My jaw agape, I stared at him, but he was no longer looking at me. Instead he was glaring directly at the back of Eden’s head.
“You fucking bitch!” he murmured. “You absolute fucking bitch!”
Then he dropped heavy to the wooden floorboards.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I don’t even remember clambering back into the car. I just remember the tyres screeching on the gravel and Eden racing us away from the house as fast as possible.
Neither of us said a word. In the moonlight, both of us were pale, both were shaky. When I blinked, I could see Wachtel’s thick blood pooling on the floor, seeping through the floorboards. His eyes were bulging from his head, a thick stream of red drool running from his mouth.
In my whole life I’d never seen a corpse before. My National Service had proved quite uneventful. I may have earned my crust as a stuntman, but even that seemed uneventful right now.
The back wheel of the Hillman mounting the curb as we turned a corner jarred me back into the present. Feeling limp and boneless on the passenger seat, I stared over at Eden. She was holding the steering wheel as if it was a snake she was wrestling, as if at any second it might get away from her.
There were the trails of tears on her cheeks, but her face was placid, pale and expressionless. Only her clamped lips gave it away that we weren’t just out for a pleasant night-time drive. That and her foot jammed right down on the accelerator.
It wasn’t through any design, I don’t think, but she was taking us west. Out of London. But really, she had no more idea of where we were heading than I did.
We were in a part of town I didn’t know, so there were no landmarks to cling onto. It was like driving into a void. Like Wachtel had died and we’d ended up in a hell of nothing.
She swung us around another corner, nearly smacking the rear end into a lamppost. Her face fell more into the moonlight and I saw how clenched her jaw was, that she was only just holding herself together.
The engine roared as we shot down a residential street. I couldn’t see the speedometer, but we must have been hitting about sixty miles an hour.
Even though I was shaking, even though practically the only thought in my head was to get away from Richmond and from Wachtel’s house, from his dead body, I reached across and grasped her hand on the wheel.
The very bones in her fingers felt tense.
“Eden,” I yelled. “We have to stop!”
There was an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and she kept her foot down on the accelerator. We shot between two badly double-parked cars, and the thought came that she was a natural at this. That even I would struggle to steer a speeding car so well.
I squeezed her fingers tighter, just short of prying them away from the leather of the steering wheel.
“Eden,” I said again, sterner. “We have to stop. We have to stop and work out what the hell we’re going to do!”
“No!” Her voice was tight and scared. “We have to get away!”
“Where are we going, Eden?”
For a fraction of a second I saw some of her fear make its way onto her face. Worry filled her eyes, anxiety creased right across her forehead. She was fine to be driving fast, but questions about what we did next scared the hell out of her.
My hand stayed curled around hers. “Please, we have to work out what we’re doing.”
Eden gave me a glance from the corner of her eye and eased up her foot slightly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When we finally stopped, it was thirty or so miles away at a little roadside café, under a chipped, weather-beaten sign that read “Barney’s”. It was a poky little shack of a place, but it was the first establishment of any kind which had lights on. It must have catered to night deliverymen and long-distance lorry drivers.
As we walked in, I held my arm around her waist, supportive, helping her stand. But I needed her as close to me as she needed me close to her. She was holding me up too.
Trying to disguise my shaking hands by keeping them in my pockets as long as I could, I bought us both a coffee. The wrinkled and grey old man behind the counter put two spoonfuls into each mug and didn’t bother checking whether we wanted milk. He even managed to overfill it a bit from the kettle, so there were trickles down the ceramic. I didn’t mind, though; it made it less noticeable if I spilled a little as I carried it over to her.
I’d sat Eden on a chair at a round table by the window. She was leaning her cheek against the glass now. The first thing she’d done when she finally stopped the car was get out and vomit. On wobbly legs, she buckled at the waist and puked clear whisky and the few snacks she’d had throughout the day into the gravel of the car park, only just missing her black shoes.
As carefully as I could, I placed the two mugs on the table and stared out of the window into the darkness. We’d be able to see anything going past, see anything pulling up – but surely no one would be looking for us yet.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, staring down at my mug. “I really am so bloody sorry.”
She gave her head one brief shake. “I’m the one who pushed him.”
My fingers reached across the table and entwined in hers. “I’m the one who knocked him off balance. Besides, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have even been there.”
“I could have told you no,” she said. “I know I did say no, but I could have said it harder, harsher. I could have told you that I never wanted to see you again if you went out and saw him. But I didn’t. I didn’t do that.” She shrugged. “I guess, despite all I said, I wanted someone to be a hero for me, Joe. I wanted that someone to be you.”
The tears came to her then. They came softly and quietly and almost unobtrusively. They were just thin lines of salt water on her face. She made no sound at all. But she couldn’t stop her shoulders shaking, and that gave them away. She was unnaturally silent, but still the tears were unmistakable.
