mouth, Lulabelle reached back for her tonsils and prepared for the involuntary gag reflex that would follow.

It was over in moments, as she had predicted. With her partially digested lunch now floating in the toilet, and her eyes watering from the exertion, Lulabelle grabbed some paper to wipe her mouth and then reached up for the flush. It was good to do this quickly. It minimised any odour. Wishing fortune would look kindly upon her just once in what was left of her career, Lulabelle pulled the handle down. She would've been unaware that one end of a long length of cotton thread was tied to it. She may have heard a clatter as the iron was jerked from its moorings on the shelf above the door behind her, but it happened too quickly for her to react. With the flex tied to the light fitting overhead, the iron simply swooped across the room before the sharp end penetrated the back of her skull. Such was the impact that Lulabelle Hart was dead before her face dropped into the gurgling water.

Vernon English had a habit of nodding off during long surveillance operations. It had happened on several occasions during his time as a serving police officer, and certainly contributed to the suggestion that he retire early or face dismissal. As a private investigator, it still wasn't a quality that served him well, but sometimes his tired old body just called the shots.

As he surfaced from a snooze that afternoon, slouched inside his scuffed white van, Vernon realised that someone had just left the Savage residence. It was the sound of the front door shutting that had woken him. He sat up in his seat, straining to see who it was. He had parked up on the opposite side of the street, some way down from the house. When he saw the daughter emerge on to the pavement, he relaxed visibly. Vernon wasn't here to stake out the wife and kids. Titus Savage was his only figure of interest, and already he had revealed himself to have a sinister side. Photographs Vernon had taken of Titus talking to the man in the back alley revealed a great deal. It turned out that the guy was a mole, an employee of the company Titus was circling. For the time being, Vernon had decided to keep this information to himself. It was just a question of gathering enough evidence so he could truly skewer the predator before he pounced.

‘Eyes down,' he muttered to himself as Sasha crossed the street in front of him, before tipping his cap low over his brow. ‘That's it, Miss Savage. Walk on by.'

As soon as he heard her pass the van, Vernon opened his eyes and watched her heading down the street. She looked all dressed up, clearly going places. Just then, being a teenager seemed a very long time ago to the private investigator. He didn't want to think about all the screw-ups and the disappointments that littered the landscape of his life from back then until now. Vernon glanced at the time on the dashboard and cursed. He had been asleep for
hours
. Anything could've happened. Fortunately for him, Titus Savage's black 4x4 was still parked in on the drive in front of the house. In all likelihood, the man would be quietly holed up in his study waiting for the commercial shoot crew to pack up and go home. Vernon shifted his buttocks on the seat. It was a relief that he hadn't missed anything. He just hoped that situation would change some time soon.

One by one, the Savages gathered around the body of the model with her head in the toilet bowl. Titus stood with both hands clasped behind him. He was staring at the penetrating wound to the back of her head. The one that had turned the water claret. Grandpa stroked and scratched at his beard, rubbing his gums together at the same time. Angelica stood beside him with the baby on her hip. She closed her eyes and sighed, as if they were simply dealing with a blockage here. Katya was toying with a dummy in her mouth. She didn't look at all concerned by the discovery of a corpse in the house.