Truth and Lies

by Marguerite Valentine

‘And did she mention Makepeace?’

  ‘She’s one smart cookie. She told me the whole shebang. Makepeace confides in her. He uses this gang to supply sweeteners for potential government contracts, which includes Langhithe. He tells her, “the girls oil the wheels.”’

  ‘What does she make of that?’

  ‘She can’t stand him, even though, whatever she wants, he gets for her. But she’s under no illusion. He’ll move on. He likes young girls but she’s almost past her “sell by date”.’

  ‘So how did you leave it with her?’

  ‘I was straight. I gave her an ultimatum. She quits. I pay her fees.’

  ‘Surely, that won’t work. She can’t just walk away.’

  ‘True. But she hates what she’s doing, and she’s seen what happens to girls who continue with drugs and prostitution.’

  ‘So where is she now?’

  ‘Some place in London. I think she’d quit, but she’s frightened of the thugs that run the gang. And like I say, she’s dependent on Makepeace. He gives her attention, sweet talks her, buys her presents, and she has her friendships with the girls. She likes them, she helps them with their English, and she tells them about England. That’s her life.’

  ‘It’s awful. Does he pimp her?’

  ‘I don’t want to know. Probably not in an obvious way, after all, he has a reputation to consider.’

  ‘It’s sad.’

  ‘It is sad. She’s sad. She’s been on this track from childhood. I’ve told her she’ll have other friendships, if she starts art school.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she have to have a portfolio?’

  ‘That’s no problem. She has a sketchpad; she carries it around with her. I’ve seen some of her drawings and she’s good, or to my untrained eye, she’s good. I’ve got to find some way of getting her out.’

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  ‘Not yet, but I will. I’m giving her a little more time to think things over.’

  ‘But what about you? They’ll be down on you like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘I don’t care about myself too much.’

  ‘They know you were behind the hacking.’

  ‘So what? If I go to the police with information about this gang, maybe a deal can be stitched up’

  Nixie looked directly at Seb. ‘Yes, you’re right, a deal could be worked out. I was asked to find you and I have found you, and you know enough about Imogen and Makepeace for the SFO and the Met to put the final nail in the coffin of the Langhithe bribery and corruption investigation. Providing you’re prepared to pass on your information.’

  Seb raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘No catch. This is the deal. It’s simple, straightforward. All you and Imogen have to do is cooperate with the police. You tell them everything you know. In exchange, we ask for all charges to be put on hold, and we’d ask that both of you go into the Witness Protection Scheme.’

  ‘The Witness Protection Scheme?’

  ‘Yeah. You must have heard of it. You’re relocated and given a new identity. It’s run by the police.’

  ‘What if I don’t want that?’

  ‘Your choice. Maybe staying in Greece will be enough to maintain your anonymity.’

  ‘And Imogen?’

  ‘Same applies. She does whatever suits, more or less.’

  ‘Sounds good, but I’d like her to get to an art school in London.’

  ‘London isn’t the only place. The Witness Protection Scheme is international. The States, Europe, or wherever, it’s a new beginning.’

  ‘Maybe she could come to Athens.’

  ‘Athens? You really do care about her.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. I don’t have a track record of treating women right and I was born lucky ─ financially speaking − so this would be one way of making amends.’

  ‘So what’s your thinking?’

  ‘About the deal? Great, if it works. But do you have the authority to carry it through?’

  ‘No, not personally, but I can work on my handler. He has the contacts and this case has been going on for too long. He’s sick of it, and he has a teenage daughter, which means he has zero tolerance for the sexual exploitation of young women, and he likes me.’

  ‘He likes you?’

  ‘Yeah. He likes me.’ Seb was smiling. ‘Not in the way you think. Not in a sexual way. Or at least I don’t think so.’

  ‘And what about me?’

  ‘Do I think you like me? I’m pretty sure you like me.’

  ‘Well, you’re right, I’d say I like you a lot. Let’s swim.’

  ‘I’m up for that. It’s too hot now, even in the shade.’

  ‘What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?’

  ‘If you don’t know, I’m not telling you. Let’s go for it.’

  They gathered up their belongings and walked back through the trees until they reached the bay. Nixie walked along the flat rocks until she came to deep water, then pulling off her flip flops, she briefly hesitated, before jumping in. The water was warm, its colour, turquoise, reflecting the sky, and looking up, she saw the sun’s light splitting into a thousand fragments as it entered the water.

  She swam to the surface, took a deep breath and, curving her hands away from her body, kicked her feet and headed down towards the bottom. It was so clear she could see the shoals of tiny fish darting around underwater. She glanced up. Seb had followed her and for a brief moment, he circled round, before he grabbed her hand, and pulled her up to the surface. Holding onto a rock with one hand, he drew her towards him and kissed her. It was a kiss that seemed to last so long, time and place had little meaning.

  — 23 —

  Nixie glanced round. The waiting room was full. She’d rather be anywhere than where she was right now. Surgeries… she hated them. She took her place in the queue for the receptionist and waited her turn.

  ‘Have you got an appointment?’

  ‘Yes, I rang.’

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘Nixie Morgan.’

