by Jessie Keane
She almost wished she hadn’t agreed to meet Knox. From a distance, what she had planned seemed manageable; but now, seeing him close-up, talking to him, she doubted her own ability to control this situation.
‘What?’ he asked, catching her staring at him.
‘Nothing.’ Ruby quickly looked away, sipped her wine. The bar was busy, the low background hum of conversation and clinking glasses soothing her jangling nerves. She was struck by the beauty of the place; she had never visited before and she was captivated by its Art Deco splendour, by its gold walls, floral gold-and-black seating and low black lacquered tables.
‘Ruby.’
Ruby turned her eyes back to his.
‘Relax, will you? I don’t bite.’
She thought he probably would bite, if the occasion called for it. His vivid blue eyes were very fierce in a tanned face that was not much given to smiling. Despite his neat appearance, his cleverly tailored grey suit, the crisp white shirt and striped tie, despite the brushed straight blond hair and the sweet whiff of expensive sandalwood aftershave, she felt an aura of brutal power seeping out of Thomas Knox’s pores, like mist coming off a mountain.
‘You like it here?’ he asked her.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Some very famous people have used this for a watering hole. Monet. Katherine Hepburn. Sinatra . . .’
‘Really.’
‘Yeah, really. You know, I knew Michael – Mike – ever since school. I was gutted over what happened to him,’ he said, his eyes holding hers.
Ruby swallowed hard. ‘So was I.’
‘It must have been a shock for you.’
‘It was.’
‘But life goes on.’
Ruby looked up at him challengingly. ‘Does it?’
‘Yeah, Ruby. It does.’
‘Even if you don’t want it to?’ she asked.
He almost smiled. ‘Even then.’
Ruby sat back and sipped her wine.
‘How’s your boy coping?’
‘Kit?’ Now I should lie, thought Ruby. Now I should tell him that everything’s fine, that Kit’s coping magnificently. ‘Not well,’ she said instead.
‘Oh? How’s that?’ He eyed her curiously.
‘He drank a lot after Michael’s death,’ she admitted.
‘I heard he’d upset the Danieri boys. That’s not a good idea.’
‘A misunderstanding,’ said Ruby.
He was staring at her, gauging her reactions. ‘I heard he could have done the hit on Tito. That the two of them fell out over a woman.’
Ruby’s face was blank. ‘I didn’t hear that.’
‘You didn’t? That’s odd. Everyone else did.’
‘He’s very vulnerable at the moment,’ said Ruby, choosing her words carefully.
‘You can say that again.’
‘You and Michael were closely associated, I hear,’ said Ruby, her eyes holding his. ‘I’m hoping you will continue that association, that level of cooperation, with Kit.’
Thomas sat back and there was that smile again, very brief. ‘So that’s it. You’re rallying the troops. In case he hits trouble.’
Ruby nodded. ‘He’s going to hit trouble. I can see that. The more people he has behind him, the better.’
‘He’s a sound man, they tell me. And I know Mike valued him very highly. You must be proud.’
‘Do you have children, Mr Knox?’
He shook his head.
‘Then you’ve no idea what it’s like. The fear for them – it never leaves you.’
He was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘All right. I’ll keep an eye out for your boy.’
Ruby heaved a sigh of pure relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘But what do I get out of this deal?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘You get my boys and me helping out if we can, that’s fine.’
‘Could you find Gabe Ward?’ said Ruby suddenly.
‘That toerag son of Mike’s? I heard he was in stir.’
‘He’s out. And it looks like he’s gunning for Kit. Kit’s been trying to trace him to an address, but so far no luck.’ Ruby took a breath. ‘He stopped my daughter when she was leaving the store the other night. It frightened her badly. I’m not happy about that.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Thomas. ‘But, Ruby, a deal’s a two-way thing.’
‘What deal did you have in mind?’ she asked.
The fierce eyes bored into hers. ‘You and me.’
Ruby stared back at him, unblinking. ‘You don’t even know me,’ she said, feeling her mouth turn dry, feeling her heart start to pound hard and fast.
