She didn’t want to offload, at least not to a man who was still whistling and caring for his cars and talking about golf at a time of crisis. A man who couldn’t see that Naomi getting engaged to a man she’d known for weeks required a husband/wife emergency conference followed by strategy to bring the girl to her senses and kick the imposter out of the family before he took root. If that wasn’t enough, there was Annabel. Camilla sighed loudly, knowing no one would hear her.
Whenever she thought of Annabel, she was filled with a gnawing emptiness that stole her appetite and made her feel nauseous. It only lifted when she distracted herself with other things and closed the door on Annabel, which she managed only in small chunks every day. She’d tried to call her, three times. Three times she’d got a pre-recorded message in Annabel’s friendliest voice, inviting her to leave a message, promising to return the call. So she’d left three messages, asking Annabel to reply. Each one had been ignored.
Her life couldn’t have crumbled more sensationally or in a shorter space of time. Naomi was bound to defend her position by standing by Nathan, so why call her? Annabel’s refusal even to talk to her had been enough to put her off ringing Naomi. Naomi’s situation could never be win-win. There was no solution or compromise. It was this simple: to Camilla, Nathan was dangerous. She wanted the relationship to end. Naomi would never see it, especially if Camilla was blunt. The best option was to say nothing, do nothing, the least natural response of all.
All Camilla could feel whenever she thought of . . . him, was raw anger that fired her to the point where she was constantly on the verge of ripping into Henry for doing nothing more than grinning at her. He was affecting her marriage, not least because he’d wormed his way into Henry’s good books. The only way Camilla could hold back her rage was by putting on a jumbled assortment of hideous clothes and escaping to the garden where the trees seemed to have more sense and compassion than Henry, and where she could violently channel her energy into stabbing and raking and digging.
Having done all of the above for a couple of hours, and finding herself too warm despite a chilly day, Camilla was feeling calmer and was feeding the chickens and checking for fresh eggs. A car eased down the driveway and had her craning her neck to see who was daring to visit.
As far as she knew, they weren’t expecting anyone. If Henry had invited anyone without telling her . . . Camilla’s face was set hard against a medium-strength breeze that carried the kind of drizzle that coated everything in a damp film. Her hair must be awful. She became aware of her ugly cardigan, her grubby nails and her green wellies caked in filth. A silver car slipped past the big oak with the tree-house, and past her row of neatly trimmed laurel bushes. All her suppressed feelings resurfaced when she realised it was him with Naomi.
From a distance, she watched as they got out of the car, spotted her, waved – or at least he did – and sauntered arm in arm to the front door. Henry had already opened the door. He hugged Naomi, shook Nathan’s hand and beckoned for Camilla to join them as if the prodigal son had returned and the fatted calf needed slaughtering. They disappeared inside the house and closed the door, leaving Camilla to imagine what was going on inside.
For the first time in a long time, Camilla had an urge to turn her back on her life and run. Without even an outline of a plan, she had an impulse to throw down her gardening gloves, turn her back on the house and the people in it and wander irresponsibly through the front gate.
Even as the idea was taking shape and Camilla was imagining herself standing at the bus stop a couple of hundred metres away and using the few coins that had been jangling around in her pocket all afternoon, she was heading for the wet room at the back of the house. She’d take a rare shower in there and delay having to face Nathan Stone.
The hot shower did nothing to clear her head or arrange the thoughts inside it. Camilla towelled herself almost dry, put on a bath robe, slipped quietly to her room via the back staircase, and dressed in grey trousers and a cream blouse with black buttons. She combed her hair, stepped into some low-heeled shoes and walked carefully down the stairs, trying to soften her expression.
Two minutes later, Camilla found herself alone in Naomi’s piano room with Nathan Stone. Had she agreed to speak to him privately? It was more a case of being so stunned by his request, she couldn’t find an objection. From there he’d taken her silence as agreement and ushered her out of the room. And here she was with him now, cross with Henry for allowing it.
When he turned and looked at her and said nothing, Camilla said, ‘I’m certain I have nothing to say to you.’
