by Frank Lean
It seemed churlish to keep my hand behind my back. I was in his house after all.
‘If you sup with the Devil you need a long spoon, eh?’ he joked, punching my arm playfully. ‘Cautious man!’ Carlyle’s grip was surprisingly firm. I wondered just how soon he would turn over the reins to Charlie and Marti. They might be in for a long wait. He looked full of vitality, set for a telegram from the Queen.
‘You know that film? The Godfather? I’ve cursed it many a time, but there’s just one true thing in it. In my world you never know where your enemy is coming from. The guy that smiles and says he’s your friend, he’s the one you’ve got to look out for. That’s why I like you. You scowl at me when you shake hands.’
‘So it’s just a coincidence, you being a Colonna?’
‘Hell! There’s a guy here tonight called Capone,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Now Scarface Al wasn’t a fictional creation. Do you think I should check this possible relative out for a tommy-gun?’
The way he put it, my suspicions seemed crazy. Still, these things are sent to warn us, as my granny used to say. I tried to stop scowling.
‘Your grandfather went into the ice-cream business, did he?’
‘So what?’
‘Mine was a copper.’
‘How did I guess that?’ he asked with a smile. ‘For us it was ice cream, barrel organs or working in the mill. We’ve come a long way, and it hasn’t been easy in this country. My own dear uncle was killed by the British government, murdered really.’
‘That was Antonio, was it?’
Carlyle looked at me with narrowed eyes.
‘Been doing some research, have you?’
‘A little,’ I agreed.
‘So you know that my uncle and my father were interned during the last war. Marched off at a moment’s notice, they were, leaving me and my mother with not a penny between us. They weren’t dragged off to a death camp, I’ll admit, but don’t let anyone tell you that it was only the Germans who rounded up innocent people in the dead of night. Yes, a great big fat Irish copper came and banged at our door at four a.m.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ I said.
Carlyle looked at me with an expression of burning anger in his face. He waited for me to contradict him again and when I didn’t he gave a satisfied little nod and went on.
‘Uncle Antonio was unlucky. He and Dad were sent to be interned in Canada on board the Arandora Star. It was sunk by the Germans in the Atlantic and Antonio was among those who drowned. More than six hundred lives were lost out of fifteen hundred on board. Don’t hear much about that these days, do you? Do you think they let my dad go home when they pulled him from the sea half choked to death with oil? No, not they! They shipped him back to the Isle of Man and kept him there till the end of the war, which was almost two years after Italy had surrendered. Nice way to treat people who’d only ever worked their guts out trying to earn an honest living, wasn’t it?’
I shook my head. Carlyle seemed intent on his story. His face coloured with remembered fury. I think he forgot it was me and not Winston Churchill that he was talking to. He radiated a sense of grievance.
‘And another thing! You won’t believe this! I got my call-up papers in 1944. Yes, I was required by His Majesty to leave my mother on her own with spiteful neighbours howling for bombs to be poured down on Italy and go off to defend the people who had my father under lock and key. That was fair, wasn’t it?’
I shook my head, frightened to say anything in case his fury against Anglo-Saxon and Irish bullies got the better of him.
‘When they finally let him and the other very dangerous Italian ice-cream sellers go, my dad got sick of listening to planks telling jokes about the reverse gears on Italian tanks and he changed our name. Don’t you think he earned that right?’
‘I’m sure he did, but that’s not the whole story, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You didn’t get to where you are now on the proceeds of ice cream.’
‘Nice to see that your father’s still as garrulous as ever. I suppose he told you that I made my money from crime?’
I shrugged.
‘I made my money with what I’ve got up here,’ he said, proudly tapping his forehead and smiling.
‘There was something else though, wasn’t there? Vince King knows something, or why else was he able to make you rescue Marti from that hell hole she was in?’ I was watching him closely and his expression changed from geniality to something far more predatory. His eyes were focused on the mainframe computer, not on me. I looked at it with greater interest.
