The Manor

by Keane Jessie

  Belle looked at him. ‘I want to describe something to you. And for you to tell me what you make of it.’

  ‘OK. Go ahead.’

  Belle gave him the details of what she had seen at the ‘accounts’ office. She told him about the boiling liquids, the protective suiting the people wore. Everything she could think of, she told him.

  Finally, she stopped. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I wondered – do you think they were making glue? Glue for the furniture?’

  ‘A bit improbable, don’t you think? Why do that in an office? Why not in the main production unit? Was there a smell?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘Yeah. It nearly choked me.’

  ‘Describe it.’

  Belle thought it over. ‘Like burning rubber,’ she said.

  He looked at her, his face very serious all of a sudden. ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Positive?’

  ‘Yes. Why? What is it? Do you know?’

  ‘That isn’t glue.’

  ‘Then what the hell is it?’

  ‘Belle – this could be serious.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look. You dissolve cocaine in ammonia, add water and bicarbonate of soda, then heat it until the liquid boils off. You’ll get a harsh chemical smell, quite toxic. Exactly like burning rubber.’

  ‘Whoa. Stop. You said cocaine,’ said Belle.

  He shrugged. ‘When you’re making crack cocaine, that’s the vital ingredient. Crack gives a quicker hit than pure coke and a more rapid comedown. Dealers love it. Bumps up the sales. Belle, for God’s sake, be careful. You say you walked into this place? You were bloody lucky to get out. Didn’t they try to stop you?’

  Belle nodded. ‘Yes. They did.’ If she hadn’t run for it, who knew what might have happened?

  ‘You ought to report this to the police. Like, now. Although I suspect they’ll have cleared out already, thinking you’ve probably done that.’

  Belle felt chilled with the shock of this, despite the bright sunshine and the beautiful setting all around them. She couldn’t report it to the police. Charlie Stone and her dad were involved. And – oh good Christ – if this sort of thing was going on there, did they know about it? And what about the other sites? Was this a one-off, or were there more?

  No. They couldn’t know. This must be going on without their knowledge.

  ‘Einstein – Nige – you’ve been a great help. Thanks,’ she told him.

  ‘Seriously, Belle. Please be careful,’ he said.

  87

  Nula was in the vast gold-and-purple master cabin of Lady of the Manor, which was moored up near the Beaulieu River. They’d been sailing around the Med for a week or so, calling in at St Tropez, then Palma, then back to England. The crew had pampered them, and Nipper and Sammy had been there too, to oversee security. Nipper had travelled back to Essex overland the day before yesterday, leaving Sammy here on the yacht, in charge of things.

  Nula was trying on the dress for tonight’s party, clipping on her diamond drop earrings and worrying about ear sag. She’d been wearing drop earrings since she was twenty, and all these years of yanking down the flesh of her ear lobes had stretched them. She decided that once their ‘big occasion’ was over, she’d talk to her chap in Harley Street – he did all her work and he was very good, even if he did charge a bloody fortune – and get her ears prettied up.

  She stared at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Long ago, her horrible nose had been replaced by a neat turned-up retroussé and she’d got a set of bigger tits. More recently, she’d had her neck tightened up. Maybe a bit too tight? No, it was OK.

  Nula turned back and forth in front of the mirrors, chewing on a hangnail. Then she stopped. Forced her hands to her sides. The full-length dusky pink Chanel gown she wore with its square shoulder pads and big puff sleeves was fabulous. Her hair was dark blonde these days – ‘mouse’ was long gone, a thing of the far distant past. She usually wore it loose, but for tonight it had already been dressed, sculpted up on top of her head in a retro ‘victory roll’ look.

  Then the nerves kicked in. A big party. Her as the hostess . . . she raised her hand back to her mouth, then dropped it again. She took a deep, deep breath.

  They’d made it, she told herself. They were rich. Successful. Loaded. Twenty years married and today they were going to celebrate their anniversary with a knock-’em-dead party back at the Essex place. But along the way there had been so many troubles. The business. The manor. All the shit that went with it. And . . . well, she’d had her troubles too. Mental troubles. Visits to hospital. Lots of them. Rotten, horrible times. Oh God, losing Jake. And Charlie himself. Her husband, the rapist. He’d attacked Jill, forced her to have sex with him. That disgusted her. Repulsed her. How could she celebrate their marriage when she knew the truth about him, knew exactly what he was?

