by Jessie Keane
‘I can do that on my own, Daise,’ said Rob.
‘I can help,’ said Daisy.
Rob made no attempt to conceal his amusement at this.
Daisy stood up, giving Rob a look of blazing contempt. ‘I’m going to the loo,’ she said, and swept past him.
‘Don’t treat her like a joke,’ said Ruby.
‘I’m not, I—’
‘Shut your gob for a second and listen, will you? Let me tell you something you don’t know about Daisy. You’ll have heard all about her upbringing: the private girls’ schools and so on. Oh, she had a fantastic education – if all you want in life is to make cakes and arrange flowers and play the grande dame at charitable functions. But she was never encouraged to achieve anything, and she left school with no exams behind her, and a typical upper-crust life mapped out in front of her: marriage to a wealthy man, two perfect children . . .’
‘Well, she got the wealthy man,’ said Rob, thinking of Simon, the twat. Dead now, poor bastard, and you had to show respect, but the fact was he’d been a bumptious little arsehole and nothing could alter that. ‘And the two kids.’
‘Don’t be fooled, Rob. Daisy catches on fast, and she’s a real force to be reckoned with.’ Ruby hesitated. She thought of her daughter, who had – shockingly – shown she had a violent side, banging those two bullies’ heads together. Maybe she had more in common with her twin brother than she wanted to think. ‘She’s going crazy with nothing to do except worry over Kit and being separated from the twins. So . . .’
There was an awkward silence.
‘Ruby,’ said Rob at last.
‘Hm?’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s something you should know. Someone tried to get in here. Ashok thinks it was one of Vittore’s lot.’
Ruby’s eyes widened. ‘Oh God.’
Rob’s gaze shifted to Kit’s still, unresponsive face. ‘He’s got to come out of it soon.’
‘I hope,’ said Ruby.
‘The sooner we can get him moved to someplace more secure, the better.’
They fell silent as Daisy returned, tetchily yanking her cardigan back onto her shoulder. She took up her position by Kit’s bed.
Rob watched her. It was hard to believe that the voluptuous and oh-so-posh Daisy, whose clothes always seemed to be about to fall off her, who was always tripping over something like to break her bloody neck, could actually be clever. Mind you, she was Kit’s twin; and sometimes when he looked in her eyes it was as if he saw Kit staring right back at him, and that was fucking spooky. He wasn’t sure about this, especially when there was still this weird frisson of attraction between them. Daisy could prove a nuisance, an encumbrance. And there was a danger she might get far too close for comfort.
‘Daise?’ he said.
‘Hm?’ Daisy wouldn’t look him in the eye, still hurt because he’d laughed off her offer of help.
Finally she glanced at him. Big China-blue eyes, kissable mouth, corn-gold hair tumbling in disarray like she’d just fallen out of bed, and oh God, all right, he really wanted her in bed, he had to admit that. He was going to have to be very careful here.
‘Daise – here’s what’ll happen,’ said Rob. ‘You can help . . .’
‘Great!’
‘. . . but what I say goes, OK? You keep your mouth shut – or some fucker’s going to eat you whole and spit out the bits. So I do the talking, right?’
Daisy nodded. ‘Right,’ she said.
‘Long as that’s understood . . .’
‘Oh, it is. Absolutely.’
84
Before they left the hospital Rob made sure that Fats was in place and aware of what had happened on Ashok’s watch.
‘Nobody gets in to see him unless it’s Ruby, me or Daise, got that?’
Ruby was still in there with Kit; she never seemed to leave his side.
From the hospital, Daisy and Rob went straight to Kit’s house. Rob had a spare key, he let them in. Daisy pulled off her cardigan and dumped it on the leather couch, then said: ‘So, how was Kit getting on with this? How far had he got?’
‘Not far,’ he said. He looked over at the side table, where Michael’s little collection of belongings were still spread out, just as Kit had left them. ‘We know Michael was due to go over to see Ruby’s brother Joe on the night he was killed, but he never showed up. Joe wanted to tell Michael about Gabe having been released from Wandsworth a week before. Gabe was pissed off that Michael had left the whole of his fortune to Kit, not him.’
