“Darling, whatever happens, no matter how bad, if we see it through together we’ll be okay. That’s what’s important, sharing it.”
He drew her down to sit on his knee. “This is what happens when you marry someone old enough to be your father,” he told her. “I should be taking care of you and the girls, and here I am getting tearful because it’s all crumbling about my ears.”
Christina hugged him tightly. “So, from the beginning. I know it started with David Lyons’s suicide. I want you to tell me everything.”
He sighed. “David got me into this mess. He stiffed me rigid. He delved into every account and proved to me how dumb I was to place such trust in him. He had carte blanche.” He rocked her. “Let’s continue this in more comfort. I need a brandy.”
De Jersey walked with his wife into the drawing room. The fire was blazing, and she drew the curtains as he poured himself the brandy. He was working out in his mind how much to tell her. He lit a cigar and sat in the center of the sofa. He patted the cushion, and she curled up next to him, more like one of his daughters than his wife. She seemed so young and he felt so very old.
“I forgot to tell you. You must promise me that you’ll be free on the second of May.”
“What?”
“We have a school open day. They’re doing The Taming of the Shrew, and Natasha’s got the lead part. We have to be there at about six.”
He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“So, now that you have your brandy and your cigar and I’m sitting comfortably beside you, start with David Lyons’s suicide.”
He blew a smoke ring, then closed his eyes. “I can’t believe you threw a roll at my head.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Followed by a dinner plate.” He laughed but stopped when he saw her expression. “I love you so much,” he said quietly.
“Don’t cut me out, Edward. Please. How bad is it?”
“Well, for me to lose one horse hurts like hell, so to lose an entire wing was a catastrophe. But I made enough from the sales to cover a substantial part of my losses. The estate is worth millions—the land alone is worth a fortune and I can sell some if I need an infusion of cash.” He talked on, embroidering the lies for his wife, wishing they were true.
That following afternoon, de Jersey went into the yard with Fleming to look at the horses, particularly Royal Flush, who was being saddled for a training session. De Jersey stroked his neck. “How you doing, my son, eh?”
“He’s a special one, isn’t he?” Mickey Rowland, the jockey, had joined them. He was fixing the strap beneath his riding helmet. “He’s been a bugger the last few days. If he gets downwind of the stud he’s a right handful. Couple of mares are in season, and you know what the young colts are like, randy sods.”
De Jersey nodded. It was rare to have a racing stable and a stud in the same vicinity—a colt could smell a mare in season from a good distance away. This was why racing stallions did not go to stud until they had won enough races to make it worth the stud fees. Once they had mounted a mare, they became willful.
Mickey took the reins and could not resist kissing the horse’s velvety nose. “I love him, he’s a real character,” he said.
De Jersey helped him into the saddle. “Yes, he’s special, Mickey, and he’s going to win the Derby.”
“That’s every racehorse owner’s dream,” Mickey said as he slipped his feet into the stirrups. “It’s my dream too, Boss. I’d give a lot to ride him in the Derby.”
“It’s your ride, Mickey, but you’ve got to bring him in first at Lingfield, yeah?”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”
De Jersey watched as his beloved Royal Flush walked out of the yard, Mickey talking to him as he tossed his head, eager to get to the gallops.
“Tony. Tony!”
Driscoll sat up in bed, his heart beating fast.
“What?” he yelled back.
Liz walked in with an invoice in her hand. “You’ve not paid the florist and they’re saying that if we don’t settle up they’ll take legal action.”
He flopped back onto the pillows. “Shit, is that all? I thought there was a bleeding fire.”
“I’d like to throw you in one,” she snapped. “The caterers are screaming too—and don’t you hide under the duvet, cos I’ve not finished. I had Michelle on the phone this morning. She tells me an estate agent’s been walking in and out of the villa showing buyers around. They’re on their honeymoon, for God’s sake!”
Driscoll closed his eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed and prodded him. “You’d better come clean with me, Tony. What the hell is going on?”
Driscoll burped, and she threw his antacid tablets at him. “I’m waiting. Have you not told me the full story about these bad investments?”
“I lost everything I invested.”
“And how much was that?”
“A lot. We’re in trouble now, but I’m gonna sort things out. In the meantime, though—”
“In the meantime you’ve got to pay these bills. It was your daughter’s wedding, and you know how people round here talk.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Well, I do!” She paused. “Do you need the money from the villa to pay for the wedding?”
“Yeah. Soon as it’s sold I’ll sort out the florist.”
“But it might not sell for ages—and what about all my stuff there?”
“I’m selling it furnished.”
“But I worked my butt off doing that place up! I could have a real go at you, Tony. I really could.”
“Oh, go and work it off with your muscleman. I can’t take any more of your yelling.”
“I’m not yelling. But I think we’re gonna have to sit down and talk this out. I need to know just how badly off we are. We don’t have to sell this place, do we?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet! I’ve got a garden party arranged for this summer. We can’t sell. Please don’t tell me we’re in that deep.”
He sat up and rubbed his head. “Can you just leave me alone? I’ve got a headache.”
“You’ve had one for months,” she said and stormed off.