  And there were other things too. Harlan. All her suspicions about him, which had to remain unvoiced or Charlie would fly into one of his famous rages and pack her back off to the funny farm for further treatment. She was frightened of Harlan. The very thought of him made her pause, made a deep shudder run through her.

  ‘You ready then, doll?’

  It was Charlie, bustling in, filling the cabin with his high-energy presence. The bastard. She knew he’d loved this past week, soaking up the sun, lying up on deck sporting a tanned beer belly, big Gucci shades and a red pair of budgie smugglers. Elegant was never going to be Charlie’s middle name.

  ‘Unzip me, will you?’ she said, and Charlie did. Nula slipped off the dress, putting it back into its protective coverall. She quickly dressed in her travel clothes: dark fitted trousers, white silk top and cream jacket. Then she picked up her bag, grabbed the dress for tonight’s ‘do’.

  ‘Ready,’ she said.

  They were flying up to Essex in Charlie’s pride and joy, which was at this moment parked up on the upper deck – his blue Jet Ranger helicopter. Charlie would be at the controls. They would land to cheers and catcalls from all their friends, and Charlie would preen and look so pleased with himself, while Nula would just be glad to be back on solid ground.

  There are no old bold pilots, she thought, remembering something Terry had told her once.

  Well, Charlie was bold. Reckless. That headlong, crazy drive of his had got them where they were today. But the truth was, she hated flying, full stop. It terrified her. So she had to brace herself, put a smile on her face. This should have been a happy day. But it wasn’t, because of all the shit she’d been through with Charlie Stone. The day she’d met him, her life had started running down a long and unhappy path and Christ knew where she would end up.

  But today she had to act the happy wife and mother. For this one day, she would force a smile and cut a cake and toast her husband in champagne; she would act out the lie that was her life.

  88

  Jill was in the gatehouse kitchen when Terry came in.

  ‘All ready?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yeah. Think so.’

  ‘You look great,’ he said, coming over, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

  Jill wasn’t looking forward to this damned party, not at all. But she’d made an effort; she was wearing a red Carolina Herrera cocktail dress, a cream jacket, heels and matching bag. Terry would want her to put on a good show today and she’d do anything for him.

  Jill stood in her husband’s arms, feeling his heat, his strength. She adored him. Loved the bones of him. Then she thought of Charlie and Nula – they were like a curse, those two. And the Bartons were tied to them, they’d never be free. Charlie had never come near after that one time, and thank God for that, but he’d scarred her. Ruined her, so that every time Terry made love to her, it was always Charlie’s face she saw. She’d stiffen and Terry would say, what’s wrong? And of course she couldn’t tell him.

  ‘It’s all going to be fine,’ he said against her hair. ‘I know you don’t go for parti
es much, but . . .’

  ‘Ah, it’s OK,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve never liked Charlie, you know that. And that wife of his, what a bitch she is.’

  ‘Nula? She’s not so bad.’

  ‘She’s a nutter,’ said Jill flatly. ‘Always in and out of hospital, getting her brains fried. Ever since she lost baby Jake, she’s been off her head. And the way she sneers down her nose at me. Snobby cow. And have you seen her nails?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her fingernails. Chewed down to the quick. And the skin all around them, chewed to fuck. I tell you, she’s not right. She’s a head case. And he ain’t any better.’

  ‘Well, just for today, you got to be nice to them, OK? And polite.’

  ‘I wish you didn’t work for him,’ said Jill for about the thousandth time. Charlie was a beast. He was so flashy, so false. Everything was about creating a big impression – the wrong one. Because he was a bastard rapist really, and nobody knew. He was always flaunting his wealth. Laughing at the coppers. Pedalling his fucking drugs. Keeping his dirty secrets well hidden.

  ‘Well, I do work for him. And it pays. We live like princes, don’t we. So why complain?’

  ‘I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  Jill heard the warning in Terry’s voice. No one criticized Charlie in his hearing. She shrugged and straightened. ‘Nah, take no notice of me. It’s gonna be great.’

