Andrea saw that the time of the robbery was 2.10 the previous afternoon, barely an hour before Jimmy had turned up back at the flat looking dishevelled and wearing a makeshift bandage on his left hand. Jimmy had told her that at one time he'd been an amateur middleweight boxer and had won eleven of his twelve bouts, six by knockout. Not exactly overwhelming proof of guilt, but it didn't need to be. Andrea just knew.
Stupidly, she didn't say anything. Instead, trying to be as casual as possible, she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he lay in bed, casually perusing the paper, a cigarette in his mouth, as calm as you like. He went straight to the robbery story – she counted the pages – and read it twice before running through the sports pages at the back. Then, with a predatory half-smile, he chucked the paper aside and patted the sheets.
'Why don't you come back to bed, love? We've got some unfinished business to attend to.'
And she had, too, something which when she thought about it now made her cringe with shame. They'd made love again twice, and all the time she couldn't stop thinking about the security guard lying in a hospital bed connected to a load of tubes while his family sat round him, waiting for news. But Jimmy . . . Jimmy had forgotten him already. The whole thing was simply business to him, nothing more and nothing less.
After they'd finished, he got a call on his mobile and went out of the room, talking quietly. He returned a few minutes later, saying he had to go out. He was still acting casually, but she could tell he was tense.
And that's when she came out with it.
'You didn't have anything to do with yesterday, did you, Jimmy? You know, that robbery where the guard got hurt?'
'Course I didn't,' he answered, but she could tell that she'd rattled him. It was something in his eyes.
She looked at his hand. The handkerchief was gone now, but the knuckles were dark with bruises. He glanced down at them as well, then back at her. This time his expression had changed. There was a darkness in it.
'Why'd you think that?'
She immediately regretted asking. What, after all, was the point? He was always going to deny it.
'I don't know. I . . .' She stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence.
'I told you, I work in the building trade.'
She nodded. 'Sure, Jimmy.'
He came over to the side of the bed.
'Don't I treat you right or something?'
'Course you do,' she answered, feeling a little uneasy, not liking the way he was looking at her.
He crouched down so they were level, the smile he was giving her devoid of any warmth, his dark eyes boring into her.
'You know, I like you a lot, Andrea. I think we could do real well together. That's why I bought you the necklace.' He paused, touching the emerald heart. 'But don't go asking silly questions, all right? About stuff that doesn't concern you.' The fingers of his good hand stroked her cheek tenderly but she felt herself tensing under the touch. The truth was, she was scared. 'Because otherwise . . .' He wrapped a lock of her hair round his middle finger. 'Otherwise we're going to fall out. Understand?'
She nodded.
'And I don't want that to happen. Because I like you. I really do.'
She felt a sharp pang of pain as he yanked the lock of hair, and she cried out. Immediately he let go, his lips parted in a pleasant, loving smile that almost made her think she'd imagined what had just happened. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, before pulling back.
'I've really got to go, luv. I'll call you later. Let yourself out, OK?'
And that was that. Chucking on some clothes, he'd left her there alone, wondering what on earth she'd got herself into.
She should have finished it there and then, of course. Someone who could beat and kick an innocent man to within an inch of his life and then, an hour later, come back home as if nothing had happened and make love to his girlfriend clearly had no conscience. And already he was exerting his dominance over her. If he could pull her hair like that, it wouldn't be much of a jump to hitting her. She didn't need this. She had a husband, a man who looked after and cared for her. It wasn't as if she was one of those women who put up with abusive partners because they had no self-esteem. Andrea knew she was a good looking woman. She'd always been able to attract men.
But she hadn't finished it. To her eternal regret. And now, years later, Jimmy Galante was back, staring at money that she, Andrea, had worked so hard to earn. And she still feared him, although in her current situation she feared not having him around even more.
He drank from the tumbler of whisky she'd poured for him and looked over with one of his mocking smiles.
'Half a million quid, eh, Andrea? Who'd have thought you'd ever have that kind of money.'
'I always did,' she answered firmly.
'You know,' he said, watching her over the rim of the glass, 'I've been following your progress over the years. I'm impressed by how far you've come, living in a nice, big, flash pad like this.' He gestured vaguely with an arm.
'Money isn't everything, Jimmy.'
'It is when you ain't got none.'
'I'm sure you manage. You don't look like you're starving.'
'You think there's money out in Spain? There's fuck all. I get by, that's all.'
He sounded bitter, which was Jimmy all over. Andrea had no sympathy. No one had ever given her anything. She'd had to go out and graft for it and had proved that you could be successful if you were willing to put in the sweat and the tears. No one had ever given Jimmy anything, either. He'd grown up in a Hackney council flat, with damp on the walls and cockroaches in the grime encrusted spaces behind the cheap, flimsy kitchen units. The difference was that he hadn't wanted to work, and had taken what wasn't his, and by any means necessary. His fly-by-night lifestyle might have been exciting to her once, but she was young then. Now it simply depressed her that she'd ever fallen for his charms.
Andrea changed the subject. 'If you've been following my progress all these years, you must have known I had a daughter.'
He nodded. 'Yeah, I did.'
