Shadows to Ashes

by Tori de Clare

  She could have stayed in bed worrying for hours just about the prospect of going to Venice. Instead, she got up, showered, took time over getting dressed and making her bed. One day to Venice. Two days to room inspection. Time she cleaned the bathroom really. Later. First, bin. Was Solomon in, out? She never knew. She’d have knocked on his door, but she daren’t. He’d invited her to knock on his door if she was lonely. They both knew what it would mean if she ever knocked on that door.

  On the landing, she tiptoed to his room and listened. No sign of movement. She went downstairs. No trace of him there either, but he’d made his chess move. Her heart jumpstarted when she saw the board. He hadn’t sidestepped out of danger, but had counter attacked and now his queen was sitting in her defence, breathing threats.

  She closed the card room door. This morning, her focus was the bin. Nothing else. But that queen? Focus, Naomi. Chess later!

  She desperately wanted to leave a note of her own on the bin handle. She wanted to ask for a contact phone number, a chance to communicate directly. She wanted to know how many more surprises the house held and who was betraying Vincent by sharing his secrets.

  She couldn’t risk it. What if the same person wasn’t emptying bins that week? What if Vincent brought the bin up the path and found her note? No, after painstaking thought, she wouldn’t risk it. Bin person had promised more, and now it was time to see if the promise would be kept.

  She let herself out of the house and into the garage. The black Mercedes wasn’t there, but it was impossible to tell how many cars Solomon had. Blue bin, not green bin today. She wheeled it down the path and left it, handle to the road. Was she in shot of Vincent’s road camera? Who knew? She wanted to search the street for a post box, but she shouldn’t. Remember the first commandment, and no second chances. Assuming that she was being monitored even here, the best thing would be to deposit the bin, return to the house and not flag Vincent’s attention at all. So that’s what she did while all her instincts were screaming at her to look for a post box.

  She felt too anxious to eat, but she needed to be seen around the downstairs, doing ordinary things. She imagined Vincent checking on her movements every time he returned home. She’d give him no cause for concern.

  Her stomach was churning, but she put the radio on in the kitchen and forced down some toast and a cup of tea. She cleaned up, mind on the street outside. She couldn’t look for the bin men from the downstairs windows because he’d discover her watching. No, her lookout would have to be one of the front bedrooms and she wasn’t expecting the growl of the van, the yells of the men, for another hour at least. She wanted Vincent to know she’d been occupied and utterly unconcerned about the blue bin outside.

  To kill time, she went to the piano. He’d like that. She’d play him by playing it. Throw him off the scent. It was hard to be unaware of the cameras. The corners of the ceilings called to her constantly, but she resisted searching them. She didn’t know where Vincent’s spyholes were, but she couldn’t be downstairs anymore without being acutely aware that his eyes were everywhere and that she shouldn’t look for them. Did he suspect that she knew? Were her movements stiff and unnatural? Maybe she should scratch her backside, search a few more drawers, attempt to loosen her inhibitions somehow just to reassure him. It was impossible though – to un-know what she knew.

  She opened the piano lid and dug around her memory. She wasn’t in the mood for anything too taxing so she eased her way into the slow movements of a few sonatas she’d had to memorise. Then she got lost, zoned out for a while. Just her and the music. She found herself playing the theme from Chopin’s first piano concerto. How had she got here? The camera had vanished. She closed her eyes and her fingers stayed close to the keys and effortlessly glided over the runs.

  A hand touched her shoulder just briefly. The spell was broken; the music stalled. Her eyes opened.

  He walked towards the window, back to her, hands in trouser pockets. ‘Please don’t stop.’

  She managed a few more bars, but her muscles tensed and she ran into pits in her memory.

  ‘It’s gone,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were in.’

  ‘I’ve just come back. Been out all night.’

  ‘What do you do all night?’