‘I’ve been watching you for a long, long time,’ he said in reply.
That was disconcerting. He’d been watching her – where? When she was with Michael? Watching her, coveting her, like she was a Ming vase or something? She’d seen the way he’d stared at her at the funeral. She had felt his eyes on her that day, several times. The remembrance made her uncomfortable.
‘I’m not for sale, Mr Knox,’ she said.
‘Who said anything about that? We’re doing a deal here.’
This was what she’d been afraid of. Dip a toe into the waters these sharks inhabited, and pretty soon you were up to your neck and wondering how the hell that happened. She’d brushed up against all this before. Did she really want to do it again?
‘I’m afraid the sort of deal you have in mind is totally out of the question,’ she said coldly.
He sat back in his chair, studying her.
‘And if I find Gabe?’ he asked.
Ruby swallowed hard. ‘Then I’ll be very grateful,’ she said.
‘How grateful?’
Damn, what am I getting myself into here? she wondered. She was going to have to handle this very, very carefully. She had underestimated the ruthlessness of Thomas Knox, but if she handled the situation the way she handled any other business negotiation, then perhaps she could come through unscathed. And she was doing this for Kit, she reminded herself. It was worth stepping onto the edge, taking a risk, to do that – even if he didn’t appreciate it, even if he went on hating her. Even if that never changed, she still wanted to help him. He was her son.
Ruby drained her drink and stood up. She looked down at Knox.
‘Why don’t you find him first?’ she said. ‘Then we’ll talk about gratitude.’
‘I’ve seen him,’ said Ruby.
‘Who?’ said Vi at the other end of the phone. She wasn’t at her London place, but back at the ancestral pile in Oxfordshire. Aged Anthony, her husband, spent most of his time there; he had no interest in city life, whereas Vi was a good-time girl right down to her expensive Italian shoes.
‘Him. Thomas Knox.’
‘Oh! Tell me more,’ prompted Vi.
Ruby had not long returned from her meeting with Knox. Unable to settle, she’d given up any idea of going to bed and instead phoned Vi. Now, what to say?
‘He’s . . . scary,’ she said finally.
‘Who is that?’ demanded a querulous male voice – Anthony’s, she thought – in the background.
‘It’s Ruby. You remember?’ said Vi.
‘Oh.’
‘Memory like a sieve, poor old darling,’ said Vi into the phone. ‘Probably hasn’t a clue who you are. But never mind that, tell me more about this Knox person.’
‘He’s got this aura about him,’ said Ruby.
‘Like what?’
Ruby remembered those hard blue eyes staring into hers. ‘Like . . . power, I suppose.’
‘And he wants to get closer to you. How thrilling.’ Vi sighed. ‘Lucky girl.’
‘But I’m not sure I want to get closer to him,’ said Ruby. ‘On the other hand, he’s saying that he’ll look out for Kit, so . . . maybe I should play him along a little.’
‘That sounds risky. Kit’s all right, isn’t he?’
‘I wish I knew the answer to that. He’s into such dangerous
things these days, plus he’s obsessed with finding out who killed Michael. I’m frightened he might churn up something beyond his control.’
‘He ought to just let it go.’
‘I’ve told him.’
‘What difference would knowing make? Michael will still be dead.’
‘I’ve told him that, too.’ But he’d never, ever listen to me.
‘He’ll drive himself crazy with this,’ said Vi.
‘Hm.’
‘So – are you planning to see this fabulous man again?’ asked Vi.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby. ‘I want to help Kit . . .’
‘But it might cost you,’ finished Vi.
‘And how is life in Oxfordshire?’ asked Ruby, desperate to change the subject.
‘Too dull for words. Anthony took me out on the boat. We went fishing on the lake yesterday, he was trying to catch carp and I was catching a cold. I now know more about boilies than I ever wished to.’
‘Boilies?’
‘Ground bait, darling. Apparently the carp love them. I thought I might expire with boredom.’
After Ruby said goodnight to Vi and put the phone down, she sat there wondering what she was getting herself into. To keep Kit protected, she might have to go against her better judgement and see Thomas Knox again. To keep Kit protected, she’d do it. For that, she’d do anything.
