‘Now, Mr Forbes – Sebastian – if you could just calm down and explain … you say, her?’ Mullins continued to shake his head in weary confusion.
‘Yes. Her.’ Sebastian spat the word from his mouth as though it were poison. ‘That bitch I’m married to – my wife.’
‘Forgive me,’ Mullins apologised, unable to help himself from experiencing a slither of satisfaction from Forbes’s obvious distress, ‘but I’m not sure I quite follow.’
‘Do I need to spell it out?’ Sebastian bellowed, his eyes straining from their sockets as he poked at the piece of paper once more. ‘It’s there, man, in black and bloody white, as good as a confession. Thirteen, thirteen – that was the code I used for the vault, I changed the code to “one three, one three”!’
Mullins blinked at him, nonplussed. The man was drunk, or crazy, or both.
‘Don’t you see?’ Sebastian was so incensed he thought he might self-combust. ‘The only person who could’ve possibly known the code I used that night was the perpetrator … and do you know how they knew?’ Sebastian was fitting the jigsaw together, piece by piece in his mind. ‘Because she was the one who gave it to me. Lucky for some, that’s what she said to me that morning of the robbery … lucky for some.’ He was ranting now, his eyes bulging manically from their sockets as he marched the length of Mullins’ office like a drill sergeant.
‘I didn’t believe it at first, couldn’t believe it … Imogen, the mastermind behind such a clever, carefully considered plan?’ Sebastian shook his head and gave an absurd laugh. ‘But it was her … it was her all along,’ he snorted, utterly incredulous. ‘That bloody bitch outsmarted all of us.’
Mullins emitted a heavy sigh.
‘Mr Forbes,’ he offered cautiously. ‘Your wife has been exonerated from any wrongdoing; she has a watertight alibi for the night in question, remember?
‘I realise this must be a difficult time for you,’ he said, his voice softening, ‘but I really think that perhaps you ought to go home and get some rest …’
‘Rest?’ Sebastian shot back, testily. ‘How can I rest when she’s out there, taken my daughter with her and absconded.’ He caught the look of interest on Mullins’ face. ‘Oh, did I not mention?’ he added, sarcasm dripping from his words, ‘my darling wife flew out to Genoa yesterday, supposedly to stay in our villa in Portofino for a few days. Only it seems she never actually arrived and, miraculously, the crew that took her there seem to have – poof!’ he clapped his hands together, ‘disappeared into thin air – the bitch has paid them off to keep silent, with my own money! So – what do you think of that, eh? The actions of an innocent woman?’
Mullins poured a generous shot of whisky into a used glass on his desk and handed it to Forbes who downed it in one, and held it out again for a refill. It was obvious that Forbes’s wife had left him, done a bunk with the kid and, frankly, Mullins could hardly blame the woman. Still, he did have a little empathy for the man.
‘You know she never loved me,’ Sebastian said, his thoughts turning maudlin with the aid of the whisky. ‘Right from the day we met, it was never me.’
Mullins cast him a weary look.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Forbes, truly. I hope the pair of you can patch things up. But I do have some good news that might cheer you up; you’ll be pleased to know that Derrell Richards – Dickie – has regained consciousness,’ Mullins announced cheerfully, steering the conversation in a more positive direction.
Sebastian looked up.
‘Well? And?’ He blinked expectantly.
‘And,’ Mullins said, ‘he can’t remember much at all at the moment … but he’s going to be alright.’
Sebastian rolled his eyes and smacked his hand on his thigh.
‘Well, that’s just fantastic!’ he deadpanned. ‘Bloody fantastic. My life is in tatters; my wife, my stupid, airhead, ungrateful bitch of a wife who would struggle to break into song, let alone the most secure bank in the world, has fucked me good and proper and our star witness can’t remember a damn thing!’
‘Give the man a few days at least … a chance to recover his faculties.’ Mullins was shocked by such a brazen lack of compassion.
‘He’s no better off to me alive than he would be dead,’ Sebastian snapped.
Mullins felt his earlier sympathy evaporate. There was just no helping some people. ‘I think it might be time to go home now, Mr Forbes,’ he lightly suggested. ‘I’ll have Maggie organise a car to take you.’