'And it never occurred to you that Emma might have been yours?'
He shrugged. 'No, it didn't. I mean, let's face it, babe, you weren't exactly whiter than white where men were concerned, were you?'
It was a cheap shot, but she let it go.
'I mean, she doesn't exactly look like me, does she?' he continued.
'She doesn't exactly look like me either, Jimmy, but I can tell you with total and utter certainty that she's mine.' She paused. 'And yours.'
He nodded, conceding the point, then once again his eyes drifted down towards the holdall of money. 'I'm looking forward to meeting her,' he said, but his tone was vague and it was clear his attention was focused elsewhere.
'You'll love her,' said Andrea quietly, feeling a sudden and terrible longing for her daughter. Tears stung at her eyes. She'd held it together so well today, but now, more than thirty-six hours since she'd last seen and touched Emma, the grim reality of her situation once again took her in its grip.
And there was something else, too. Could she really trust Jimmy?
The phone rang. The landline. It startled her.
She and Jimmy exchanged glances. She got to her feet, walked out into the hallway and picked up the receiver.
'Hello?'
'Mum?'
Relief and shock soared through her. It was Emma. Her Emma!
'Darling, oh God, is that you?'
'Yeah, it's me.'
'Are you OK, baby? Is everything OK?' Tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't care. She was just ecstatic to be hearing her daughter's voice.
'I'm fine,' answered Emma, her voice small. She sounded afraid. 'They say I should be home tomorrow, if you've got the money.'
'I've got the money, baby, don't worry. We're going to have you home by tomorrow night, I swear it. God, it's so good to hear you're all right.
They haven't hurt you, have they?'
'No, but
it's . . .'
Emma broke off, and there was a minor commotion at the other end. It sounded like she was being moved away from the phone, and Andrea felt a wave of panic, as if she was losing her all over again. Emma cried out, but the cry was cut short. It sounded as if it was being muffled.
'Emma?' she shouted as the panic shot through her. 'Emma, darling, are you OK?'
For a few seconds there was silence. Then came the sound of a door being shut and a new voice came on the line.
'You've spoken to her, and you know she's alive, so we've kept our side of the bargain.' Once again the voice was disguised but the tone was more aggressive. Andrea thought it might be a different person from the one who'd called the previous night. 'Now it's your turn to keep yours. Have you got the money?'
'Most of it,' she answered breathlessly. 'I'll have the rest by tomorrow.'
'Good. Then you'll be hearing from us tomorrow night to make the final arrangements.'
'Don't hurt her, please,' begged Andrea, hating herself for showing her desperation, but unable to stop. The line, however, was already dead.
Slowly, she put down the phone. Jimmy had followed her out into the hallway and was staring at her with a look of concern. He didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, then he stepped forward and took her in his arms. She sank into them, burying her head against his chest.
'It's going to be all right,' he said quietly, the deep, gruff intonation of his voice suddenly making her feel safe.
That was the thing with Jimmy. Even now, he could inspire so many different and conflicting emotions. She breathed in his scent. He must have splashed on some more cologne after he'd had a shower earlier. It smelled strong, but somehow comforting.
'I spoke to her,' said Andrea, pulling away and looking at Jimmy. 'She's alive, Jimmy. She's alive.'
'See, I told you it was going to be all right, babe,' he said, continuing to hold her. 'These guys are professionals. They're not going to do anything to hurt her. She's their prime asset.'
Andrea didn't like his choice of words, nor the fact that he still hadn't referred to Emma by name, but she was too excited by the fact that she'd spoken to her to pay too much attention to that. Finally, she had confirmation that Emma was OK. She was scared, but it didn't sound like they'd hurt her, which meant she was going to get her back. This time tomorrow, she'd be safe and sound.
Jimmy's hand ran down her back and moved across her buttocks. At the same time, he pulled her closer, and she could feel the hardness growing between his legs. 'It's going to be OK, babe. I'm here now. I'm back.' His grip on her tightened as he rubbed his cock against the material of her gypsy skirt.
She thought of Pat. Her husband. How their love life, once so vigorous, had slackened in recent months until, in the past few weeks, it had evaporated to almost nothing. Pat wasn't coming back. She was sure of that. One man leaves her life, another returns.
Jimmy lifted her chin so she was looking up into his dark eyes, seeing the lust in them.
'You still look beautiful, babe,' he whispered.
But she didn't want Jimmy. Not like that. She'd already betrayed one husband with him. Whatever Pat's faults, whatever he might have done, she wasn't going to betray a second. She pulled away from his kiss, trying to move backwards, but his hand grabbed her chin roughly and turned it back so she was facing him.
'Come on, I know you feel the same way.'
He was smiling now. As cocky as ever, forcing her towards him. She could smell the booze on his breath. Anger overtook her – anger that the bastard could be so cold to both her and Emma's plight – and she slapped his hand away, wrenching herself free from his grasp with more force than she'd intended.
'You fucking bitch,' he snarled, clenching his fists; but she stood her ground, glaring back at him.
'I'm not the little girl you used to know, Jimmy. So don't you dare try it. Think of someone else for a change. Like Emma . . . your daughter.'