  ‘Stuff,’ he said, like he couldn’t bear to elaborate. He turned. His stare was glazed, eyelids heavy. ‘The flight leaves Manchester for Venice at seven in the morning. Be ready to leave at 5:45. We only need to be there an hour before. We’ll touch down 10:30 their time. Then we gain the hour on the return journey. Five hours in Venice. Then the flight from Venice to Heathrow leaves at 17:25, arrives 18:35.’ He reamed off the figures as if he was reading from an autocue. ‘That gives us one hour fifteen to get to Mayfair. Ample time.’

  ‘OK.’ She’d never remember all that, but he had it in hand. Be ready 5:45. That was information enough.

  ‘Travel light. You’ll be buying whatever you’re wearing tomorrow night.’

  ‘What about the game?’

  ‘Make your move before we leave in the morning. Be ready with it and I’ll reply immediately. I’m confident that I’ve anticipated your next move. I need to sleep now.’

  ‘How can you know what I’m going to do before I’ve even thought about it?’

  ‘Because I have thought about it. I like to get inside people’s heads and think as they would.’

  This was a game. He was playing her even between moves. ‘Well, maybe I’ll surprise you.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ He half smiled. ‘Nothing turns me on more than being surprised.’

  Her palms felt clammy, but she was determined not to break eye contact.

  ‘Or you could always play safe’ he continued. ‘That works for me too. Then I get to keep you here for longer so I can listen to your playing. You know, I can almost believe in your god when I hear music like that.’

  An invasive noise sliced through the house. The roar of a diesel engine dragging a heavy load. The hiss of brakes. Rhythmic beeping.

  He was walking towards her now. He stopped very close, lowered his voice. ‘Play me to sleep,’ he said. ‘Something gentle and hypnotic. Will you?’

  The engine coughed and shifted closer. Beep, beep, beep. The van was more of a distraction than he was.

  ‘Naomi?’

  She stood up, a reflex action. ‘Yes, I’ll do it,’ she said, too abruptly, and he looked at her suspiciously. His eyes narrowed. His face was close. Too close, and she was responsible. He was watching her mouth now. ‘Those vans are so noisy. I’ll be able to concentrate on music when it’s gone.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, and paused. He was thinking. What about? Don’t try to kiss me. She didn’t want a scene, but he just had that look in his eye, like he was considering it. ‘By the way, the fridge is empty. Food is coming later.’

  ‘I could go. While you’re asleep, I mean.’

  ‘I shop online. Delivery at 5 p.m. tonight.’

  ‘Oh.’ She knew she sounded as deflated as she felt. ‘Shall I do something for dinner?’ she said, for something to say. She didn’t want a taut silence with his lips this close.

  ‘I can manage, thank you.’ A huge hiss outside. Some yelling. He was still watching her, his face a few inches away. ‘Chopin, please. Maybe Debussy if you know any?’

  She nodded, just wanted him to leave. He did. She closed her eyes. Her legs were weak. The compulsion was to collapse onto the piano stool, breathe freely then rush to the front window in the lounge. She was anxious to know who was handling the bins outside. She could hear them rattling around. But a voice in her head yelled, cameras. So she sat down carefully and wiped her face of all expression.

  She couldn’t imagine not knowing that the cameras were there. Didn’t care to calculate how it would have exposed her to him if she hadn’t known. The thought gave her goose-bumps.

  She placed her hands on the piano and tried to calm herself. The van lumbered on outside and the noise diminished. She managed twent
y minutes of gentle playing before lowering the piano lid and standing. Resisting the compulsion to run, she walked to the front door, pausing in the hall to listen to perfect silence. She let herself out of the house and walked down the path to retrieve the bin, heart thudding with anticipation. It was separate from the others. 57 was on the top in black tape. A message from the outside world, please.

  She took hold of the handle and could feel a bit of rolled up paper. Party poppers and great cheers started up in her head while she quietly turned and walked up the path. A press of the garage remote and the door was lifting. She wouldn’t stay in here. She lined up the bin with the others, ripped the message from the handle and slid it inside her pocket, then retraced her steps.