‘A car!’ Sebastian slurred. ‘I don’t need a bloody car! I’ve got a whole fleet of the damn things. What I need is for you to find Imogen. Find her and bring her back to the UK to face justice.’
Mullins buzzed his intercom and moments later, Maggie Barber appeared.
‘You’re all fools!’ Sebastian slurred as Maggie began ushering him from the room.
‘Yes, yes, fools.’ Mullins rolled his eyes in Maggie’s direction. ‘Good evening, Mr Forbes. Get some rest. We’ll be in touch.’
Sebastian was still ranting as the door finally closed behind him.
CHAPTER 67
Dawn was breaking in Ibiza as Imogen walked towards the tiny speedboat that was moored on the rocks of the private bay of Salinas beach, and she stood for a moment absorbing the sheer beauty of the spectacular view before her.
The last time she had stood in this very same spot, they had admired it together, just the two of them, young and happy and carefree, neither of them knowing the tragic turn of events that lay around the corner, waiting to tear them apart. And now they were here again. Together at last.
‘I never thought I would see this place again, it’s just so … so beautiful,’ she breathed, looking out onto the horizon, at the magnificent, imposing villa in the distance.Cressida had helped arrange it for her to make her escape, just as she had done all those years ago. ‘Anywhere in the world you want to go, darling, just name it.’
He pulled her close to him and it was there again, the scent of lemon soap on his lightly tanned skin as he took her in his arms, the feeling of everything being right with the world once more.
Imogen had been shocked to see Mickey on the plane. Shock that was closely followed by panic.
‘Are you here to arrest me again?’ she had asked tremulously.
Mickey had smiled softly as he took her hand in his.
‘You thought I would ever let you leave without saying goodbye?’
Imogen smiled as he took her hand and helped her onto the boat. She had confessed everything on that plane journey; told him all about her sham of a marriage to Seb, of his treachery towards her and her subsequent revenge.
It had been a relief to purge herself. Deep down, Imogen knew that no matter how far, or wherever she might run to in the world, she would never be free of her conscience.
‘So, you’re not here to cuff me then, take me back to the UK?’ she had asked shakily, only half joking.
He had shook his head and smiled softly.
‘So why are you here, Mickey? Why the sudden change of heart?’
He had looked up at her then, his teal eyes glassy and wet. ‘I came to tell you that Dickie Richards will make a full recovery.’ He watched as her face broke into a relieved smile. ‘Oh, and because I love you, Imogen Lennard,’ he said. ‘I always have.’
He had kissed her again, deeply this time.
‘You know, I only lied to protect my daughter,’ she’d said, unable to fight back the tears that were threatening to come, ‘… our daughter.’
He had pulled back from her then and she had watched the expression on his face change as her words sunk in.
‘Our daughter?’
‘Please forgive me,’ she had begged him, stroking his face with the back of her hand. She was crying now, hot salty tears streaking her face. ‘All those years ago … I thought about trying to find you, but you had chosen your life …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘You know, I wasn’t sure at first, at least, not until she was born …’ Instinctive
ly he wiped her tears away. ‘Oh Mickey, from the very first moment I held her in my arms, I knew she belonged to you,’ Imogen’s voice cracked like the embers of a bonfire. ‘You have no idea what it’s been like to live with such a secret all these years … watching her grow, seeing your face staring back at me every time she smiles … say you forgive me… forgive me.’
‘Shhh, it’s OK, it’s OK.’ He had put his arms around her, his warmth and strength at once reassuring her. ‘I should never have left you, never. It was the biggest mistake of my life … it is you who should forgive me,’ he said, wishing he could erase the pain of the last fifteen years. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered into her neck as he held her tightly, knowing he would not let her go.
*
From the beach, Imogen looked up at the magnificent villa and waved to her daughter, beckoning to her as she came into view from the balcony.
‘Don’t be nervous.’ She turned to him, taking his shaking hand in her own as they watched Bryony skip down the imposing white steps towards them. Dressed in a light floral summer playsuit, her soft dark hair loosely plaited to one side, she was the image of her mother as she had been at her age, only with her father’s eyes, those deep, lagoon green eyes that seemed to draw you right into them. She cocked her head coquettishly to the side as she reached them, one coltish leg crossed awkwardly over the other.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling nervously, her hand outstretched in greeting. ‘I’m Bryony.’
