by Ann Massey
Although Joe kept his two lives separate, Rubiah had caught glimpses of Joe’s children over the years. Pau had really grown up since he left Miri, and Rubiah admired his startling movie star looks and sharp, high-cheek-boned profile. He was so different from his moon-faced brother. That’s how Joe would have looked at the same age, she thought. How she wished she’d met her lover before he’d married his wealthy older wife.
Joe was proud of his eldest son, who had graduated from Oxford with a first in economics. Unlike Clarence and Adele, who took after his dull wife, Pau was clever and ambitious. Now that Pau had his degree Joe was looking forward to educating his son in life’s realities. After dinner wound up, he had planned to drop off Clarence and Adele at the apartment in Belgravia and then kick on with Rubiah and Pau. It was about time his heir and mistress got to know each other. Some of his gangland associates had told him about Lysander’s, a casino where London’s Triad mafia liked to play, and he had been looking forward to cutting loose. But there was no way he was going to allow his moody son to spoil his fun and he abandoned the idea. Pau could stay in the apartment and look after his brother and sister while he enjoyed a night at the Dorchester.
His desire flared as he looked at Rubiah in her tight red cheongsam, so much like the one she had been wearing the night they met. His sons might be sulking, but there was no doubt that his mistress was as dazzled by the lavish surroundings as his daughter. Rubiah and Adele gaped in open-mouthed admiration as a bevy of long-legged models danced down the catwalk in Tuff’s sexy lingerie, but that was only the appetiser to the main course. Wearing S&M-style riding gear and cracking a stock whip, Tuff belted out her new single ‘Fierce Love’ from a massive cage. Six powerful bodybuilders, tanned and oiled, strutted their stuff, defiant as half-trained tigers. The climax of the Vegas-style routine was an action-packed martial arts fight. High flying, fast and furious, Tuff was like an energised Jackie Chan. Using acrobatic kicks and stylised karate moves, she spectacularly despatched all her ‘opponents’.
Joseph Ling was not impressed. A seasoned street fighter, he thought the choreographed fight was absurd. ‘She’d be the one on her back if she ever tangled with me,’ he whispered to Rubiah, his hand possessively caressing the warm golden thigh exposed by the deeply slitted cheongsam. His fingers forced their way beneath the skin-tight satin; underneath she was naked.
‘Just as long as you aren’t on top of her,’ Rubiah said, too aroused to get mad, and with an expert hand she unzipped his fly.
The brothers glanced at each other and rolled their eyes.
‘What a nerve to flaunt his whore in front of his own children,’ hissed Pau, so low that only Clarence heard. He stalked out to the external walkway and stood brooding, the magnificent view of the London evening skyline ignored.
At the end of her performance Tuff stripped down to a crystalbeaded corset and unfastened her dazzling necklace, its facets dazzling in the reflected light from a giant mirror ball. ‘Be generous. Think about the orphans,’ she said, dimpling at the lord mayor and his A-list guests.
‘Oh, Joe, isn’t it lovely?’
‘If you want it, just say the word, babe,’ said Joe.
The bidding started off briskly, but when the bids reached twenty-five thousand pounds everyone else but Joe dropped out.
‘Nothing’s too good for my lady,’ he boasted when Tuff came over to the table to collect the cheque, fluttering her false eyelashes at Joe and Clarence and ignoring Rubiah. But her beguiling performance was lost on the gangster, who thought the macho singer was repulsive. Dainty, feminine women like Rubiah were more to his taste.
‘Enjoy,’ said Tuff, excusing herself as soon as photographs with the Lings had been taken for the social pages. She didn’t want to waste any more of her time on an Asian nobody. A few minutes later she was laughing and joking with a long-forgotten pop star and his Botoxed bride, unaware that Rubiah had recognised her by her tattoo.
Coming straight to the city from a Dayak longhouse, Rubiah had been scared out of her wits the first time she’d seen the hooded cobra tattooed on Tuff’s upper body, believing the woman possessed demonic power. She had never forgotten and yet she no longer feared her. She had learned that for Westerners a tattoo was just a fashion statement.