‘I understand,’ Nathan said, at a distance.
‘Do you?’ Camilla said, without conviction.
Nathan wandered over to the window and looked over the garden. Eventually he turned to face her from the other side of the room. ‘I only want to apologise,’ he said.
‘Again?’ Camilla stood tall and refused to drop her gaze. ‘You apologised last Sunday when you brought flowers and collected Naomi. It doesn’t change a thing.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Nathan said. ‘I’d just like a chance to make my position clear. OK?’
Camilla said nothing, so Nathan went on.
‘I know it seems like we’re rushing into a very serious part of life without –’
‘We? Did you propose to each other simultaneously, or did one propose to the other?’
Nathan offered a tight smile. ‘I proposed to Naomi. Look, I can see things from your point of view. If Naomi was my daughter, I’d be worried too.’
Camilla glared at him. ‘Do you have any children?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then don’t tell me you understand my point of view.’
‘Fair enough.’ Nathan paused. ‘Can I explain my viewpoint then? I’d really like things to be better between us.’ He took a few steps forward.
Camilla didn’t budge. She was aware of her breathing and was consciously taking in controlled amounts of air. ‘I’ve heard all about your reasons. Henry’s told me this week several times. It makes less sense to me each time.’
For the first time, Nathan looked puzzled. ‘Why’s that? Can’t you see that I’m just trying to respect Naomi and wait until after we’re married –’
‘What I’m having trouble with, Nathaniel,’ Camilla jumped in, voice sharp, ‘is that you seem not to understand the meaning of respect. You would have respected her far more by not asking her to marry you at all. Put a different way, you could have accepted her decision to wait until marriage, without proposing. Her decision to wait doesn’t mean you have to marry her. It doesn’t mean you’re right for her either.’
‘It doesn’t mean I’m not. I love Naomi.’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘I’ve been brought up to believe that love is the most important thing.’
‘Really? And somehow you gleaned this wonderful lesson from a mother you don’t speak to and who ignores your brother and who knows nothing about your relationship with my daughter?’
Nathan drew a few deep breaths. ‘That’s very personal,’ he said, fighting to keep calm.
‘It’s all I can conclude from the things I’ve been told.’
‘Actually,’ Nathan replied, ‘I have talked to my mum about Naomi and about our engagement. I’ve kept it from Naomi because I don’t want to upset her. My mum’s response wasn’t good.’ He paused to sigh. ‘Like I said, the relationship between me and my parents is strained and it causes me a lot of distress. I’m sorry if that spills out defensively sometimes like it did at the party. Basically, they don’t want to be involved in the wedding.’
Camilla dropped her head. ‘Well, that isn’t an option, I’m afraid.’
Silence. Camilla glanced up. Nathan’s eyebrows had sunk. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If their son is planning marriage, they’re already involved. Naomi will be their daughter-in-law. I need to contact your mother and speak to her.’
‘She won’t want
to speak to you.’
‘Let me worry about that.’ Camilla marched over to a small lamp table with a single drawer at the top and withdrew an A5 sized sheet of paper and a new pencil. ‘Can you write down her phone number please?’
‘That’s not a good idea.’ Nathan paced forward a couple of steps but made no attempt to take the paper and pencil. ‘Look, I want to make things right with them and I want them to meet Naomi, but they need some time. How about e-mailing her?’
‘For something this important?’ Camilla asked. ‘No. An e-mail is not appropriate.’
‘Well how about I give you the address and you can write to her? My mum needs time to digest things.’
‘So do I, but no one considers that.’ Camilla sunk into thought while Nathan stood motionless. ‘Fine. I’ll write to your mother. In the meantime, I won’t let your relationship with Naomi come between mine with her.’
Nathan took the pencil and paper, finally. ‘That’s good. She hates being distanced from you. It’d be great for you two to understand each other better.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘Honestly, I wasn’t trying to.’ Nathan began scribbling while Camilla waited in silence. She glared at the crown of his head and had an unhelpful urge to whack him with the nearest lamp. He handed her an address with a smile. Camilla studied it so she didn’t have to look at him. ‘Thanks for listening to me,’ he continued in a polite tone. ‘I was hoping we could make a fresh start.’