  ‘Take a seat. The doctor will be with you soon.’

  She walked across and flicked through the pile of magazines. Most of them were old, well thumbed, a random selection of Hello, Country Life, Hair Dressing Journal, Vogue and the Observer Weekend Magazine. Something for everyone. An elderly man coughed incessantly. A baby cried. His mother picked him up and, holding him in her arms, carried him round the waiting room. The loud beat of music through someone’s head phones. She sighed, crossed her legs, irritably swinging one leg back and forth, hoping she didn’t have to wait long. She had to see Bill later.

  A disembodied voice came over the intercom. ‘Nixie Morgan. Room five.’

  The doctor was attractive, in her thirties, and had her eyes fixed on the computer screen. She glanced up as Nixie entered the room and smiled. ‘Sit down, Nixie. How can I help?’

  ‘I think I’m pregnant.’

  ‘You sound unsure. When was your last period?’

  ‘Three months ago.’

  ‘Do you have any other changes in your body?’

  ‘Like what? What kind of changes?’

  ‘Sore breasts, tiredness, back ache, morning sickness.’

  ‘Actually yes, I have noticed sore breasts and some sickness. I did think I might be pregnant, but I wanted to be sure.’

  ‘When did you last have sex with your partner?’

  ‘My partner? I wouldn’t say I have a partner. Not really.’

  ‘Assuming you are pregnant, you must have had sex with someone, whether partner or not. Do you remember when that was?’

  ‘Yes. I can remember very well. I was on a Greek island. We’d been lovers, but we split up and he got involved with someone else, but then we met again, and we spent an afternoon together, you know, making love… by the sea.’
>
  Nixie smiled engagingly at the doctor.

  The doctor paused, looked searchingly at Nixie’s face and pressed on, ‘And did you use contraception?’

  ‘No, no contraception. We didn’t have any on us.’

  ‘So it’s likely, don’t you think, you are pregnant.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And that he’s the father.’

  ‘I don’t know whether he is or not… everything I say … it’s confidential, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Because there was another time, with someone else. That was an earlier occasion, but it could be him, you know, if you think about the timing. I only did it because, well, I suppose I was upset, because, I missed him, and I was trying to pretend I didn’t care, and I was angry as well, but really I did care. It didn’t work anyway… because all the time I was thinking about him. So he could be the father, couldn’t he? I mean it’s possible either of them, could, you know, be the father.’

  The doctor took a quick look at her, her face showed considerable disbelief. She sighed. ‘Yes, theoretically, either could be.’

  ‘So how will I know which one it is?’

  ‘You can’t tell until the baby’s born. There are ways before, while you’re still pregnant, but it involves taking a blood sample, and that puts the baby’s life at risk. It’s not done, for that reason.’

  ‘And what about after the baby’s born?’

  ‘Apart from the obvious – does the baby look like the father and share any distinguishing features – there are DNA tests that can be undertaken.’

  Nixie stared at her. ‘I see. Okay, well thanks for the info. I’ll be off now.’

  ‘Before you go, I presume you would like to know, more definitely, if you are pregnant?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Well, take off your clothes, pop yourself on the couch, and I’ll take a look at your tummy.’

  Nixie stared at the ceiling as the doctor examined her.

  ‘Thank you, Nixie, you can get dressed now.’

  She pulled on her clothes and stood hesitantly by the desk. ‘Take a seat. This is your first visit, isn’t it?’ Nixie nodded. ‘Yes, you are pregnant so we need to keep an eye on you and the baby. You’ll need an ultrasound. I’m assuming you want to keep the baby, but if you don’t…’

  ‘I definitely want the baby.’

  ‘It maybe, after your ultrasound, and dependent on the baby’s size, we can tell more precisely when you got pregnant, and that will allay your fears about who the father is.’

  ‘I don’t have any fears. I don’t need to know. I know already. The baby’s father is Seb, the one on the Greek island’

  ‘Seb? But you mentioned someone else. Wouldn’t you like to know for sure?’

  ‘I do know for sure. I’ve just thought about it. I want Seb to be the father… I want him, whereas if it was the other one… well, I don’t want him… Does that sound awful?’ Her voice petered out.

  ‘Do you still see him? Or was it a one-off? I’m referring to the one you call, “the other one”.’

  ‘Mike? We’re in the same group, I know him alright. I see him all the time.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘It’s an environmental pressure group. We work together. We’re activists.’

  ‘What about the baby – when he or she grows up, they’ll want to know for sure who their father is.’

  ‘They will know for sure. It’ll be Seb.’ The doctor silently scrutinised her face. ‘Okay, Nixie, please make another appointment before you leave. I need to keep an eye on you.’

  Nixie left and immediately made her way to her favourite coffee shop. That she was pregnant didn’t surprise her. Her mind drifted back to Spetses, the long afternoon of love making, the heat, the water, the swimming, Seb’s caresses. At the time, she’d had no thought she’d get pregnant. It hadn’t crossed her mind that there could be consequences. She’d assumed that, as before, she could take risks and get away with it. But later, she had thought about it. She’d wondered what she’d do if she got pregnant, but she knew the answer now.