  ‘He’s flying in from the yacht, they’re down on the Beaulieu River. Making a grand entrance for the big occasion. You know Charlie.’

  ‘I’m surprised he didn’t want you with him.’ Yeah, she knew Charlie all right. More than she wanted to.

  ‘Listen, I don’t question what Charlie wants. I told him I’d be happier if I was with him this trip, but he said to chill out and that he’d see us at the party.’

  Belle came hurrying down the stairs. She was wearing a midnight-blue silk gown and full make-up. She’d bouffed up her tangled blonde tiger-striped hair and made up her dark brown eyes smokily with grey shadow.

  Jill looked at her and could hardly believe it. Belle was turning into a beautiful woman and she felt such pride in her gorgeous daughter, such love for her.

  ‘Don’t you look great,’ said Jill. ‘Don’t she, Terry?’

  ‘She does,’ said Terry, giving Belle and then Jill a hug. ‘You both do. My two glamorous girls.’

  He was smiling at them both, feeling the need to shield them, keep them safe.

  Then into Terry’s mind, uncomfortably, came Harlan on that day when he’d caught him terrorizing Belle in the garage, sneering at him, calling him the help when he gave him a slap and told him to stay away from his daughter. That little cunt was starting to really worry him, and it wasn’t only to do with Belle, although that was a big part of it. He thought of Nula’s warning that Harlan was a danger to Charlie and himself. How he’d dismissed it, thinking it was just crazy Nula spouting off again. But then there was Beezer’s death, with only Harlan there as a witness. And Harlan poking his nose into every aspect of the business, taking a strong grip on things in town, things that had always been Charlie’s preserve and were now – most definitely – Harlan’s.

  Belle was doing her best to get in the party mood, if only to please her parents, but the truth was she had been deeply troubled since the whole Clacton thing and her visit to Nige. She’d walked into something strange, that much was certain. Maybe she’d find out the locations of the Stone manufacturing sites and start checking those out too. Then she looked at her much-loved dad. He couldn’t know about this – could he?

  Then they all paused. Overhead, they could hear the clatter of a helicopter. A big one, twin-engined. Only one person in this area had a bird as distinctive as that.

  ‘Christ, here we go,’ said Jill with a sigh. ‘Charlie’s arriving. Making the big entrance, as usual.’

  Terry went out into the hall and presently they heard the noise of him pissing loudly in the cloakroom. He never, ever shut the cloakroom door. It drove Mum mad. Jill rolled her eyes at Belle and almost smiled. Men! It was a brief moment of female solidarity, and Belle decided now was her moment.

  ‘Mum? I went into one of the offices in Clacton,’ she said quickly.

  The half-smile vanished. ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘I thought maybe I could do something there. You know? A job?’

  ‘What the fuck . . .’ Jill looked outraged.

  ‘And the people there – I know you don’t approve, and maybe I shouldn’t have bothered, but listen. This might be serious, really bad. I think . . . I think they were making drugs.’

  In the cloakroom, Terry was pulling the chain.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking of, going there?’ hissed Jill, grabbing Belle’s arm. ‘You are never to go there again, do you understand me?’

  Terry was running water in the basin, and whistling.

  ‘But Dad has to be told. And Charlie. If they knew what was happening right there in their own place of business, then—’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Jill urgently. ‘Listen. You don’t mention this, you never say a word about this, not to anyone, you got me?’

  Terry was coming back along the hall. Belle stared into her mother’s frantic eyes and suddenly it all clicked into place. Jill knew. Dad and Charlie were in on this. They knew all about it. And so did Mum.

  ‘OK folks, let’s hit the road,’ said Terry, coming back into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll see you up there,’ said Belle. Suddenly she had to get away, she had to think. With shaking hands she took her car keys from her bag. ‘Going for a drive.’

  ‘Make sure you’re not late at the house!’ shouted Jill after her departing daughter.

  But Belle was already gone.

  89

  Nipper met up with Milly in a quiet lane not far from Charlie’s mansion. She drove up and parked behind Nipper’s Mercedes. Nipper got out of the car, stubbing out his cigarette beneath his heel.