Camilla looked up and glared. ‘Whereas I’ve been hoping for a clean break.’
Nathan’s smile faded, but he held his tongue. ‘What can I do to prove to you that I only want the best for Naomi?’
Camilla didn’t hesitate. ‘Walk away.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that.’
She eyed him icily, willing him to read all the things she’d thought, but hadn’t said. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of too.’
23
CAPTIVITY
For a few days Naomi had been in a daze and Dan had continued to keep her alive by patiently feeding her, bringing her drinks, insisting she go to bed even if sleep was hard to find, keeping her separate from a world that believed she’d left it.
The truth and reality of her new life was impossible to ignore or accept. For three days, the news told some part of the fairytale turned tragedy. She learned how, after a week alone with Nathan in the beautiful deserted beach villa they’d chosen and booked together, they’d got on a cruise ship. This had always been the plan. Cruise ships sail at night. Passengers awake to a new adventure every day.
Nathan, interviewed shortly after the ‘accident’ had spoken between sobs about how, on the late evening of the first night, Naomi had felt lightheaded and unwell and had left the bar area and gone to the deck for air. The couple they’d been speaking to in the bar had been interviewed and had told the same tale, how Naomi had sat beside Nathan, head low, shades to cover her eyes, pale and subdued. The man had suggested she might have sunstroke or food poisoning. Naomi had stood and said air was all she needed. Nathan had offered to follow. She’d refused and told him she wouldn’t be long.
One of the eyewitnesses, a woman with a French accent, told how she’d seen a young woman leaning against the back end of the ship, alone, long dark hair lifted by a gentle wind. She was wearing a distinctive yellow dress, she remembered, that tied in a knot behind her neck with two silky ribbons that hung down her bare back. The girl had stepped out of her high-heeled sandals which were abandoned on the deck.
A different woman in a polka dot top told how she’d been in her cabin and had heard a scream around eleven-thirty at night. She went out onto the deck and discovered a pair of strappy black sandals. She’d been unable to find out who they belonged to, until Nathan, frantically looking for Naomi, had found the woman holding Naomi’s shoes. He’d scanned every inch of the ship and couldn’t find her. By the time the captain was informed, there was no way of knowing what time she’d disappeared. It was only clear she was no longer there.
After three days of following the story and the desperate attempts to search for her, and watching Nathan’s Oscar-winning performances as he climbed aboard boats and helicopters to accompany the rescue party, the journalist covering the story announced, sadly, that Naomi was presumed dead and that there was little hope of ever finding the body. Naomi, a poor swimmer, was afraid of deep water, she’d reported. Naomi could only imagine how her family was feeling having to listen to it all.
The last report showed a different reporter standing outside the Royal Northern near the start of the new term. Naomi Stone, she’d said, should have been starting here as a second year student. The words ‘live from Manchester’ were at the top left of the screen. The camera had shifted to the left. Siobhan was standing with the reporter in her favourite blue jumper, her big hair draped over her head and shoulders like a small animal taking a nap. She wept helplessly throughout the interview and could only repeat over and over that Naomi was the best friend she’d ever had. That was the final report before the story rested. Since then, Naomi had become withdrawn. She was sitting on the sofa studying the knots in the wood of the floor when Dan came in from the kitchen carrying a glass of juice.
‘We have to talk,’ he said in a gentle tone, setting the juice down in front of her.
Naomi’s eyes moved to the blank TV screen which reflected the room. ‘What about?’
‘The thing we’ve been avoiding. Lorie is coming tomorrow and we need a watertight plan. Where you’ll go, what you’ll do, how you’ll know when to come back. Maybe I should get you a mobile phone. You’ll have to leave the house while she’s here. And you can’t be seen. Agreed?’ When Naomi didn’t reply, Dan added, ‘I’m sorry to have to talk about this when you’re feeling so bad.’