It was an ICL 2966, which meant nothing to me. It consisted of four large separate cabinets, each about six foot high and three foot wide. They were an ugly orange colour. Behind those cabinets were two further cabinets, one with a tape machine and one with a disk drive. All the cabinets stood on a raised dais, and thick cabling ran from under this to a conduit and fuse box on the wall. This was no souvenir. It was fully functional.
‘Nothing will stop you shoving your nose where it’s not wanted, will it?’ he said bitterly. ‘What’s your father told you about me and King?’
‘My father’s told me nothing. You see, I broke with the family tradition. I’m not a policeman and he’s not at liberty to tell me what he thinks.’
Carlyle laughed at this. There was nothing genial about his laugh this time.
‘That’s very lucky for you both then. See that you remain in ignorance,’ he said, leading me to the door.
45
I WAS HARDLY out of Brandon’s fortified den before Marti linked her arm into mine. This time Janine was not around to make it a threesome.
‘Caught you!’ she said triumphantly.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, unlinking my arm firmly.
‘I see. It’s like that, is it? I thought with you accepting the invitation . . .’
‘That I was ready for a little more recreational sex? And don’t give me that guff about you only ever having made love to Charlie boy.’
‘All bitter and twisted, aren’t you?’ she asked with a wide smile. ‘I only came looking for you to make sure you don’t miss Charlie’s fireworks. There aren’t any windows in Brandon’s room, and by the way, do you realise how highly honoured you are?’
‘No.’
‘Brandon never lets any of the family in that room.’
‘Great.’
‘Come on, Dave. We weren’t so bad together, were we?’
‘No, not so bad. I just love being used, and while we’re at it, was it your idea to send that van to kill me after our night of passion?’
‘Don’t be disgusting. You’ve got a nasty puritanical streak in you, Dave Cunane. To hear you talk anyone would think I forced myself on you, and as for wanting to kill you, the fact that I’ve invited you here shows that that’s rubbish.’
‘Does it? If I’ve learned one thing it’s that normal rules don’t apply when you’re around. I ought to send you a bill for damages. Working for you almost proved to be the most expensive mistake I’ve ever made.’
‘Has the dragon-lady been stamping her tiny foot then? Is that what this phoney rage is all about?’
‘Leave Janine alone . . .’
‘No, why don’t you? Anyone can see she’s got her claws into you. You don’t need her . . .’
‘I’ll decide that.’
With Marti nothing was ever predictable. She turned and blocked my path out of the narrow corridor and then, focusing those green eyes of hers on me, she draped her arms round me. I struggled to avoid a response . . .
‘You still fancy me, don’t you?’ she said.
‘Who’s forcing herself on someone now?’
‘You want me, Dave. I can tell. I could see it in your face as soon as you laid eyes on me. Janine’s a cold fish. She doesn’t need you or any man.’
‘You would know, would you?’ I asked scornfully.
‘I know her sort. She only wants you around as a co
nvenience. She’ll never let you go now she’s got you where she wants you.’
‘Funny, Janine said something very similar about you never leaving Charlie and it looks like she was right.’
‘You’re a fool, aren’t you? But I’m not. I’m supposed to leave Charlie, am I? And give up a fortune running into hundreds of millions, a fortune that I’ve as much right to as any of Brandon’s children, if not more.’
‘So what is it, Marti? Money or love?’
‘Grow up, Dave, you sound like Barbara Cartland. If we play our cards right for a few more months we can have both. You’ve done well so far, dropping all that stuff about getting Dad out of prison. That made Brandon nervous, but he really likes you, and do you know why? Most of the people he meets try to flatter him. Even his own sons and daughters, they lay it on with a trowel, but you just say what you think. He likes that.’
‘I take it that all this recent affection for your in-laws is purely temporary then?’
She tossed her head back and gave that laugh of hers. The echo had hardly died away before Charlie put his head round the door leading from the main reception area.
‘What are you doing in here, you little shit?’ he shouted at me. Then like a big stupid animal he stared at Marti and took in the situation. She had her arm linked into mine again and was making no move to unclinch. ‘You, you bitch!’ he roared at her. ‘Up to your old tricks, are you?’