‘This calls for champagne,’ said Joe, thinking Rubiah was dazed by the magnificence of his gift. ‘The Krug, a magnum,’ he told the wine waiter.
‘I feel a little dizzy, Joe,’ said Rubiah. ‘I’ll just go outside and get a little fresh air.’
There was no one else on the walkway except for herself and Pau. ‘Look what your father just bought me. You should have stayed for the auction. It was so exciting. I thought Joe would pull out when that rapper in the big clothes dripping gold bid twenty thousand pounds, but he was determined to get it for me.’
Like his brother, Pau was appalled by his father’s generous gift. Did it mean his father was planning to divorce their mother and put this whore in her place? Pau wouldn’t put anything past him. Still brooding over the insult to his adored mother, he felt like ripping the sparkling choker from the slender neck of his father’s expensive whore. Glowering, he elbowed her aside, too angry to answer.
Jealous, thought Rubiah fleetingly, not giving the insult much attention. She had more important things on her mind than a slight from an ill-mannered youth. Who would have thought it – Tuff, the most famous recording star in Britain, was Mei Li’s mother. Rubiah was certain the singer would pay a lot to keep that piece of information quiet, a lot more than Joe had shelled out for the necklace. She made up her mind to confront the star at the first opportunity.
Like a crystal butterfly in her sequined corset, Tuff was flitting from table to table, alighting for a moment beside the most illustrious star but only until she scented a more successful celebrity. But eventually she tired of table hopping and made her way to the ladies’ room. Rubiah excused herself and followed her in.
‘What a surprise bumping into you in here,’ Tuff said, realising she could hardly pretend she hadn’t recognised the Chinese businessman’s tart.
‘It was no accident. I saw you come in here and I followed you. We’ve met before.’
‘One meets so many people,’ sighed Tuff, turning away and searching for her lipgloss.
‘I think you’ll remember when I remind you of the circumstances.’
As if, thought Tuff dismissively. ‘I have to return to my table now. Final speeches, so boring. The necklace looks good on you, by the way.’ She edged towards the door and escape from this persistent nonentity.
‘You caused me a lot of trouble,’ said Rubiah, barring her way. ‘A lot of trouble. And now you’re going to have to pay me back, big time.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Tuff fantasised about kicking the woman in the crotch and then dismissed the idea; another court appearance wouldn’t improve her image.
‘Do you know where we come from?’
Tuff shook her head and shrugged.
‘I thought not.’
‘Okay, for christ’s sake where do you live then?’
‘Does Miri mean anything to you?’
‘Miri!’ Tuff was so startled she dropped the lipgloss.
‘I thought that would get your attention. You gave birth to a baby girl in Doctor Kong’s clinic and you sold her, didn’t you?’
‘No, no I never did that. You can get yourself into a lot of trouble making wild accusations.’
‘Didn’t you ever wonder what had happened to her? Did you think about her on her birthday, wonder if she had enough to eat or if people were being kind to her? Did you?’ hissed Rubiah. ‘You’re going out there now to make a speech about orphaned children in Africa. What about poor Mei Li?’
‘Mei Li?’
‘Your daughter!’ said Rubiah fiercely. ‘Here.’ She hunted through her bag for her mobile phone. ‘Look,’ she said, bringing up a photo of Mei Li.
Under David’s tutelage, Mei Li was becomi
ng competent with technology and she’d sent the photo to Rubiah’s mobile in the belief the woman she thought of as her mother was still in Miri. David had taken the photo of Mei Li feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square. Her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail and her face, which could have been Tuff’s own at the same age, was smiling joyfully into the camera.
‘She looks like me.’
‘Daughters usually look like their mothers,’ said Rubiah. Privately she didn’t think sweet-faced Mei Li looked anything like her hag of a mother, but she hadn’t known Crystal at seventeen, before she reinvented herself.
Tuff handed back the mobile. ‘Does she know about me?’
‘Not, yet,’ replied Rubiah, the threat implicit.
‘What do you want?’