Naomi sat up straight. ‘I haven’t been avoiding it.’
‘What?’
‘Nathan and Lorie. I’ve thought of nothing else since I found out.’
Dan looked puzzled. ‘And?’
‘It’s time they faced up.’
‘Naomi, I agree, but think about this. Nathan will say you faked the death together for insurance money. No one can prove Lorie was involved, at least not quickly. There’s no proof of the gang’s involvement because no one’s been hurt. All the police will know is that you’re alive when you’re supposed to be dead. And if certain people get hold of that information, all hell could break loose. I’ve thought about this endlessly and there’s no solution that doesn’t carry horrible risks.’
Naomi looked at Dan. He looked at her. ‘So let’s take a risk. When she comes here, we fasten her up and call the police.’
Dan’s face tightened. ‘And say what? Even if she’s arrested, she’ll be allowed to make at least one call. One call is all she needs to set a ball rolling that won’t stop until you’re back in that grave and me with you.’
Naomi dropped her head. ‘The two people I most trusted . . . ’
‘Are in fact psychopaths,’ Dan finished. He squeezed her hand then withdrew.
‘Don’t let her come here then. We need more thinking time.’
Dan’s voice was patient, soft. ‘It’s not as simple as that. If I put her off it looks like I’ve got something to hide. And she’ll come anyway.’
‘I don’t want to see her, Dan.’
‘I’ll make sure you don’t.’
Naomi shook her head. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, who was the guy at the cemetery?’
Dan put his thumb nail between his teeth. ‘I didn’t even know his name. He was a professional hit man. Someone Vincent Solomon knew. Nathan paid him to find a fool-proof way to dispose of you and make sure you were dead. Apparently a freshly dug grave in a cemetery was the ideal place. He’s done it before. An old guy was buried the day before the wedding. The grave was full, would never need to be opened again. Don’t ask me how they find out all this stuff.’
Naomi shivered. ‘If he was a professional, why did it fail?’
/> Dan sighed. ‘Because Nathan made a big mistake – telling the guy that I’d pull the trigger. I distracted him, told him to check we were alone then fired two shots into the soil. The gun kicked back so hard, it hit your head. It took me by surprise. I’ve never handled one before. Anyway, I covered you in blood and pretended to wretch. He was too busy ogling your body to bother checking your head.’
‘How sick is that?’
‘Tell me about it.’
Naomi swallowed. ‘Whose blood?’
Dan sighed. ‘Mine. I had it in a blood bag ready to spill. The drug I gave you slowed your pulse so it would be hard to detect if he checked. He didn’t. Some pro.’
‘I can’t believe you did all that for me.’
‘I was so scared of him not leaving. He wanted to . . . touch you, even after he thought you were dead. He was an animal. I had to threaten him with the gun. I kept telling him to take the rings, that I’d finish the job. I’d buried you up to the neck before he left. Then I had to pull you out, leave a neat job and carry you to the car. Getting you through the railings took ages. He got the rings back to Nathan quickly, for Lorie.’
Naomi dropped her head. ‘Why didn’t they just get married and leave me out of it?’
‘You know why. Money. Greed. Nathan was in a financial mess and involved with a dangerous bunch who owned him, big time. Lorie provided the answer. They constructed a plan that made them look good to the gang, gave them some credibility. To each other, it was an elaborate game. Their secret. They fed off each other. I love Nathe, but he’s sick. He’s incapable of feeling guilt or remorse.’ Dan shook his head. ‘My poor mum has no idea what he’s capable of or who he’s been involved with. She thinks he’s wonderful, that we share a nice little flat together and watch TV in the evenings. Her and my dad pay the rent.’
‘I thought he shared with Guy.’
‘He’s a compulsive liar.’
‘Couldn’t you have talked some sense into him?’
‘Don’t you think I tried?’ Dan asked, remaining patient. ‘For months, all I knew was that he’d marry you then divorce you after a short time and make money. I never knew the plan was to kill you until . . .’
Either Side of Midnight (The Midnight Saga Book 1) Page 28