  Safely in her room, she locked the door. Now she eagerly freed the note from the tape and unrolled it with shaky hands.

  It said this: There are secret rooms. You’ll only unravel him by finding them. Vincent’s bedroom. Garage.

  Under this there was a mobile phone number with a warning: Keep your phone on silent. Delete all messages.

  Secret rooms? She knew it! Knew there had to be more to Vincent Solomon than tidy drawers and vintage dresses. She took her phone from her pocket only to find missed calls from Annabel and one from her dad. She’d been dodging direct contact with the family and now they were chasing her.

  She ignored the missed calls and went on to text messages. She added the number to her phone and tapped out:

  Got the note. Do I know you? Send.

  A short delay, then a response came back. Don’t waste time thinking about that. We’ll meet soon which will answer your question. Don’t search while Vincent is in the house, even if you think he’s sleeping. He sleeps lightly, or not at all. Wait until he’s out.

  Yeah, yeah, she knew that. Trouble was she was never sure if he was in or out. And search where? She couldn’t get in his room.

  It’s hard to tell if he’s in or out sometimes. Search where? I have no access to his bedroom. Send.

  Search the garage. The outside camera covers the garden and path and a bit of the road. Exit front door and stay close to the house and he won’t see you enter the garage. Back wall, on the left. The code is your birthday. I’m sure you could access Vincent’s bedroom anytime you wanted!

  She stared at this message with some confusion. Then replied with: I’m not going in Vincent’s bedroom. In case you didn’t know, I’m engaged. Send.

  I did know. Your choice. Monday – I’ll be watching the house. I’ll text you when Vincent goes out. Be ready to search the garage. You’ll have to take risks to beat him. Delete all messages now.

  Thoughts were flashing through her mind. The house would be empty for the weekend. Should she offer to leave her house keys somewhere accessible? Tell whoever it was that they were going away? No. No, she couldn’t. This person could be anyone. Until she knew who she was dealing with, she’d be guarded.

  No more messages came. She wiped her phone clean.

  ***

  Pumped with energy, Charlie bounced out of the gym at 9:30 in the morning. She’d done thirty minutes of sprinting on the treadmill and had then smashed her own personal best with dead lifting, which had drawn a little crowd of the big guys. They’d watched her, yelled some encouragement, burst into spontaneous applause. Not a bad start to the morning and she was seeing Reggie later.

  Vincent texted her as she climbed into her car.

  The text said, Rook to Queen 3. Now. She was ‘rook’. Queen 3 was a location. This was it, the summoning. She’d been anticipating it since she’d thrown down the gauntlet. Except she couldn’t count on Janes just yet. She’d have to keep options open until she was more certain that there was some promise of a future with Janes. It was far too soon to use those words with him. Promise. Future. He was a bloke, right? He’d probably bolt like . . . Bolt. Her biggest worry was that he’d vanish suddenly, without a word, and take all his yummy money with him. Originally Vincent’s money of course, and before that, Jimmy’s. So the money was effectively – she’d thought a lot about this in the last two days – her money, except it had never filtered down to her as it should.

  Which made her want to kill someone the more she thought about it.

  Her thumbs, shiny with peach nail varnish, tapped, Be there in ten.

  And she was. She rolled to a stop down a sombre lane, got out of the car in her trainers and padded silently through the cemetery gates. The chimney of the crematorium was billowing smoke, heavy with the particles of the dead.

  She hurried down a concrete path, a skip in her stride despite the setting, and turned right. Here, a narrow avenue was lined with two low stone walls decorated with the plaques of the cremated. Flowers clung to the walls in little clusters, some fresh, some silk, some brown and limp with age. Vincent was twenty metres in front of her, in profile, concentrating on the low wall, no intentions of acknowledging her.

  She stood by him and followed his gaze to a small square of grey granite.

  In loving memory of James Edward Solomon who fell asleep 27th March 2007. You’re all we had, Dad. We’ll miss you. Rest in peace.

  ‘Is this the best we could do for him, Charlie?’

