by Keane Jessie
Jack was staring at her face. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Nothing.’ She forced a smile and felt the scarring on her left cheek pull tight. Oh Christ. She turned her head aside, letting her hair fall over that side of her face.
‘My mother didn’t have a pool. Nothing so fancy,’ he told her.
‘So where do you go with the towel every day?’ she asked.
‘Nowhere special,’ he said.
‘You’re a great conversationalist,’ said Belle.
He grinned, his eyes not leaving hers. Dark blue. He had, she thought suddenly, beautiful eyes – black-lashed and crinkled from laughter at the corners.
Belle turned away. ‘All right, fair enough. I’ll stop asking. Waste of time, yeah?’
When dusk was setting in and the trees were black skeletons against the cool peach of the sunset, they went out and he loaded up the little trailer with hay.
The stables looked just about ready to fall down, but inside in a cosy clean loose box stood a big chestnut mare with a white blaze down her face. A tiny light-gold palomino pony was standing beside her, looking hopefully up at Jack as he came in and dumped the feed there for them. Immediately, they started to eat.
‘What a beautiful horse,’ said Belle, surprised. Jack’s mum obviously had an eye for a fine animal. Belle herself had ridden at pony clubs and hacked out at the riding stables, but the chestnut was something else; a thoroughbred. She reached out a hand and stroked the mare’s elegant neck.
‘This is Lady Marmalade. Because of her colour. Or Lady, as she’s called around here,’ said Jack, watching the horses munching contentedly. ‘She’s twenty-three years old. But she looks bloody good on it. Needs riding, really, but I don’t.’
Belle turned to him. ‘So what do you do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For a job. For money.’
‘This and that.’
‘Evasive.’
‘Private.’
‘Same difference.’
Again he gave that sudden unexpected grin. Belle felt, to her absolute shock, a hard visceral tug of attraction. Christ! Why had she not noticed before? He was actually a handsome man. The realization of that made her feel even worse about her disfigurement. She turned her head away from him, concentrated on the sleek mare and the dumpy little Shetland.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
124
‘We’ve always lived alongside Charlie Stone and his family,’ Belle told him over their dinner of cottage pie. ‘My dad worked in Charlie’s business. Manufacturing furniture for the big retailers.’
‘But it wasn’t the real business?’ prompted Jack.
Belle shook her head. ‘I was kept in the dark about it all. So was Milly, Charlie’s daughter. I’m sure now that the furniture making was only a blind. A cover for a drugs operation. A big one. Not dark corner small-time stuff, shady characters passing little packets to each other in the street. This was drugs on a massive scale, it was—’
‘Hang on. If you were kept in ignorance, how come you know that?’
Belle wiped a hand over her face, forgetting the scar. Then she felt it under her fingers. Horrible. Quickly she dropped her hand back onto the table.
‘I wanted a job. I didn’t tell Dad or Charlie – I knew they’d put me off, tell me to go out and enjoy myself, whatever. But I was bored. I wanted something to do. So I found out where the company offices were and went to see if I could get a job. Only the office turned out to be more like a lab, with a bunch of Vietnamese chemists making crack. And then I realized what was happening. What was paying for the Stones’ lavish lifestyle. The superyacht and the helicopter and the sports cars – things that are out of reach even for most millionaires. That’s the life we’ve all been living, and sooner or later the whole thing had to come crashing down because into this mix came Harlan, Charlie’s adopted son. But he didn’t want to be just number one son. He wanted it all. He wanted to be in charge. And that meant that Charlie Stone and his missus had to go. And my dad too, and my mum and me, all of us – we were part of the old order, and all Harlan wants is the new, his order.’
‘But he wanted you.’
‘I wouldn’t play ball. I knocked him back. He’s weird and he’s scary. I didn’t want to be within ten miles of him.’ Belle pushed her empty plate aside and looked at him. ‘He did this to me. Scarred me. Harlan don’t take rejection. And I flung stuff in his face. Stupid, yeah? I told him I knew what he’d done.’