59
Bianca had been doing some research. She felt calm, dead calm, now that she had absorbed the awful shock of what Kit Miller had done to her. How he must have laughed at her! She was only surprised that he hadn’t yet grabbed the opportunity to mock Vittore with it, the fact that he’d deceived and screwed the fearsome Vittore Danieri’s sister.
After the first realization of how she had been duped, a cold sanity had descended on her and she looked into Kit Miller – aka Tony Mobley – with a ruthless eye. She knew where his haunts were, soon she knew where he lived, where he drank, what he did with his time. She studied him as if he were an insect under a microscope. And when she finally turned up at Sheila’s restaurant one lunchtime and he was standing at the bar, her expression of surprise and dismay was a work of art.
‘Oh!’ she said, as if amazed to see him. He wasn’t the only one who could lie convincingly.
‘Jesus – Bianca!’ said Kit. He was struck anew by how beautiful she was, he was so damned pleased to see her and amazed that she’d come in here. ‘Hi,’ he said, and moved in for a kiss.
Bianca stopped him with a hand on his chest. ‘You didn’t call,’ she said.
‘Yes I did. You’d left for London, Cora said. She wouldn’t give me your number.’
He was looking around now, and Bianca could almost read his mind. Someone might come up and call him Kit. He took her arm.
‘Let’s go outside, I want to talk to you.’
Bianca let him lead her out onto the pavement.
Kit couldn’t stop staring at her. She looked fucking beautiful.
‘I want to talk to you, too,’ said Bianca. ‘I saw you in Vito’s the other night.’
‘You what? I didn’t see you. What were you doing there?’
‘My family owns that club. And Fellows, and Goldie’s too.’
He’d been so delighted to see her, and it would all be OK, he would explain the deception over the name, it was nothing, he would apologize . . . but now what was she saying? Kit felt a chill sink from his brain into his gut. It settled there, spreading out cold tentacles. She was saying . . .
‘I’m Bianca Danieri.’
Kit could feel his mouth opening, but for several seconds no sound came out. Then he managed to speak. ‘Wait, I . . .’
‘I’m Bianca Danieri,’ she repeated, her turquoise eyes ice-cold as they looked into his. ‘And you . . . you’re not Tony Mobley. You’re Kit Miller.’
Shit, shit, shit, thought Kit.
‘But you’re . . . fuck it, you’re not Italian.’ His throat suddenly felt parched, raw. This couldn’t be happening, this was a disaster. She was a Danieri. And she knew he’d lied to her, she knew who he was, what he was.
‘I was adopted,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ve got three older brothers . . .’ She hesitated, and tears sprang into her eyes. ‘No, two. Vittore and Fabio. We lost Tito.’ Her eyes held Kit’s. ‘Someone killed him.’
There were people pushing past them on the pavement. Kit drew Bianca to one side, and she flinched when he touched her.
‘We have to talk about this,’ he said.
‘What? About the fact that you cheated me, lied to me, and that you might be the one who took my brother from me?’
‘I can explain.’
‘No you can’t.’
‘I can.’ Kit pulled her into his arms. She resisted for a moment, then let him kiss her.
What Kit knew he should do now was leave Bianca the fuck alone, not pursue this, not rub the salt even deeper into the wounds. The decent thing at this stage would be to walk away.
But he couldn’t walk away from Bianca. Danieri or not, he wanted her.
‘Look, my car’s over there. Come home with me. Let’s talk, properly.’
Bianca thought that she couldn’t hate herself more than she hated herself right now. She had the willpower of a louse. Before they were even in the door of Kit’s house they were kissing, touching, crawling all over each other, stripping each other’s clothes off in their haste to be skin to skin again, no barriers between them. This was what she remembered best about him, making love with him, and she wanted it; she wanted to block out the truth, forget it, and for a while she let herself do that, enjoyed the lie, lived it.
As for Kit, he had never felt anything like this before in his entire life; not with Gilda, not with anyone. It was beyond cruel that the fates had played this joke on him; that she was Tito’s kin, his family.