  ‘What did we know about funerals? You were a teenager. I was in my twenties. Joel was uninvolved. We took some crap advice and ended up with this.’

  ‘Fell asleep?’ His voice was barely a whisper. ‘Odd choice of words for a guy who was murdered, naked, in prison, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Does it even matter anymore?’

  ‘I’d say it does.’

  ‘Just words, that’s all. It’s what we do that counts now.’

  ‘I agree.’ He turned to her. A few moments passed. ‘Do you ever think about death, Charlie?’

  ‘I’m thirty-four. Never been fitter or stronger. Of course I don’t think about death.’

  ‘Pity. You lead a hazardous life. You ought to consider the consequences.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The king goes down, the entire game is over, you understand me?’

  ‘I don’t think I do.’

  ‘The players sacrifice everything for the king and no one else. Who’s the king, Charlie?’

  She glared at him. ‘You are.’

  ‘Am I?’

  A pause. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You hesitated.’

  ‘I had to think.’

  ‘Since when did you have to think about who was king?’

  She raised her voice. ‘Is this because I was a few minutes late for your stupid meeting?’

  ‘Don’t screw around with me. Are you a Solomon or not? Because there is no fence. You’re in or out.’

  ‘Why did he leave everything to you? I should have got my cut. I shouldn’t have to answer to you or earn money that should already be mine.’

  Vincent dished out his coldest glare. His tone was very low. ‘Divide and conquer. Oldest trick in the book.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Janes is filling your head with magic. Wake up. The guy is dangerous.’

  ‘You just don’t like to be challenged.’

  ‘Dead right I don’t! Who’s challenging me, Charlie? You? Him?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘I hope you’re going to live to regret this conversation.’

  ‘Are you threatening me now?’

  ‘Use your head. You’re a danger to yourself, which means you are a risk to me. You don’t even know this guy.’

  ‘Says the man who’s living with Henry Hamilton’s daughter.’

  ‘Not even comparable. Tell me where Janes lives.’

  ‘What, so you can put a petrol bomb under his car? You tell me what you’re going to do if Naomi Hamilton wins that game.’

  ‘She isn’t going to win the game.’

  ‘Think what position you’re putting me in, Vincent. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked me to do, and you have Hamilton’s daughter sniffing round your house. What are you going to do
if she finds anything . . . precious?’

  ‘An impossibility.’

  Charlie squared up to him, looked him right in the eye. ‘What if she finds evidence to implicate you?’

  ‘I’ve told you, it’s impossible. When it comes to private information, I trust no one. Plus, I’m monitoring Naomi’s every move. But you, on the other hand, are out of control.’

  Charlie laughed. Shook her head. Slammed her hands on her hips. ‘You don’t control me. I have my own ideas.’

  ‘And they’re largely stupid, which is why Dad left the assets to me.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘About which part?’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Afraid not.’ He edged closer. ‘You’re wrong. I wonder who your source could be. Let’s see. I’m guessing it’s a guy you’ve known five minutes.’

  ‘He was with Dad day in, day out. They talked. Face it, he knew Dad better than we did.’

  Solomon shook his head. ‘You’re in quicksand, Charlie, and you’ll be swallowed up if you don’t watch your back. I’m not throwing a rope for you to drag me in with you. You want out, be my guest, but no one in my circle screws with me or bends the rules. You go, you’re on your own. Policy of no return. The choice is me or him.’

  ‘You agreed that I could have Janes if I kept Joel in check.’

  ‘No – I agreed we’d talk about it, which would have happened if you hadn’t pounced on him like a panther while you should have been in a meeting with me –’

  ‘How do you know –’

  ‘You might as well have walked in with a T-shirt advertising the fact. And as for Joel, I don’t know what the hell is happening with him because you’re disturbingly distracted.’

  ‘So are you.’

  He leant into her face. ‘Which is why I pay you to watch him. Thing is, I don’t answer to you, you answer to me. Joel’s your job because you convinced me you could handle him. So where is he now?’