Without another word he charged at us.
‘Charlie!’ a high-pitched voice shrieked from behind me. It was the old man.
Fortunately Charlie’s rage disabled him. He swung a blow at me and I ducked, pulling Marti down with me.
‘Will you let me go!’ I shouted at her. Charlie came close and attempted to wrestle me to the floor. I fended him off. It was like something out of a primary school playground. I’d had enough. I pushed Marti at him and she slowed his progress. He wrapped his arm round her and attempted to throw her in the direction of Brandon. Marti was laughing wildly. She landed on her behind in front of the old man.
‘Charlie! Charlie!’ Brandon yelled. ‘Stop it! It’s not what you think. I saw the whole thing.’
Charlie was well past reasoning with. He hurled himself at me. Part of his aggression must have been fuelled by drink, because although willing to strangle me, he wasn’t capable. I sidestepped and left my foot in his path. He went down like a forest giant. On the way his head slammed into the wall. He hit the carpeted floor, bounced, and then rolled over, groaning and clutching his head. His suit was split up the back.
My heart was in my mouth. This was just what I needed . . . an assault charge with the Chief Constable of Cheshire on the premises and half the local press outside with their ears burning for a juicy story. I may have groaned a little myself.
‘It looks like Charlie’s had his fireworks display for this year!’ Marti said, laughing as she hauled herself to her feet and leaning on her father-in-law. For all the cover the clothes she was wearing gave her she might as well have been stark naked. I looked at her in dismay. She smiled, licked her lips and then turned to Brandon. ‘Got the old Candid Camera tapes running, have you?’ she asked. He gently pushed her away, shook his head and went to his son, who was now attempting to sit up, cradling his head and mouthing a stream of curses.
‘Shut up, Charlie!’ he ordered in a voice as cold and cutting as a March gale. ‘Is this what I sent you to Ampleforth for?’ The sharp tone must have got through because Charlie stopped his whimpering for a moment and looked up at his father. His eyes were glazed over.
‘Mr Cunane, David,’ Brandon continued. ‘Please accept my apologies. You’ve behaved like a gentleman which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for my expensively educated son.’
I had the presence of mind to nod my head. Brandon seemed to have a dimmer view of his son than I had. Usually when some maladroit hits the deck as a result of my ministrations I’m immediately surrounded by a chorus of his relatives baying for blood and compensation. Brandon’s attitude made a refreshing change, but I didn’t intend to linger and outstay my welcome. I turned to go.
‘Stay a moment and help me,’ Brandon pleaded in a soft voice. I turned. Brandon cut a dignified figure in his dark Savile Row suit, as he indicated his son with an economical gesture. He seemed to be suggesting that the mess on the floor, Charlie, was an affliction of nature. I felt sympathetic. Brandon looked fragile, not exactly King Lear naked on the stormy heath as Clyde Harrow would have put it, but definitely in need of assistance. ‘I don’t want his brothers to see him like this. God knows, there’s already enough spite flying round in this family to fuel a Balkan War without them seeing him like this, fool that he is.’
He sighed.
‘You, woman, help him,’ he said, turning to Marti as I obediently grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. She suppressed a snigger and gave me a hand in getting her half-stunned husband to his feet. Between us we dragged and carried him into Brandon’s bedroom, which was next to his computer room but lacked the elaborate electronic locks that secured that place. Charlie moaned again when we dropped him on the bed.
‘You’ll live,’ Marti said unsympathetically. She wrapped ice from a small fridge in a towel and dumped it on Charlie’s head. He winced. ‘He’s not damaged,’ she said to Brandon. ‘His skull’s far too thick for that.’
‘You see what I have to put up with,’ Brandon said to me in a low voice. ‘What’s going to become of this family when I’m out of the picture? I wish I’d met your mother before your father did,’ he confided, patting my arm.
‘What!’ Marti said with a barely suppressed shriek of her mad laughter. ‘You wish Dave was your son?’