Kevin was warming up when Liz came in. She was about to join him when she burst into tears.
“I’ve just about had my fill of him.” She sniffled. “He’s selling the villa without even asking me.” Kevin handed her a tissue. “He’s got into some terrible financial difficulty. It’s just unbelievable that he’s not said a word to me.”
Kevin hovered. “Perhaps he didn’t want to worry you.”
“Worry me? He can’t pay for his daughter’s wedding. I’m worried all right.”
Kevin took another tissue and handed it to her as she blew her nose. “I’m sorry. Do you want to leave the workout this morning?”
“No, no I don’t. I want to work this out of my system. I want you to really push me this morning, Kevin. Take my mind off that husband of mine.”
“I can think of a number of ways I can do that,” he said, taking her in his arms. They went into a passionate embrace as he tried to peel off her red leotard.
“No, Kevin, we can’t. He’s in the house.”
“So? He’s been in and around before. It never bothered you then.”
“Well, it does now. I’m just not in the mood. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, but you know sometimes? You should think about the way you treat me, like I’m just a hired stud.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? You pay for me to train that body. How long’s it gonna be before you start asking me how much I charge for a fuck?”
“Ah stop it. You know I care about you.”
“So you say.”
“I do. But I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“You said that about the wedding, so you didn’t see me. Now it’s something else, but I’m not taking it, Liz. This has been going on for almost
a year now.”
“Kevin, don’t do this to me, please.”
“It’s my doing it to you that you said kept you sane. Your old man can’t get it up, so is that all I am? Sex therapy? You said you two don’t do it anymore. Well, what’s going on, Liz? I care about you, you know that.”
“Kevin, it’s not the way it looks. I really care about you, I do. But he’s my husband, impotent or not. He has been a real pain for the past six months. You know that. He’s never home. I dunno what he’s doing. He’s hardly said two words to me.”
Kevin flexed his muscles and stared at his reflection in the gym mirror. She came to his side and touched his arm, resting her head against his back, staring at their reflections. Kevin’s body was honed to perfection. His hair was just starting to recede at the front, but he was handsome and he noticed her. If she had a new haircut, he noticed. When she had her nails done, he noticed. He’d even recommended the doctor who’d pumped her lips up and noticed when she’d had it done. Tony had asked if she’d got a cold sore because her lips looked puffy! Lately Tony seemed to be in a perpetual bad temper, burping and complaining about his stomach and snoring beside her every night, usually without so much as a good night kiss.
As she thought about her husband, Kevin gently eased her around to face him and began kissing her neck and stroking her breasts. He lifted her off her feet and laid her down on the bench press, stripping off her leotard and sucking at her nipples. If Tony tried to lift her in his arms, he’d put his back out! They became more passionate.
“Not here, Kevin. Take me into the sauna.” She sighed and hugged him close.
The pair was having such a good time that neither heard Driscoll calling her name, or the sound of him at the sauna door. He opened it only a fraction, but he saw enough: his wife naked with her legs over Kevin’s shoulders and her face flushed in pleasure. He shut the door, saying nothing. He left the house fifteen minutes later. His initial anger was gone; in its place there was a cold, seething calmness. He was going to be risking his neck in a few weeks’ time, and in many ways he had been risking it for her; he had not wanted to let her down. Now he didn’t care if he ever saw her again. Win or lose, he would do this last one for himself alone.
Driscoll drove to Chelsea and parked in the underground car park at Chelsea Harbor. He went into the apartments and up to number 204. The apartment was now on the market, but he’d not yet had time to tell Nikki, his patient longtime girlfriend.
Nikki opened the door and immediately wrapped her arms around his portly little body. “I’ve missed you. I’ve not heard from you in weeks.”
“I know, darling, but I’ve had big troubles.”
She brewed coffee the way he liked it with hot milk and then heated up some ginger biscuits. He also liked them hot. Driscoll, for all his fury against his wife and the trainer, never considered that his having a mistress was in any way a fault. In the good old days, when he had been flush with money, Liz had shopped till she dropped and he had screwed until he dropped.
“Nikki, I’ve got financial problems. I’m gonna have to sell this place. I’m sorry. There’s no way round it. But if you go and live with your mum for a while, maybe … I can’t say why or how, but I think I might be free and you and me can go off abroad to live together.”
“Live with my mum?” Her pale face clouded and she started to cry.
Nikki was twenty-nine years old. He’d met her in the perfumery department at Harrods several years ago. For a while his wife received more gifts of perfume and cosmetics than most women would need in a lifetime. Three months later Nikki agreed to move into the apartment. They had been lovers ever since, on and off. He knew she probably dated other guys, but if so he never saw any sign of them and she never mentioned any other person being in her life. She simply focused on him when he arranged to see her. He paid money into a bank account for her every month, but now he had to tell her that he couldn’t do that any longer either.
Driscoll managed to make love to Nikki. It was not a majestic performance by any standard, but as always, she made him feel as if he was the greatest stud in the world. They had some lunch and a bottle of champagne, and with a few more tears, she showed him out, promising that she would leave the apartment by the end of the month. She also promised she would show any potential buyers round when they called.