'Still a tease, ain't you, babe?' he said quietly, and then with a snort of derision he walked past her back into the living room.
Five
The next day, Thursday, was excruciating. It was the waiting.
Jimmy apologized for his behaviour in the morning, which was typical of him. Always changing tack. She accepted the apology but she didn't believe it was genuine. Jimmy Galante was not the sort of person to feel remorse about anything he'd done. If he was, he'd never sleep at night, and she knew from experience that he slept like a log.
Their conversation over coffee in the kitchen was strained, and she was pleased to get out of the house and leave him behind. He'd wanted to come with her as she drove to the bank to pick up the remainder of the money, but she told him it would be easier if he didn't. 'It'll just arouse suspicions,' she explained, knowing that this was just an excuse. She took the holdall containing the money with her as well.
'Don't you trust me or something?' he asked her at the door.
And the truth, of course, was that she didn't. But she didn't say this. Instead she looked him right in the eye and said, 'This money represents our daughter's freedom. It's not going out of my sight today.'
Jimmy nodded and left it at that.
The bank were reluctant to part with the money, even though it was hers, and she had to go into the back and endure a lecture from the manager about the perils of being in possession of large sums of cash and sign a load of paperwork before they let her out with what was rightfully hers.
For lunch she grabbed a sandwich and took a walk on Hampstead Heath, leaving the money locked in the boot of the car. Usually it was a place of tranquillity where she could relax and enjoy the illusion of being somewhere in the country. Today, however, she paced relentlessly, counting down the minutes and hours, worrying about someone stealing the car and therefore the money, and when she encountered passers-by she felt bitterness and jealousy at the way they went about their easy lives while she suffered alone in hers. Waiting, always waiting.
She was home by mid-afternoon, and carried the holdall with difficulty up to the front door. Half a million pounds, she was discovering, weighed one hell of a lot. Jimmy was out, for which she was thankful, and she took the opportunity to sit on a lounger in the back garden, look out at the trees and listen to the sounds of early autumn. This was her refuge, her place of peace, and today it gave her hope. There was still that numb fear that it could all go wrong, and that these people, whoever they were, were simply stringing her along, but Andrea was a pragmatist, and the more she thought about it the more she shared Jimmy's view that their primary motive was money. If she did what she was told, they would release Emma. And then maybe, just maybe, things could start to get back to normal. Just the two of them together again.
Jimmy returned at seven o'clock, telling her not to worry because he'd been careful leaving and coming back. She didn't bother asking him where he'd been, assuming he'd been visiting associates. Frankly, she didn't care. She just wanted tonight sorted, and then she wanted rid of him for ever. It remained to be seen whether she'd made a mistake by involving him at all, but it was too late to worry about that now. Tonight she had to focus on the task ahead.
And so, for the next two hours, the waiting continued. They didn't speak much. There was little to say, and it was difficult to plan anything given that neither of them knew what procedures the kidnappers intended to set for them. Andrea kept looking at her watch. Sometimes she counted the seconds ticking on the clock in the hallway, and all the time the tension cranked up inside her little by little.
The clock struck nine.
She looked across at Jimmy. Her mouth was dry. He looked back, and for the first time she saw that he too was worried. He was frowning, his eyebrows almost touching, the lines on his forehead heavily pronounced and suddenly making him look his age. The room was thick with silence.
A minute passed. Andrea counted the seconds on the clock. Neither of them spoke, but Jimmy looked at his watch several times and sighed. It was a cheap t
hing with a black plastic strap, not like the Cartier he'd worn when she'd first known him. Times had obviously been hard for Jimmy. Maybe even hard enough for him to consider getting involved in a kidnap . . . No, she didn't want to go down that route. She had to trust somebody, and right now there was no one else.
The phone rang. The receiver was next to her on the coffee table. She picked up immediately.
'Yes?'
'Have you got a pen and paper?' asked the disguised voice – the one that had first called her, she thought.
'Yes.'
'Good. Do exactly what I say and you'll have your daughter back before the end of the night.'
'That's all I want,' she told him.
'Fuck us about, though, and she dies. Painfully. Do you understand?'
She tensed, thinking of Jimmy. Was it a big mistake bringing him in? She said that she understood.
'Here are your instructions. Get in your car – the Mercedes – and drive up to the junction of the M1 and the M25, then proceed eastbound on the M25 to junction twenty-five. Turn left on to the A10, then turn left again at the next roundabout on to the B198 signposted to Rosedale.' He waited while she wrote all this down. His breathing was audible on Andrea's end of the phone. 'There's a turning on the left about two hundred metres down. Follow the road for approximately three quarters of a mile until you see a sign on the right for Gabriel's Saw Mill. Drive down there two hundred metres.' He paused again. 'At that point the track forks. Take the right-hand fork and follow it approximately fifty metres. A burnt-out single-storey building with no front door will appear on your right. You can't miss it. Stop the car but leave the engine running. Take the bag containing the money inside, and drop it against the front wall so that it can't be seen from outside. There's a turning circle another twenty metres down the track. Drive down to that, turn round and leave.'
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