Later, when they lay together on his bed, he said:
‘Let’s take off somewhere. Like Bermuda – they got pink sand there, can you believe that? Pink sand and tiger sharks, I heard. How about it?’
Somewhere all this won’t follow us, somewhere I can make you forget.
Kit propped himself up on one arm and stared down at her. Jesus, she was beautiful with her silver-blonde hair and her white skin. He loved looking at her. ‘I don’t mean a holiday. I mean, permanent.’
‘What?’ She looked at his face. He was serious. And was she serious, doing this again? Falling into bed with him, knowing what he was, how he’d lied? ‘I can’t do that. Mama’s still in mourning. I have to stay.’
‘Come on. Let’s do it.’
‘I can’t, don’t ask me.’ She was staring at him, smoothing her hands over his hard muscular chest. Thinking that she hated him, she should hate him, and she should feel ashamed, but . . . ‘My family . . .’
‘They mean a lot to you,’ he said.
‘I lost Tito. I can’t lose them all.’
Kit was quiet for a moment. ‘You loved him very much, didn’t you, your eldest brother?’
‘Very much,’ she said. ‘So much.’
‘He made a fuss of you, his little sis?’
‘He was the only one who did.’ Bianca sniffed and blinked back a tear. ‘He used to take me shooting, you know. He said if I was going to be a true daughter of the Camorra, I would have to learn. There was a farmer who let us shoot on his fields, keep the rabbits down. Tito was a great shot, and he taught me too.’
‘Go on.’ This hurt, hearing about her and Tito, but despite himself he was fascinated.
‘One day . . . I had a rabbit in my sights; I knew I could kill it, take it home for the pot. “Go on,” he said. “Shoot.” And I looked at this rabbit. Was it a boy rabbit, with a family waiting at home? Was it a mother rabbit, with babies in the burrow, and would those babies starve to death if I killed their mother?’
‘So did you shoot it?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do it. I let off the shot so that Tito wouldn’t realize I’d bottled it – but I pulled to the left an
d missed.’
Talking about Tito was like tearing at an open wound. Bianca swung her legs over the edge of the bed, started gathering her clothes.
‘Hey . . .’ said Kit.
‘No, don’t . . .’ She was pulling on her blouse and when he reached for her she shrugged him aside. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong.’
‘No it’s not. Let’s have dinner.’ He named a time and a date at a restaurant where neither his crew not Vittore’s held sway. Neutral ground.
‘I can’t,’ she said, pulling on her skirt, picking up tights, bra, pants, scuffing on shoes.
‘I’ll be there,’ said Kit.
She didn’t answer, just hurried from the bedroom.
Kit lay back, his heart sinking as he heard her go down the stairs. Then the front door slammed shut. He listened to the ticking of the clock beside his bed, the seconds passing, the minutes hurtling ever onward, the hours speeding swiftly by.
She’d loved Tito.
She loved him still.
He was going to lose her.
60
‘You know what I heard?’ asked Vittore of his younger brother Fabio when the two of them were alone upstairs in Fellows nightclub after closing.
Vittore was counting the night’s takings, sorting the twenties and the tens into neat regular piles. His left hand was bandaged.
‘No, what?’ asked Fabio, relaxed after an evening’s drinking. He yawned. He was shattered. Had to get home, get some sleep. Maria was turning out to be very demanding. ‘What happened to that?’ he asked, indicating Vittore’s hand.
‘That fuck Miller came in here for a meet and then stuck me with my own paper knife,’ said Vittore grimly. ‘But no matter about that, I’m going to sort that. I heard some fucker’s been cutting in on the club drug business. And you know that whore bitch I’m married to?’ asked Vittore, straightening a pile of pound notes. He flicked a glance up at his brother.
Fabio’s face seemed to freeze. It was as if Vittore had read his mind; he’d been thinking of Maria, and now here was Vittore talking about her.
‘You know what I heard? You won’t believe it.’ Vittore was flicking through the ones, counting them. Never missing a beat.