As the door closed behind him, she swore under her breath and went to the phone. She dialed her brother first, telling him to get a van round ASAP. She wasn’t going to leave a single stick of furniture behind. Then she called her boyfriend and asked whether she could move in with him. Driscoll had been a “nice little earner” for Nikki, nothing more. She was just angry that she hadn’t persuaded him to put the apartment in her name! She had a good mind to call his wife and give her an earful, but she didn’t bother. Besides, she didn’t want to tip the idiot off that she was doing a moonlight flit.
Driscoll met up with Wilcox at Kingston boat yard for some “shopping” for the heist. Wilcox was checking over a secondhand two-seater speedboat for sale. It had seen better days and smelt of mildew as he hauled the tarpaulin off the trailer.
“It’s been knocked around a bit. It’s had a shoddy repaint job. How much are they asking?” Wilcox asked, looking at the For Sale card stuck on the windscreen. “I suppose we won’t do better for this price,” he said, but Driscoll was miles away, still deep in thought about Nikki.
“I mean, I couldn’t say anything,” Driscoll said. “But you know, if we pull this off, I’m gonna make sure Nikki does all right, take her abroad with me.”
“What, leave the wife?” Wilcox asked, still more interested in the boat.
“Yeah, she nags all day. Caught her with her legs akimbo in the sauna today with her one-on-one trainer!” Driscoll said.
“How long have you had her?” Wilcox asked.
“Who, the wife?”
“No, the little girlfriend,” Wilcox said as he bent down to check out all the rust. “This hasn’t been under cover for a few years, never mind in the water,” he said.
“She’s been a fixture for four or five years,” Driscoll said. “She’s a lovely redhead. Tall, lovely long legs. You know, she’s always there for me, makes me feel good, and she’s great in the sack. Used to work in Harrods.”
“You’ve been keeping her then?”
“Yeah, nice pad she arranged. Very tasteful. I used to love going to see her when I could. Needed her, know what I mean?”
“Yep, this is a real old boat. We do the business then torch it.”
“Okay, what about you? You got any little dollies stashed away? You always used to.”
“Nope. I had but they’ve been elbowed. Rika and I are on a good thing right now, and I don’t want her to get her knickers in a twist just when I need to be chilled out.”
“Right, yeah right. I don’t want any aggro either. I’m just sorry I’ve got to sell the apartment. And me and Nikki’ll get back together. She’s gonna move in with her mother.”
Wilcox nodded, not really interested. He fished in his pocket for some readies to deal with the boat owner. The bulbous-nosed elderly mechanic, wearing oil-streaked dungarees, had been hovering in the background, tinkering with another boat. Wilcox gestured for him to come over, and together they eased the boat off the trailer and down the few yards of slip road into the water. Wilcox started up the outboard, and he was surprised when it turned over quickly and appeared sound. He climbed out again as the old boy kept hold of the rope.
“Five hundred,” Wilcox said, counting the fifty-pound notes.
“Nah, no way. Thousand quid, pal,” the old boy insisted, winding the rope round a post, then wiping his filthy hands on an equally filthy rag.
“Six is my final offer,” repeated Wilcox, still counting.
“Na, I’ll go nine fifty and I’m doing myself an injury.”
“Six hundred, take it or leave it,” Wilcox said again. By this time he had the money stacked in a neat, tight wad.
“You don’t drive the seats though, do you? And with the amount of rust it’s got, I’ll be lucky if it stays afloat.”
“Look, I’ll come down to seven fifty, but that’s it, that’s my final price.”
“Okay, thanks. Sorry not to be able to do business with you.”
Wilcox opened his wallet, about to replace the money when the dirty hand made a grab for it.
“Six hundred, you bastards. Go on, take it!”
Wilcox climbed into the boat followed by Driscoll, who almost overbalanced and fell into the water. He then started the outboard and they set off up the river toward Richmond.
“We got moorings for this?” Driscoll yelled above the noise of the engine, his hair standing on end.
“Yeah, the Colonel’s arranged it. Plus we’ve got another speedboat to check over. It’s already at the boathouse.”
It was blisteringly cold as they sped past Bucklands Wharf, then on toward Chiswick. Just past Teddington Lock the outboard coughed and spluttered, then cut out. Wilcox managed to get it going again, and they turned round, back up the river toward Putney.
“What a piece of fucking junk,” Wilcox said, as they made it past the Putney rowing club and puttered on toward a boathouse a quarter of a mile away.
“We only need it for a few hours and, besides, it won’t be us using it,” Driscoll said, rubbing his hands.
“Right, but if it screws up they’re fucked.”
They passed beneath a willow tree. Wilcox maneuvered the boat into the boathouse, then switched off the engine. The boathouse was at the end of a garden. The house was up for lease, and the owners had let the boathouse and their speedboat for six months to a Mr. Philip Simmons. They had advertised it in the property pages on the agent’s Internet site. The other boat was moored inside, covered with a tarpaulin. Driscoll stepped out onto some broken steps, then climbed up to the garden path. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “I’m going to get us some food—I’m starving.”
Royal Heist Page 29