I glanced nervously to my left. The man behind the counter – Barney himself, I suppose – was already staring at us (understandably, as we were probably his only customers of the night), but now he made no effort to hide it.
“What are we going to do?” she murmured. “What on earth are we going to do?”
There was a choke in my voice. “I genuinely don’t know.”
Her fingers squeezed mine tight. “I can’t lose you, Joe. I absolutely want to be with you. I want that more than anything I can possibly imagine now.”
As surreptitiously as I could, I glanced over at Barney behind the counter and wished he would bugger off elsewhere. Then, with a beat on the table with my right knuckles, I stared her firmly in the eye.
“Then we run.”
She stared at me, her eyes widening. “What?”
“His body isn’t going to be discovered for a couple of hours, I shouldn’t think. We have time on our side. We can run.”
The idea hung between us. Neither of us could remember if we’d shut the front door when we scarpered from his house. But presuming we did, then his body might not be discovered until whatever time the maid showed up. Of course, if we hadn’t shut it, then any night-time visitor could discover him at any moment. The milkman would likely stumble across him at dawn.
“Can we really?” she asked. “Can we?” She stared at me with something I’d thought I was never going to see again – a glint in her eyes that resembled hope.
“It’ll be difficult,” I said, “but I’m sure we could do it. We can both pick up some work doing something. It wouldn’t be in films, but it’d be money, we’d be together. You can speak French and Scandinavian. There are places we can go.”
“Danish.”
“Sorry?”
“I speak Danish, not Scandinavian, and will be rusty as hell now. Same as my French. But… Do you think we really could?”
All of a sudden, there was a tingle of excitement between us. The idea no longer just hung there, it bloomed.
Her fingers squeezed mine tighter. “Wh
at will you do?”
“Odd jobs, I guess. I’m a healthy bloke. I could move boxes or dig ditches if I have to. Besides, we just need enough for us to get by. I’m sure wherever I am, I can manage that.”
She nodded. “What would I do?”
I leant in a little closer. “You could have our children.”
There was a momentary flash of panic on her face. “But they’ll be born away from England. Away from Britain.”
“They’ll have us, though, Eden. They’ll have us, we’ll love them and that will be enough.”
“What about your daughter here? You can’t just leave her.”
My head ached slightly, as did my heart. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d get a message to her somehow when she was older, let her know where we were. She could come and find us.”
A genuine smile teased the corners of her mouth, and she leant in to me. So close that I could feel her breath on my lips as she answered: “Yes,” she said. “Let’s do that. Let’s just go elsewhere. Let’s be together.”
There was a cough behind us.
So unexpected was it that we both leapt back in our seats, our fingers losing each other’s.
Barney (if that’s who it was) had quietly made his way on rubber-soled shoes around the counter. Now he stood before us with an expression of benign curiosity.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “But don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Her mouth opened and shut, but her face was otherwise blank. There was no annoyance or even amusement at being recognised.
“I do, don’t I?” Barney smiled. “Now I’m up close I see it’s the case! It’s you, isn’t it? It’s really you!”
“No, I think you’ve mistaken her for someone else,” I told him.
He gazed down at me with a sympathetic smile, as if I was some kind of simpleton. “Of course it’s her! I don’t get to the pictures much these days, but I rarely miss one of this lady’s films. Now for the life of me, I can’t remember your name. What was it again?”
A momentary flash of panic passed between us across the table, but then she smiled and slipped effortlessly into her film star persona. “I’m Kim Novak,” she told him.
Barney blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”
Sitting back on her chair, Eden gave a light tinkle of a laugh. “I think I know my own name.”
“Of course you do, of course you do,” he said, his blush filling his cheeks. “But I thought you were an American, Miss Novak?”
“That’s just what the studios tell people. Americans like their film stars to be like them. Over there they tell people that Cary Grant is actually from Cincinnati.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling so full and beautifully. “I’m back over here now making a film about Lady Jane Grey. We’re doing some location shooting not far from here.”
“I can’t wait to see it!” he burbled.
She reached out her hand as if to put her fingers on his arm, but instead stroked the air just in front of him. “I like this little place. I’ll make sure a ticket is sent to this address.”
“Oh my word! That would be splendid!”
“Actually –” I leant forward. “Miss Novak is due at a party at J. Arthur Rank’s house shortly. He keeps very late parties. All these film people do. So if you’ll excuse us…”
“Absolutely.” He took a dutiful step back. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Novak.”
We left our coffees pretty much untouched and stood up together. Then Barney did something he’d probably never even imagined he could do, something I was secretly impressed he had the nerve to even try. He reached down and took her hand. As gracious as any Elizabethan suitor, he touched it to his lips and placed a dry kiss on her smooth skin.
Still a professional star, Eden simpered – charmed to her core.
“I’m very, very pleased to meet you, Miss Novak.”
“Likewise.”
“Have a safe journey now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Back outside in the darkness, on the way to the car, I stopped and grabbed her arm.