*
In the middle of the night, Bryony, jet-lagged and unable to sleep for the myriad questions fighting for space in her mind, had crept downstairs and out onto the vast balcony, enjoying the cool night breeze on her skin. Subconsciously woken from her shallow slumber, Imogen had followed her daughter out onto the balcony where they stood together in silence.
‘Mum, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Bryony had eventually asked in a small voice. ‘Why did you take me out of school? Are we running away? And who is that man you’re here with? He looks oddly familiar.’
Imogen had sighed deeply as she turned to her daughter, gently stroking her soft, smooth face with the back of her hand. It was time.
Watching the two of them together as they carefully embraced each other, father and daughter, strangers yet so alike, Imogen felt the sting of all the years they had lost together like a graze on her heart. Bryony, through her tears, had confessed to having felt guilty at not feeling a strong connection with the man she had grown up calling ‘daddy’. That she had always somehow known in her heart that something was missing. And now she knew what that something was. Although naturally shocked and upset by the news, she was not angry with her mother – something that Imogen was grateful for – perhaps now life would start to make more sense.
Mickey stared at the young girl in front of him, marvelling at how beautiful she was. She was his daughter, the child he had always longed for! And he just wanted to look at her, to take in every inch of her as though she had just been born and he was seeing her for the first time. But he was cautious, he didn’t want to overwhelm the poor girl any more than she had to be already. They would need to take things gently.
Bryony, smiling nervously, looked back at Imogen who nodded at her reassuringly. The man in front of her was her father, her real father, flesh and blood! And she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She looked up at him shyly, unsure if she should follow her instincts and hug him. Although he was a stranger, paradoxically, he felt somehow familiar and her young mind struggled to digest such a complexity.
‘Shall we all go for a walk?’ Imogen suggested. ‘It’s a beautiful morning.’
Hanging back a little, Imogen watched from behind her Ray-Ban aviators as Mickey quietly held his hand out to his daughter, and swallowed back a lump as hard as a diamond as Bryony tentatively took it with a shy smile. Suddenly, for the first time in years, she was met with the feeling that things were going to be OK.
The sun was creeping higher in the sky now and Imogen felt it replenish her strength as it emerged, glorious from beyond the stillness of the ocean. Soon the beach would begin to fill with the first sun worshippers of the day; it would no longer be theirs alone. But that didn’t matter, she thought as she caught up with them, sliding her fingers between Mickey’s as they walked along the shoreline. It was just the three of them together now. They had all the time in the world.
EPILOGUE
Eleven months later
The traffic on the King’s Road was thick and congested and Imogen sighed as she looked out of the tinted window of her Bentley. Nothing changes, she thought wistfully as she checked her watch. She would be late for their first annual girls’ get-together and Calvary would be cursing her. She always was such a stickler for good timekeeping.
As she watched the last of the day’s shoppers go about their business on the King’s Road from the window, the glamorous yummy mummies with their fancy strollers, the smart European tourists with their Harvey Nichols shopping bags hanging from the crooks of their suntanned arms and the young and impossibly beautiful girls in their trendy outfits straight from the pages of Vogue magazine, Imogen thought how, in spite of all the unhappy memories, she still loved this place. A piece of her heart would always belong to this small, iconic part of London that she had once called home.
‘Over here, darling!’ Calvary’s clipped tones rang out across San Lorenzo’s as she waved enthusiastically towards an approaching Imogen. She had ensured they had the best table in the house tonight. After all, this was a celebration.
Embracing warmly, the two women hugged for the longest time.
‘You look wonderful, Cal,’ Imogen eventually said, thinking how she had never seen her friend look so relaxed and happy. ‘South Africa must be doing you the power of good. And, by the looks of things,’ she raised an eyebrow as she grabbed the cocktail list and seated herself, ‘so is that toy boy of yours. Tell me, how is Josia?’
Calvary sighed, her eyes glazing over a little at the mention of his name.