  That Mike could be the father, wasn’t part of her plan. He wasn’t and never would be a permanent part of her life. She’d always loved Seb. She didn’t know why. She just did. Besides, he’d be a good father. Zanthe wouldn’t need to know, nor her mother. She’d spin her mother the same line she’d told the doctor, she didn’t know who the father was. Whether her mother believed her or not was immaterial. Whether she disapproved of her or not, was also immaterial.

  She caught the tube to Bethnal Green and made her way to the safe house. Bill had asked to see her, why, she didn’t know, but probably to give her an update about the Fortescue, Makepeace case. She got to the house, rang the bell and waited for Bill to open it, her mind filled with the excitement of her pregnancy.

  ‘You look like the cat that got the cream.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well, come in. Talking of which, I’ve been down to the deli and bought some French pastries to have with our coffee.’

  ‘No thanks. I have to think about my diet now ─ for the baby.’

  He glanced at her, his mind clearly elsewhere. ‘What baby?’

  ‘He’s not born yet.’

  Bill did a double take. She had his full and undivided attention. ‘Is this your way of telling me you’re pregnant?’

  ‘It is and I am.’

  Bill sat down and stared at her. ‘Fucking hell… who’s the father?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  Bill paused, and then roared with laughter. ‘Pull the other one. It has to be Seb Melbury.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know.’

  ‘Nixie, you may get away with lying to other people, but not with me. How many months are you?’

  She paused; if she told him, he could work it out, but he’d know soon enough. All he had to do was a quick calculation, but he could never prove it. She’d tell him.

  ‘Nearly four months.’

  ‘Three to four months… now let’s see, that would be about the time you left that Greek island to return to the UK. Well, it was a productive meeting, in more ways than one, it seems.’ He grinned.

  ‘Two and two make five. What did you want to see me about?’

  ‘And one and one make three. If I put a bet on the father, I’d say it was Seb.’

  ‘And you’d be wrong, because I don’t know who the father is.’

  ‘Do you think I believe that?’

  Nixie sighed. ‘Tell me what you want to see me about?’

  ‘Well, good luck, whoever the father is… We’ve got a date for the trial. Everything’s set up. Seb Melbury has been informed and it won’t be long before those bastards, Makepeace, Fortescue and Melbury, get their comeuppance. We’ve had to negotiate around the dates a little as Seb is getting married in the next six months.’ Bill’s face was deadpan. ‘But I expect you knew that.’

  ‘I didn’t, not about the proposed marriage. Is it to a Greek woman, called Zanthe?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘And Imogen? What about her?’

  ‘She’s our star witness. Revenge is sweet. She hates the bastards and is well and truly sticking the knife in. She’s in hiding and that’s where she’ll stay for the interim.’

  ‘Is Seb helping her? He said he’d get her to art school.’

  ‘That’s the deal. She wants to be like the woman who made the sculpture on a beach in Suffolk ─ which is, ironically, where she first met that odious character, Makepeace.’

  ‘It’s like a shell. I’ve not seen it myself, but I’ve seen Gormley’s work near Liverpool.’

  ‘Gormley. Who’s he?’

  ‘Anthony Gormley, another sculptor. He’s put copies of himself all along the beach. ’


  ‘That’s weird. Haven’t seen either of them, but then I’m a philistine.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘It is.’ He paused. ‘And thanks for all the work you’ve done. Does this pregnancy mean you’re giving up working?’

  ‘Don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.’ Nixie stood up to go.

  ‘I hope not. You know how to take your work to the next level, when it’s something you want.’ He smiled seductively.

  Nixie paused. ‘Fuck off. I’ll tell you something… If I do leave, I won’t miss your dirty little innuendos.’

  ‘Just joking, Nixie.’

  Nixie had had to go into hospital for the birth. Necessary, she’d been told, given the possible dangers to the baby who initially was laying the wrong way. But the baby finally arrived safely, and all her fears had now been forgotten. Looking at the baby, she felt she’d burst with pride. She was fascinated by her tiny face, her fine, dark, straight hair, her miniature hands and her large serious eyes. When the nurse had first put her into her arms, she’d said her eyes reminded her of the baby’s father, and there and then she’d decided to call her Dora. She’d said this was because the baby’s eyes, were like her father’s, adorable. She was careful not to say his name.

  She looked out of the hospital window for the tenth time, apprehensively waiting for her mother’s car to swing into the hospital car park. It would be her mother’s first visit to see the baby − and she was late. She sighed. She hoped her mother wouldn’t again bring up the question of Dora’s father. They’d had a disagreement about her not knowing; when she’d first told her she was pregnant. She remembered the conversation well. Her mother’s first question had been to ask about the baby’s father. She’d told her she didn’t know.

  Her mother had said, ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

  She’d snapped back, ‘It means what it says, I don’t know.’

  Her mother had pursed her lips and fixed her eyes on her as if struggling to make sense of what she’d just heard. ‘Surely you know who you’ve slept with?’

  She’d given her mother one of her looks and had said, still irritably, ‘Yes, but not precisely when…look, it happens. You’re behaving as if you never slept with anyone other than Dad, and I don’t believe that either.’