“It’s not going to work,” I told her, shaking my head. “We can’t actually go.”
She stumbled a little and leant into me. Even in the darkness I could see her eyes brimming wide. “What do you mean, Joe?”
“Let’s face facts, it’s simply not going to happen. It’s a pipe dream. You’re too bloody well known, you’re not going to be able to just disappear.”
“What?” she cried. The emotion was high in her voice, but I could tell that she already understood what I was saying. That some part of her had known all along.
“Think of all the photos that must exist of you.” I clutched her shoulders gently. “Think of all those headshots and studio stills and magazine shoots and all the rest of them. In a case like this, they’ll print your photo in every newspaper in every country in the world. Even in countries where they never released your films, they’ll still print your photo. It’s too juicy a story, isn’t it?”
She nodded once in the dark. “There has to be a way, though. It wasn’t really our fault, not really. There has to be something we can do. I want to be with you!”
“I know. And I want to be with you too, but in every country I can think of, this story will be in the news. You’ll be recognised. I’ll probably be recognised, too – I have studio photos as well. It won’t just be one old man then; you’ll have to pretend to be Kim sodding Novak to everybody you meet. And that isn’t going to work. We can’t fool them all. It’ll be everybody in the whole world talking.”
Her shoulders trembled under my hands, my fingers trembled with them. “But what on earth are we going to do? The body will be discovered soon. It’ll be in his appointment diary that I went there. What are we going to say?”
Desperately I pulled her close to me, squeezing her tight. I’d never felt so sober, I’d never felt so awake, and I hated it. The wheels in my mind spun and spun with very little purchase.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Wachtel may have been expecting you, but there’s no proof you ever showed up. Think about it. Morty didn’t even speak to you about the audition – he spoke to me! Whatever happened at Wachtel’s house tonight, I was the only one there.”
Eden leapt away from me as if scalded by boiling liquid. “What are you saying? I don’t understand.”
“I need to somehow get you an alibi.”
“What?” Her eyes were brimming not only with tears, but also with hurt and resentment. “What do you mean? How can you get me an alibi?”
“He’s not going to like it, but I think he’ll do it. I’ve got to ask.”
Confusion creased dents above her nose. “What are you talking about?”
“You can’t be anywhere near Richmond tonight, Eden. I’ve got to get you an alibi.”
“I understand how alibis work, Joe – but how can do you that? And why can’t you get us both an alibi?”
My head pounding, I tried to think it all through, tried to imagine a way I could save us both. All that gambling that went on while waiting on a film set, all those times I’d had odds explained to me as my colleagues urged me to join in. I knew how stacked against me they were right now.
“It’s your name in the book, but I actually made the phone call. Morty will tell them that. They’re going to take me in, Eden, they’re going to take me and work me over and there’s nothing I can do to stop that. No one saw me there, though; there are no witnesses. It was an accident and surely it looks like an accident.”
“No!” she wept. “You can’t do this!”
“I have to,” I told her. “Because if we both went out to Richmond then it looks like we planned it and it’s both of us marching up the gallows steps. It’s both our necks. Please, Eden, I can do this. I can save you. With a bit of luck they won’t be able to pin much on me at all and I can save us both.”
There was a second when she just star
ed at me, disbelieving what she was hearing, then she clutched her arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. “You’re a fucking idiot, Joe!” she whispered. “An incorrigible fucking idiot!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luca pulled back the door of Glitters and then, without breaking stride or losing the calmness of his facial expression, punched me hard in the stomach. His full body weight leant into me and I dropped to the floor.
Even though I’d warned her that our reception might be frosty, Eden couldn’t help herself – she shrieked. Yelled out in shock and fear, until the merest glance from Luca’s hard, cold eyes told her that it’d be in everyone’s best interests to be quiet now. She clamped her shaking hands over her mouth.
Certainly I did nothing to calm her. I was on the floor heaving for oxygen and staring at the gleaming patterned leather of Luca’s shoes – wondering whether he’d change them before he kicked me in the face, or if he had lots of pairs.
Maybe it wasn’t going to be feet he used, though. He was stood over me now with his fists tight and a snarl firmly in place. Like he was pure violence made flesh and nothing would make him happier than caving my skull in with his knuckles.
“What did I say to you?” he barked.
I was still panting too much to be able to answer.
“What did I say to you, boy? I specifically told you that you were not to come near me, didn’t I? And yet here you are! Here you are actually walking up to my front door and having the temerity to knock on it! You’re proving one thing to me, aren’t you? You really don’t listen to a word I say.” He crouched down towards me. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you now, Joe? Give me one honest reason.”
“Please,” I croaked.
“‘Please’ isn’t a reason! It’s the pathetic whimpering of a man who hasn’t learnt his fucking lesson. Of a man who isn’t smart enough to fucking listen.”
I coughed once and tried again. “Please. It’s not for me, it’s for her. Luca, this is Eden St. Michel.”
Eden St. Michel Page 14