‘That does seem hard,’ said Daisy, walking over to the side table.
‘Michael and his boy fell out when Gabe was a teenager. God knows what he got up to, but it can’t have been good. Michael was tolerant, up to a point. Push him beyond that? The shutters would come down, and you were out.’
‘So these are the bits and pieces Michael was carrying with him at the time of his death?’ asked Daisy, leaning over to peer at the little pile.
‘Yep.’
‘What’s this ring? This Krugerrand?’ Daisy picked it up, turned it over, looked at the inside. ‘It’s hallmarked. And there’s an inscription: I’m Still in Love with You. Tiny script. Was he actually wearing the ring?’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘All the difference in the world.’
‘I never saw him wear the thing when he was alive, that’s for sure. Or any other ring, not even a wedding ring.’
‘What else have we got?’
‘Not much.’ Rob joined her at the side table and stared at Michael’s belongings. Not much to show, for a life. ‘Michael spoke to Vanessa Bray on the phone the day he died.’
Daisy turned to Rob in surprise. ‘Really? About what?’
‘Kit and me went down to Brayfield to see her, ask her about it. She said that it had been a courtesy call, that Michael had been asking how she was, after losing your dad, Cornelius.’
Daisy was frowning. ‘Why would Michael do that? He barely knew her. And I had the distinct impression he didn’t like her very much.’
‘Me too. It didn’t ring true. I didn’t like her much, either.’
‘Vanessa’s OK,’ said Daisy.
‘You would say that. You grew up there with her, didn’t you? Down in upper-crust towers.’
Daisy’s gaze turned icy. ‘Vanessa’s OK,’ she repeated slowly. Then she chewed her lip. ‘That Gabe . . . when he came to the store to find me, it gave me the creeps.’
‘He likes tackling women.’
‘Have you spoken to him? You and Kit?’
‘We have.’ Rob didn’t elaborate on the precise nature of Kit’s conversation with Gabe.
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Go on,’ said Rob.
‘You dropped Kit off on Saturday, when he got shot. He was going to have dinner at Gino’s. Do you know who he was meeting?’
‘Not for sure, no.’
Daisy’s eyes were resting on Rob’s face. ‘Do you have a suspicion?’
Rob heaved a sigh. ‘Truth? Yeah, I do.’
‘Who?’
‘Bianca Danieri.’
‘Were they . . . ?’
‘They were.’
‘But . . . you’re kidding.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘No . . . Would she . . . ? He must have been out of his mind!’
Rob went and sat down on the couch. He leaned his head back, and addressed his next remarks to the ceiling. ‘Kit told me he met her when he was down on the coast. He didn’t have a clue who she was – and how would she know him? I don’t think she’d ever set eyes on him up until that point. So there was Kit, keeping it light, or trying to, but it sounds like he fell pretty hard. Between you and me, I reckon Kit’s a pushover where women are concerned. Easy meat. Because he never had his mother around when he was growing up, and he craved that: a woman to care for him. Also, he’d given Bianca a false name.’
‘He what?’ Daisy frowned, unable to make
sense of this.
‘Daise, it’s what men do. When they’re out on the pull, they give false names. Easier that way. No accidental pregnancies, no paternity suits, no brats to pay for.’
She stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘Is that what you do?’
‘I’m not proud of it.’
‘And Kit did that?’
‘He did. But he said that the minute he’d spun her the lie, he felt bad about it. Knew she could be something special. Anyway, I went to Gino’s, and the owner’s description of the woman with Kit matches the one Kit gave me of Bianca Danieri. So yeah, I think he met her the night he was shot.’
‘But the Danieris hate Kit. They’re convinced that he killed Tito, even if their mother’s been trying to put the brakes on them doing anything about it.’
‘I know that.’
‘Yet here Kit was, having dinner with the Danieri sister – a woman he’d lied to, who had no idea about who he really was. Do you suppose her brothers used her as bait? That they staked Kit out that night and shot him?’