‘And what had he done?’
‘Harlan murdered Charlie’s legitimate son when he was a baby. Smothered him in the cradle. I’ll never prove it, but I know he did. He sent Nula – his adopted mother – crazy, and then I think he had someone rig their helicopter so it would crash. Nula and Charlie were killed in it.’ Belle gulped back a tear. ‘Then my mum. And my dad . . .’
‘Christ Almighty. But here you are.’ Jack pushed his chair back, his eyes not leaving her face. ‘You think they’re still looking for you?’
Belle shook her head. ‘I was in shock when I started walking away from the reptile house, seeing danger everywhere. I was half out of my mind. I thought I saw a car come past me a couple of times then slow down, as if someone was looking for me. But I dunno. Maybe I got all confused and imagined it. But then, Nipper did call in here, didn’t he?’
She looked at him. ‘So I guess I’ve got no reason to stay on any longer.’
‘Where would you go?’
Belle couldn’t answer that. She thought about Harlan. How much she hated him. Detested him.
‘You’d need an army to fight Harlan Stone,’ she said sadly. ‘If you were crazy enough to do that in the first place.’
‘Look,’ said Jack. ‘I meant what I said. You don’t even have to think about fighting anyone. Stay on a while until you feel you’re ready for the next move, whatever that might be. Don’t rush. Things will get clearer and when you’re ready, you’ll know.’
‘Right now I don’t feel like I know a damned thing,’ said Belle.
‘Then stay. For now.’
‘OK,’ she said, and felt relieved. No decisions necessary. No need to examine the feeling she’d had when he’d grinned at her. No need to think about anything. Not even revenge.
125
Days passed. Ignoring Goldie’s loud protests and Jack’s warnings that she might be ‘a bit fresh’, Belle saddled up Lady Marmalade and took her out over the farm fields in the crisp bright sunshine.
I’m still alive, she thought, inhaling the fresh air, enjoying the power of Lady as she trotted and then cantered her briskly and then gave her her head and let her show her phenomenal speed in a full-out gallop over the rain-softened earth.
Later, she brushed the mare down, fed her and Goldie carrots and went to help Jack out by fetching a fresh hay bale. She couldn’t even lift it.
‘Want a hand?’ he said, smiling.
‘Yeah, funny,’ she said, and he cut the string and she fed the horses.
She went back into the house just as Jack was going out again, the towel over his shoulder.
‘See you in a bit,’ he said, and walked off around the back of the garden.
‘OK,’ said Belle.
She waited a few minutes and then, curiosity overcoming her, she followed him, back around the outside of the old house, nearly slipping on the moss-covered flagstones. She paused. There he was – heading along the edge of the overgrown bottom field. She crossed the yard and then followed in his footsteps, keeping her distance. He walked head down, his steps light, springy. He could keep that up for miles, she reckoned. Tough bastard. At the far corner of the field, he vanished from view and Belle hurried on until she saw the slope he’d gone down.
She could hear the rush of the river here, could smell its cool dampness in the air. So this was where he went every day. And then she saw him.
He was down by the edge of the river, facing away from her. The towel was on the ground and he was strip
ping off his shirt.
I ought to look away, thought Belle.
But she didn’t. Couldn’t. She was mesmerized by the sight of him there, the sun trickling medallions of gold through the trees and onto his skin. The abs on the man! Then he turned and his tanned back was packed with muscle and to her shock she saw that it was also covered in scars, old ones she thought, that had long since turned to random puckered streaks of white. Was that why he was so unconcerned about her own disfigurement? She’d thought he was just being kind, trying not to show how appalled he was at the state of her face, but she could see that this might be the real explanation. He had scars of his own. He understood.
But where did he get them?
Now he was unbuckling his belt, unzipping . . .
I ought to look away . . .