‘What do you think? Either you pay me to keep quiet or I’ll sell the story to the highest bidder. I read a story about you and those orphaned twins you adopted in the Sun. What a follow-up this would be. I only have to make one call and you’re finished.’
‘Don’t do that. I’m a very rich woman. I’ll give you anything you want.’
‘Good, you’re very wise. I’m staying at the Dorchester in suite twenty-three. Be there tomorrow at three pm and bring your cheque book.’
When she’d gone Tuff locked herself in a stall and sat with her head in her hands, moaning softly in case someone heard. She was finished if this came out, especially now when she had made such a display over adopting the twins. She wondered how much the Sun would pay that mercenary cow for a tell-all story. It wasn’t fair. She allowed herself to cry even though she knew it meant panda eyes.
Chapter 24
TUFF DRESSED CONSERVATIVELY FOR HER ASSIGNATION WITH RUBIAH in a tailored navy Chanel suit, a hand-painted silk scarf round her neck to hide her famous tattoo. She had several wigs she regularly wore when she craved anonymity and now she put on a mid-length black one. The transformation was amazing. Tuff felt confident that any photographers lurking outside the Dorchester wouldn’t recognise her. Still, she couldn’t disguise her striking beauty and she caught the eye of a number of guests milling round the hotel’s foyer, but none of them identified the tall, elegant woman behind the dark glasses as the queen of rock and roll.
Rubiah had left her door ajar. Anticipating the pay-off, Tuff thought sourly. She had agonised over the situation and made up her mind to give the unscrupulous blackmailer whatever she asked as long as she kept her mouth shut. She rapped on the door sharply, and without bothering to wait for an invitation walked in.
Rubiah lay on the tumbled bed in a crumpled heap like a discarded doll, white satin robe stained crimson and with the long sash bound tightly round her throat. Tuff backed away from the bruised and bloodstained body in horror, shaking with fear. She had to get out of there. Just then Rubiah moaned feebly. She’s not dead, thought Tuff with relief, and rushed to help her.
After she removed the sash she tried to sit Rubiah up, but she had lost consciousness again. Tuff knew she had to call for help, but her instinct for self-preservation was quickly coming to the fore and she decided to call from a lobby phone. She looked at her bloodstained hands in horror. She’d have to wash them first. She was drying her hands when the Filipino housemaid came into the bedroom and screamed loudly enough to wake the dead. Tuff looked around for somewhere to hide. Drawing the curtain of the shower stall, she huddled in the corner, praying she wouldn’t be discovered. Go for help! she willed the maid. Don’t just stand there screaming, you stupid cow. Tuff hoped she might still have a chance to slip away unnoticed, but her prayer went unanswered.
In no time the room was full of hotel staff and fifteen minutes later the police arrived. The sergeant found Tuff cowering in the shower, too frightened to show herself.
‘I’m Chief Inspector Marwick and this is Detective Sergeant Berry,’ said a burly, middle- aged man. He looked self-satisfied. He hadn’t expected to find the assailant so easily. ‘Could you tell us your name, madam?’
Tuff shook her head. She was trembling violently. Berry pulled out a chair and she sank into it.
‘We’d like to ask you some questions about what took place. Could you explain what you were doing here, madam?’
‘I have nothing to say until I’ve talked to my lawyer.’
‘You can phone him from the station. We’re quite happy for him to be present when we charge you.’
‘Charge me … What with, for christ’s sake?’
‘Murder.’
‘Murder? That’s impossible. She was alive when I found her. Surely you can’t think I had anything to do with her death. This is outrageous. Do I look like a murderer?’
Both officers looked coldly at the wild-eyed woman in the bloodstained suit; neither had the slightest doubt of her guilt.
‘We would like to ask you some more questions at the station,’ said Marwick, grasping her firmly by the upper arm, surprised to feel iron-hard muscles under her fine cashmere jacket. She was certainly strong enough to have beaten up and strangled such a tiny woman, he judged.
‘Don’t touch me,’ warned Tuff, pulling away and lashing out furiously. In the short scuffle before she was overpowered, her wig fell off and her dark glasses were broken.