‘Here’s what I think,’ said Rob. ‘If Fabio Danieri wanted to kill you, he’d blow your arse straight to hell with a sawn-off shotgun. Showy, see? Big gun, big noise. Look at me, here I am, I’m the man. If Vittore wanted to ice someone, it would be sneaky: in the back with something mid-sized, unshowy but effective. But Kit was shot from the front with a .22 – a lady’s gun. That’s probably why he’s still alive; because it was small bore.’
Daisy was staring at Rob’s face. ‘You’re saying he met Bianca Danieri at Gino’s that night. And you’re saying . . . are you saying it was most likely Bianca who shot him? Could a woman do that, do you think? Shoot a man down in cold blood?’
‘You don’t know that family, Daise. They’re dangerous. They’re Camorra – that’s like the Mafia, only nastier.’
‘Do you think she did it because she found out he lied to her? Found out who he really was? That he was the man who shot her brother?’
‘Must have done.’
‘If Kit . . .’ Daisy couldn’t say it.
‘If he dies? Then to hell with it, I’m pointing the finger. And if the filth don’t get her, I will.’
The phone on the side table started ringing. Rob leaned over and snatched it up. ‘Hello?’
‘There you are,’ said Fats. In the background as Fats spoke Rob could hear the general hubbub of a hospital corridor.
‘What’s up?’
‘You better get over here quick,’ said Fats.
‘What’s going on?’ Rob glanced at Daisy, who was watching him anxiously.
‘There’s a girl here, feisty little blonde, kicking off like you wouldn’t believe. Says she’s the boss’s girlfriend and she’s got to see him.’
Rob’s whole body stiffened. ‘Check she’s not carrying, make sure she’s alone and then get her out of the building,’ he said quickly.
‘Got you,’ said Fats and hung up.
‘What is it?’ asked Daisy as Rob put the phone down.
Rob looked at her.
‘I think Bianca Danieri just pitched up at the hospital.’
‘What?’
‘Come on. Sounds like she’s trying to finish the job. Let’s get over there.’
85
‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ yelled Bianca as Fats hustled her out into the hospital grounds.
People turned and stared.
‘She’s OK,’ he said to a couple who paused, their faces concerned. ‘Just upset. We’re visiting our nan.’
The couple went on their way. Fats pushed Bianca roughly down onto a bench.
‘Now sit there and shut up,’ he snarled.
‘I want to see him, that’s all. I have to see him,’ said Bianca.
‘Did you hear what I just said? Shut the fuck up.’ Fats sat down beside her.
Bianca shut up. She sat there in silence until another couple approached the bench, a big young bruiser of a man and a tall golden-blonde girl. Fats stood up. The two newcomers stared down at Bianca.
‘She’s not carrying?’ asked Rob.
‘Nah,’ said Fats. ‘Not a thing.’
Bianca sprang to her feet. ‘I don’t want to hurt him, for God’s sake! I just need to see him.’
It had been tormenting her, what she’d done to him, preying on her mind like an endlessly revolving nightmare. She’d shot Tony – Kit – in a fit of craziness and she hated herself for it. Now she knew he had survived, all she wanted was to see him, to be sure he was OK.
Daisy stepped forward and for a split second Rob thought she would flatten Bianca.
‘You’re not going anywhere near Kit,’ she hissed in Bianca’s face. ‘You’ve done enough damage already.’
‘I have to see him,’ said Bianca through gritted teeth.
Daisy lunged forward. Rob grabbed her, held her back.
‘Shut up, Daise,’ he told her. ‘Calm down.’
Daisy took a gulping breath, glaring at Bianca. After a moment, the tension went out of her and Rob let her go. She walked off a couple of paces and then came back, clutching her arms around her middle as if that was the only way she could prevent herself from grabbing hold of Bianca and choking the life out of her.
‘We can use this,’ said Daisy.
‘What?’ said Rob.
‘This. She’s walked straight into our hands. Vittore’s trying to get to Kit, right? If we’ve got his sister, and you tell him so, he’ll stop trying.’
Rob and Fats stared at each other.
‘Could work,’ said Fats.
Bianca was looking at the three of them, her eyes frantic. ‘I don’t want to hurt him, I swear.’
Daisy turned on her. ‘You already have.’