‘He’s wonderful, darling, truly wonderful.’ She clasped her hands together in the way she always did when she was over-excited and Imogen felt a stab of sadness at the familiarity of such a small gesture. It had been almost a year since they had seen one another, the longest time they had ever spent apart, and she had missed her friend so much. ‘The Beckhams have just commissioned him to paint them a double portrait. Can you believe it? And Cape Town is everything I hoped it would be; beautiful, warm, full of friendly people. Josia and I go for a run on the beach every morning with the dogs, and in the afternoons I write my Tatler column from the patio, overlooking the ocean.’
Calvary had eventually divorced Douglas on the grounds of adultery, citing Tamara Du Bois as the third party, though frankly, the choice of names could’ve filled a phone book. Nickolas Mystern QC, made history by securing her the biggest divorce settlement of his entire career, and Calvary had caused an even bigger sensation by promptly pledging half of it to a children’s charity in South Africa where she now lived on a pretty, albeit more modest, ranch with Josia and her beloved dogs.
‘Oh Cal, it all sounds so … so idyllic. No one deserves to have found happiness more than you. Especially after everything with Doug …’ Imogen stopped herself. This was a night for celebration, not recrimination.
Calvary grimaced.
‘I only wish I’d divorced the bastard sooner,’ she snorted. ‘Can you believe he’s been sending me flowers and diamonds and all sorts,’ she sighed. ‘He thinks a rock and rose is all it takes to win me back. Anyway, my spies tell me he’s currently in Thailand, licking his wounds with the help of a young girl called Pooloom.’ Calvary threw her head back in her trademark throaty laugh. ‘He’ll never change,’ she said, only this time with an air of indifference.
Imogen smiled warmly. She admired her friend. Calvary had been through so much humiliation at the (wandering) hands of her husband, and yet had come back stronger than ever.
‘You�
��ll come visit us, won’t you? Now that I’ve let my good friend, Henrietta Percival-Spencer and her team of designers loose in the ranch, I’m dying to show it off.’
‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away,’ Imogen laughed, thinking how you could take the girl out of Chelsea …
‘And bring Yasmin with you? Or is it Stacey now?’ Calvary raised an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, the girl is late.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Still, what can you expect? No breeding.’
Imogen laughed guiltily. Calvary had been the first to crow ‘I told you so!’ when Yasmin’s true identity had finally been revealed. ‘Still, after everything the poor love’s been through, I certainly don’t begrudge her a generous slice of that bastard’s fortune. In fact, if anything I admire her.’
‘And the irony is, she’s the real deal now,’ Imogen said. ‘Jeremy gave her half of everything in the divorce, and she got to keep the title.’
Yasmin had eventually returned to Chelsea from the French Riviera with a repentant Lord Belmont in tow. Though he had begged her forgiveness, and another chance to try to save their marriage, she had remained stoic, and, heartbroken, reluctantly he eventually agreed to a divorce.
True to her word, Yasmin had gone on to give Sammie Grainger the exclusive of her journalistic career, firmly planting her name on the media map and helping to secure her a roving reporter slot on Five Live. Currently, the two of them were holed up together in Yasmin’s newly acquired Hamptons residence with a Dictaphone and a deadline for a sensational, forthcoming tell-all book. Already the talk of the town among the locals who watched them take their stroll along the beach, hand-in-hand each morning, Yasmin had never felt happier. With Sammie’s help, she was slowly learning what it was to love for the first time.
‘Ah, speak of the devil,’ Calvary remarked as she saw Yasmin approaching, heads turning to stare at the perma-tanned, peroxide young blonde in her spray-on Alexander McQueen dress and vertiginous Louboutin cage heels, a trail of sweet Thierry Mulger perfume in her wake. These days, with her scandalous story making headline news, Lady Yasmin Belmont-Jones was practically a household name. Fashion designers and TV producers were crawling all over her, throwing dresses and invitations her way. There was even talk of infamous fashion house, Clarice, naming a bag after her, ‘The Yasmin’. She had loved that particular idea. Now that she had nothing to hide, Yasmin was able to revel fully in her newly acquired celebrity status. And it would be fair to say she was making the most of it. In an act of altruism close to her heart, she had set up a children’s charity, ‘Friends of Chloe’ in remembrance of her beloved sister, throwing lavish lunches and celeb-studded parties whilst raising money for underprivileged children in care. Much to Calvary’s delight, she had become something of a competent hostess and a bona fide face in the social circuit.
Chelsea Wives Page 38