Again, she found that she couldn’t do it. Her eyes were drawn to his taut buttocks, his hard thighs. She’d seen naked men before, she’d had boyfriends, she wasn’t a virgin, but the sight of Jack naked somehow sent her into a tailspin. She was intruding. Spying. It was wrong. But it was also amazingly erotic, watching him as he waded down into the water. She felt her nipples harden, felt heat and moisture between her legs.
He was in the water now, chest deep. Then he swam a couple of strokes, turned – and looked right at her, standing there on the upper bank. He was grinning.
Christ!
‘Going to join me then, Belle?’ he shouted up to her.
Belle felt hot with embarrassment. He’d known she was here, all the time. Cringing, she turned away.
‘Come on down. It’s nice in here,’ he said.
Nice? She couldn’t think of anything worse than immersing herself in water. She turned back to face him and shook her head. ‘No. Thanks.’
‘You’d never make a detective,’ he said over the roaring rush of the river. ‘Trailing the suspect at a discreet distance? Not your forte.’
‘You knew I was there all the time?’
‘’Fraid so.’
Belle sat down on the bank, clasping her hands around her knees. ‘You rotten git,’ she said.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he said, and swam off across the river.
It looked so nice down there – cool and inviting. Up here on the bank, her back was in the sun and she was hot from hurrying to keep up with him, his mum’s thick jeans heavy on her legs and his chambray shirt clinging to her sweaty skin. Maybe it would be nice to just dip her toes in. Maybe . . . but then she thought of black waters and terror. No. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even think of going in.
Instead, she watched Jack. He was a powerful swimmer, using the overarm stroke, crossing the water from bank to bank in six quick lunges. Then back again. He did that ten times, and then waded to the edge of the river and . . .
She wouldn’t look this time. Belle scrambled to her feet and went back up into the sunshine and stared across the field, trying to get a grip on her racing pulse. Her heart was pounding in her chest; she felt breathless. She slumped down in the grass and sank her head into her hands. She sat there for minutes, unable to summon the strength to get up and go back to the farmhouse.
The water.
Him.
God, what was happening to her?
‘Ready then?’
He’d dressed quickly and now he was standing right beside her, the damp towel over his shoulder, looking down at her. Belle got back to her feet, trying to compose herself.
‘You know – there’s nothing in that water except a few trout and maybe a newt or two. Granted, they don’t get out to use the loo, but it’s pretty clean really,’ he told her.
‘Don’t laugh at me,’ she spat out.
‘You want my advice?’
‘Go on then,’ she snapped.
She was angry at him and embarrassed with herself. Failing to follow him unnoticed. Behaving like a Victorian virgin with the vapours at the sight of him in the nude. How fucking ridiculous. And being very noticeably terrified about getting back into any large body of water. Christ, she was a mess.
‘When you remember it, the thing that scares you so much, kick it straight out of your brain. Refuse to think about it,’ he said.
‘Is that what you do? When you start to think about the thing that caused those scars on your back?’ she threw at him.
‘Yep.’ He started to walk down the edge of the field, back toward the house.
‘What caused them then?’ asked Belle, trailing after him.
‘Being in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ he said, and walked on.
126
They’d been doing everything they could for weeks, and still Harlan was beefing on about it. The fucking girl.
‘If you hadn’t told him about the footprints, you fucking fool,’ Ludo said to Nipper as they tramped through yet another muddy farmyard, ‘we wouldn’t be in this shit.’
‘You say that one more time and I am going to knock you flat on your arse in this shit,’ said Nipper.
‘Yeah? You and who else, I’d like to know.’
‘I’m back to town tomorrow, fuck this for a game. I had all this country crap growing up, I don’t want it no more.’
‘Ah yeah, you were a country boy, yeah? Well not me. Harlan’ll skin your arse like a grape, anyway, you show up without that damned girl. He will eat you whole. Me, I’m different. I start a job, I fucking well finish it.’
‘Yeah, that’s fucking heroic, you carry right on.’
‘I will.’