‘Look—’
‘Shut up,’ said Rob, and he grabbed Bianca’s arm and led her away.
86
Fabio was feeling increasingly nervous. No, terrified. He sensed that something had happened, but he had no idea what. He didn’t dare ask Vittore about it, so he asked Mama instead.
‘I haven’t seen Maria about the place recently,’ he said, all casual. ‘Is she OK?’
Bella gave a derisory humph. ‘She’s gone off to stay with her parents for a while, Vittore tells me. You’d think the woman’s place would be at her husband’s side, but oh no. Not her. She has to have a break, apparently.’
But discreet enquiries soon revealed that Maria was not at her parents’ home. So where was she?
There had been a lot of activity in Maria’s and Vittore’s set of rooms the last few days. Passing through the hall, Fabio had seen that sneaky, ugly scar-faced fucker Jay going in and out, along with some of Vito’s other boys. Soon, Vittore’s wine collection, of which he had always been so proud, was stacked out in the hallway.
‘Just a bit of decorating,’ said Vittore, when Fabio stood there one day, eyeing the bottles.
He didn’t question it. He was only grateful that Vittore hadn’t tried to slit his throat yet. If Maria was gone, it was none of his business.
Then, more workmen showed up. Bricks were being taken into Vittore’s rooms, and a door came out. Then the plasterer showed up with his bucket and his pink powder.
Fabio passed Bella, who was out in the hall, sniffing.
‘You smell anything out here?’
Fabio said he didn’t, even though he thought he could, just a little.
‘I’ll get them to check the drains,’ said Bella, and went back to her kitchen.
A few days later the painters and decorators arrived. And then one evening Fabio came home to find all the wine was gone from the hallway.
Fabio waited until Bella was out and Vittore was at work, until he was certain no one else was in the house. He took the spare key to Vittore’s rooms from the hanging horseshoe in Bella’s kitchen and, his heart beating furiously, he went into Vittore and Maria’s section of the house and looked around.
All was pristine in the lounge and the bedroom. He didn’t think to check the wardrobes becau
se he felt panicky just being inside Vittore’s territory. In the kitchen, everything looked much as it should. But he stood there, surveying the room, thinking There’s something’s different about the place. What is it?
And another thing. Lingering below the chemical tang of fresh paint, as he stood there in the kitchen he smelled something else, something that made him put a hand to his nose, pull a disgusted face.
‘Che puzzo! ’ he burst out. The smell.
It was like chicken left in a rubbish bin for too long, like something decaying, something rotting.
He recoiled, feeling faintly sick, and hurried back out into the lounge, through there to the door, and he was afraid now, he was very afraid indeed, because he was thinking, Vittore’s going to come home and find me in here. And if that happened, he didn’t know what would become of him.
Trembling, Fabio stepped out into the – mercifully empty – hall, turned the key and removed it, hurried over to Mama’s kitchen and with a shaking hand hung the thing on the hook on the horseshoe. When that was done he leaned over the sink, poured water, gulped it down.
It was only then that he realized what was different in Vittore’s kitchen.
The cellar door had been bricked up.
87
‘Then I opened the Leicester store. By the mid-sixties I did a deal directly with the manufacturers. I went against the Wholesale Textile Association, cut out the middle men,’ said Ruby, feeling as if she wanted to slump her head onto Kit’s bed and sleep.
They’d told her that they were decreasing the level of Kit’s tranquilizers now, but he looked just the same. He looked dead, but he was still breathing. So she sat there, talking and talking, saying anything that came into her head, her eyes gritty and red-raw, her voice fading sometimes to a hoarse whisper.
It didn’t seem possible, not after all this time. But what was time? How much time had he spent here, in this strange black desert where his only companion was the howling, freezing wind that whipped at his flesh and bones, chilling him to the marrow? There were no stars above him, no cities around him, there was nothing. Just endless night and that strange whispering cacophony of voices that had now become one voice, saying his name, saying, Don’t leave me, don’t go. Slowly, oh so slowly, it couldn’t be possible, could it? Was the black really starting to fade to grey? Or had he been looking at it for so long (and God alone knew how long) that his eyes were playing tricks on him?