Brandon gave an expressive sigh and held his arms up in a gesture of dismay. ‘God knows,’ he muttered, ‘he couldn’t be any worse than the collection I’ve got.’
Marti gave me a knowing look. I hurriedly let myself out of the room before Brandon renewed his offer to alter my paternity.
46
‘WHERE HAVE YOU been?’ Janine gasped when I rejoined the main party. My suit was slightly disarrayed. ‘You’ve been having it off with that tramp, haven’t you?’ she demanded. ‘I saw her sneaking out after the old man took you away.’ The throng of Carlyles had dispersed and she was sitting on the arm of a sofa with an indefinable expression on her face.
‘You could say that,’ I said with a laugh, straightening my collar and smoothing my hair back. Looking round the room I was having trouble adjusting to how normal the scene was. ‘I’ve certainly just bedded someone, but it was Charlie Carlyle, not Marti.’
‘Dave!’
‘He came looking for trouble but he got a bit more than he bargained for,’ I said smugly. Stupidly enough, I was feeling quite satisfied with myself.
‘Had we better get out before they come for us?’ she asked, looking round the room as if the Piledrivers were suddenly about to converge on us.
‘It’s all right, Brandon saw the whole thing and he blames Charlie,’ I told her.
‘And I suppose that hooker had nothing to do with it?’
‘What hooker?’
‘You know who I mean.’
‘Marti was there,’ I admitted, ‘but there was nothing going on. Ask the old man if you want.’
Janine looked distracted, as if she was trying to work something out. ‘Do you think he’d give me an interview?’ she asked eventually. ‘I could do an extended profile on him.’
‘He might if I ask. He looks on me as a son.’
‘Don’t be funny, Dave!’ she said hotly.
I laughed.
We circulated among the other guests for the next hour. I looked round for Insull Perriss but there was no sign of him. True to my craft for once, I didn’t ask after him. It was moderately interesting to watch Janine ply her trade. She backed a Swedish footballer, a central defender, and his pregnant girlfriend up against a wall. He was possibly the most famous Scandinavian to hit these parts since they named the ford at Knu
tsford after Knut but the girl was just a local hopeful. Janine cajoled and coaxed details of their love life out of them using methods that would have turned my father’s hair white if they’d crossed his mind back in the days of Judges’ Rules. Apart from giving other guests the third degree as opportunity offered, there was little to do. I was depressingly sober. We both sampled the lucky prize draws that were on offer but neither of us won. The next person to try it after me plucked out a Rolex.
‘I hope that’s not bent,’ I said sarcastically as the guest, a TV producer I recognised from the company box at Old Trafford, enthusiastically ripped the paper off his gift. He grimaced and then carefully put the watch away in an inside pocket.
‘Jazz in the gym or pop in the pool?’ I said to Janine.
‘Let’s stay here,’ she said.
We’d worked our way through the big reception hall and into a large room which opened onto the fields at the back of the house when Janine suddenly gave a little shriek of fright.
‘Dave! Look who’s over there,’ she said urgently.
‘Who?’ I asked, looking at the tall, seemingly gormless individual she was indicating.
‘It’s him . . . it’s Henry!’
I looked again. Henry Talbot was half turned away from us talking to a short, middle-aged woman with very flabby upper arms and a low-cut blue evening dress. He had a shock of greying dark hair hanging over his forehead, a scrawny neck with a prominent Adam’s apple and a long, thin nose like the prow of a ship, but his most striking feature was his lips. They were full and pendulous and gave his face an ugly cast. I could see no resemblance between him and either Jenny or Lloyd. Stooping over the plump lady to catch her remarks above the din of conversation, he resembled a vulture.
‘Let’s go,’ Janine whispered, but, in the mysterious way that a shout doesn’t attract attention in a crowded room while a whisper does, Henry heard her. He turned and gave a gesture of recognition. At the same time uniformed caterers came to summon us to the buffet.
‘He’s seen us,’ Janine moaned.
‘Do you want me to go?’ I asked.