‘Well, just look who’ve we’ve got here,’ said Marwick as he placed the wig and sunglasses in a plastic evidence bag, thinking what a tale he’d have to tell his wife.
‘Give that back to me,’ she hissed.
‘Are you going to come quietly or are you going to make things … tough on yourself.’ Marwick smirked, his beady eyes agleam.
Berry grinned. He couldn’t wait to see his mates’ faces when they brought in the most well-known celebrity in Britain. It was worth a cut lip, he thought.
The media pack was assembled outside, eager to get pictures and a statement for the six o’clock news.
‘My God, that’s Tuff,’ exclaimed the astonished reporter from the Telegraph to his rival on the Sun, thrown by such an unexpected scoop.
There was a momentary hiatus as the newshounds took in the startling revelation, then cameras flashed endlessly as a demented Tuff was half dragged and half carried to the waiting police car by two stern-faced detectives. She was charged with the murder of Rubiah.
‘But I’m innocent,’ she sobbed as she was led away to a cell.
After the police officers left, Tuff stalked backwards and forwards like a caged tigress. Her heart was pounding furiously and she was too hyped up to stop her endless circuits of the tiny cell. She couldn’t understand why everyone was so ready to believe she was guilty, not only the detectives but her solicitor too. She’d spent over two hours with him and she could tell he hadn’t believed a word of her story, although he had agreed to represent her.
‘The police seem confident that the blood on your suit will match up with the victim’s,’ Bailey, the poker-faced solicitor had pointed out.
‘I’ve already told you how that happened. I was trying to resuscitate her.’
‘And it hasn’t helped your case that you were discovered hiding in the bathroom in disguise.’
‘I didn’t kill her. I was trying to save her. Why won’t anyone believe me?’
‘I’m afraid the fact that you admitted the victim was blackmailing you has provided a motive for the crime.’
‘But I didn’t touch her. She was dying when I arrived. You’ve got to believe me. It’s not fair that a woman in my position should be treated like a common criminal. Why don’t the police look for the real killer instead of picking on me just because I’m rich and famous?’
‘If someone else is responsible the police will find him or her. If you’re innocent you have no need to fear.’
‘But what happens in the meantime? When am I going to get out of here?’ she screeched.
‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay in custody until the police have provided all their evidence to the Department of Public Prosecutions and –’
‘I’m not staying here,’ she said in horr
or. ‘Get me out, now. Do you hear me, Bailey? They can’t keep me in this place.’ She wrinkled her nose and looked around the bare cell. ‘It’s not hygienic. I won’t stay.’
‘Calm down, Ms Brooke,’ Bailey said, removing her frantic hands from the lapels of his bespoke pinstriped suit. ‘I’m doing all that’s possible to have you released on bail.’
‘Bail … oh, thank god. How long will that take?’ She gave him a half-smile.
‘Tomorrow morning at the earliest.’
‘You mean I have to stay in here tonight? No way. Let me out,’ she yelled and began pounding on the cell door.
‘You mustn’t upset yourself like this, my dear,’ he said, drawing her back to the hard narrow bunk. ‘Try to rest. You have to appear before the magistrate tomorrow and you want to make a good impression, don’t you?’
Bailey knew Sir Alaric Eddy had an eye for the ladies. It was well known that he was predisposed to show leniency when his sexual interest was piqued, but it was unlikely he’d be attracted by this client’s bizarre appearance. The solicitor sighed. It had been a long day and he needed to put in a hard night’s work if he was to convince the old goat to grant bail.
He stood up and rapped on the cell door. ‘I’ll ask the warden if your doctor can visit you. Perhaps he can prescribe a sedative to help you get through the night.’
The door opened and he went out quickly without a backward glance at his traumatised client, who was standing in the middle of the cell trying to avoid touching any surface. There was no way she was going to lie down on the bunk, even if it meant she had to stand up the entire night.
As expected, the court was packed. The media turned up in full force to hear Sir Alaric Eddy remand Crystal Brooke, also known as Tuff, to trial without bail.