‘Great.’ Nipper looked up at this farmhouse. They were standing in front of this fucker and it looked just about ready to crumble into the soil. And hadn’t he been here before with the missing sister sob story? He was pretty sure he had, and he’d drawn a blank. Nevertheless, he picked up the knocker on the door and let it fall. Inside, right behind it, came a scrabbling and pawing and then a dog started going apeshit, barking the ruddy place down. He shrugged. ‘Dog’s in, anyway.’
Nobody came to the door. They turned away, sauntering back down the drive past old barns and crumbling outhouses and piles of rusty farm machinery.
‘No bastard about,’ said Ludo. He’d had the nous to pack wellies into the boot of the car this time, and he had them on right now, sparing his costly designer shoes. As usual, Nipper hadn’t thought of that; his own once-elegant footwear was caked in mud.
They strolled back down to the gate by the lane where the sign read Beechwood Farm. They were big on tree names out here; they’d already been into The Oaks, The Willows and The Spinney. Nipper and Ludo had been told the same thing over and over again. No new girls around here, and who the fuck were they, asking? She’s Nipper’s, or Neil’s, sister, they said, all sweet and innocent. She ran away from home and we’re worried about her. Fuck off was mostly the reply to that sad old tale.
‘Spinney’s a group of trees,’ Ludo told Nipper.
‘How d’you know that shit?’
‘I read, man. I looked it up. You know? Words on a page? You ought to try it. It was good enough for Shakespeare. It’s a noble pastime.’
‘Clubs and pussy, them’s my pastimes.’
‘How long before one of these yokels mentions us to the Bill?’
‘Not long. But we’ll be long gone by then, with any luck.’
Ludo phoned in to Harlan that night and told him the bad news. Still no sign of the girl anywhere.
‘Maybe it’s time we called this off, boss,’ he suggested, flopping on one of a pair of uncomfortable single beds. They were in a country pub that offered rooms, set by the side of a fast A road; at rush hour, the noise of the traffic zipping through was deafening, and in the evening the noise from the bar below their feet was annoying. Neither of them, used to five-star establishments and the best of everything, was very happy with this arrangement. Personally, Ludo thought that if he saw another field or another stretch of woodland then he was going to throw up or scream – or both.
‘You keep looking,’ said Harlan. ‘Belle’s smart. Smarter than yo
u two tosspots. We call it off when I say so and not before.’
‘Sure, sure.’ Ludo rolled his eyes at Nipper, who was just emerging post-shower in a coarse white towelling robe. ‘Only the natives are getting damned restless, you see what I’m sayin’.’
Nipper went over to his jacket, which was hanging over the back of a chair. Nipper always left doors open, drawers too. He left the minibar ajar – not that there was a minibar in this low-class set-up – so that everything inside it got warm and nasty. Nipper’s clothes were always on the floor or draped over furniture. It infuriated Ludo, who was neat and shiny as a dollar, at all times. Usually, all he ever did was glimpse Nipper’s domestic habits. But for now, with only the one room available and having to share with the bastard, he was confronted with it up close and personal. Which he didn’t like. If Nipper snored, that would be the icing on the cake for Ludo. He would kill that fucker in his sleep.
‘Fuck the natives and fuck you too, Ludo,’ said Harlan. ‘What I say goes. You stay there and you keep looking and you stick to the cover story. All right?’
‘Yeah, boss,’ said Ludo, watching Nipper get out his gun and check it over.
Nuthin’ worth shootin’ around here but pheasants, he thought. And peasants.
‘You greased a few palms, like I told you?’ asked Harlan.
‘Yeah man, we done a thorough job. Local pubs, post offices, oil delivery men, shit wagons – you know they don’t have mains drainage out here in the backside of nowhere, boss? I tell you, it’s downright uncivilized – and we did the postmen. Anything and anyone we could think of, believe me, we’ve told ’em it’ll be worth their while to reunite us with Nipper’s long-lost sister. They got an incentive.’
‘Good. Because I want her finished. We started this and we are going to bring it to the proper conclusion, you understand me? I want this tidy, and I know that tidiness is your middle name, you like things wrapped up neat, ain’t that so, Ludo?’