  ‘How long have we got?’ she asked, and he had to stifle a laugh. She was wearing a tiny dress that was all chiffon and swirls of colour, and four-inch heels.

  ‘Long enough,’ said Nipper.

  ‘Good,’ said Milly as Nipper took her hand and led her down to the edge of the field. When they were out of sight of the road, Milly frowned. ‘If Dad knew . . .’ she started.

  ‘He doesn’t. And he’s not going to,’ said Nipper, pulling her in for a kiss.

  ‘He’s still keen on me and Javier,’ she said gloomily. ‘Just because he shoves a bit of business Dad’s way, he thinks I’ll fall into line? It’s such bollocks.’

  Nipper wasn’t interested. He was working the flimsy dress off her shoulder. She looked ridiculous in the thing, like Dumbo in a tutu. He wondered briefly if she realized – as he did – that the days of Charlie Stone ruling them all were done. Charlie just didn’t know it yet. Harlan had been talking to Javier, making deals that Charlie knew nothing about. Harlan was the main man now. It was obvious to everyone except Charlie himself.

  He kissed her silky skin and popped one boulder-like breast out into his hand. Boffing Charlie Stone’s daughter always gave him a frisson of excitement. Charlie didn’t want Milly mixing with the staff.

  ‘Don’t worry about all that,’ said Nipper. He turned, pinning Milly up against the trunk of an oak tree. ‘None of it matters,’ he said, kissing her harder, more urgently.

  ‘Oh,’ she sighed, pushing the filmy garment down over her hips so that it pooled at her feet.

  No knickers, either.

  He lifted her up – Christ, she was heavy! – parting her thighs, then Nipper pushed his cock deep into her wet depths. She moaned and wrapped her arms and legs around him as he hammered her into the side of the tree, pushing and shoving at her until he came.

  All too soon – just like always – he pulled out of her, tucked his cock back indoors, zipped up. Unfulfilled, feeling somehow cheated, Milly picked up her dress and slipped it over her head. The
n they heard it. Both turned toward the sound coming from their left, high up in the sky. It was a pin-prick of darkness against the blue, and then it came closer, closer, and then they could see. It was a helicopter.

  ‘Daddy’s home,’ said Nipper, watching as the big machine whirred away to the right, going lower as it crossed over the fields.

  Milly was silent, her eyes fixed on the aircraft. Then she drew away from him. ‘I’m late. Gotta go.’

  90

  While Nipper and Milly were meeting up, Belle Barton was speeding along the country lanes in her red open-topped BMW. She was thinking over everything, and coming up with nothing that helped, nothing to get her out of a state of extreme worry and bewilderment.

  She couldn’t forget what she had seen in that place in Clacton. Or Nige’s words to her. And the mirror on the front door of the house. Was that weird, or what? She’d looked that up at the library, and found that it was a Vietnamese thing, to repel dragons. So the people in there were from Vietnam. She remembered the bubbling vats, the throat-closing rubbery stench, all of them wearing protective clothing, goggles, masks. Making crack cocaine, according to Nige.

  And Dad knows.

  She thought of Charlie’s furniture manufacturing business, which she’d always believed to be legitimate. Now, she was thinking otherwise. Jill’s shocked reaction had confirmed her worst fears. The furniture business was nothing but a front, a cover for drug dealing. And her family and Milly’s, and even Harlan, she was sure, were in on it.

  Belle was in shock. No wonder Dad seemed to be doing so well. No wonder Mum had never had to work. Jill barely had to lift a finger. She had the nice gatehouse and grounds with plenty of help from cleaners, gardeners, ironing services and the rest. Everything on the surface appeared fine, prosperous. The Stones and the Bartons were – apparently – living the good life on the back of a successful, legal business.

  Only . . . they weren’t. Not really.

  Nothing was as it seemed. Belle’s own aimless life no longer made any sense to her. Up to this point, she’d had fuck-all to do. She’d been sent to a goodish school but had never bothered to study much. She’d been a popular girl, a gang of friends all around her, Julia, Molly, Davey and Phil, Nige and the others, and she’d always taken pains to include shy Milly whenever she could. She’d been a prefect, then head girl. But she hadn’t troubled herself with exams and she certainly didn’t want the faff of uni, like ultra-bright Nige.