by Sam Blake
‘It’s not your friend Sergei then?’
Edward paled a shade and looked surprised. ‘Sergei?’
‘You know who I mean, Edward – let’s not play games here. I know a lot about you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, it’s very important to me that I know who I’m doing business with. It’s purely due diligence.’
‘You want to sell the painting?’ There was a hard edge to Croxley’s voice.
‘Of course, and I’m very pleased you’ve found a buyer. But I have some other issues that I need looked at too, issues that I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with.’
‘More paintings?’
‘Well, yes, my husband has decided to put more of the collection up for sale. He’d like you to go to Dublin to see them on Saturday. He’ll be at home then.’
‘Oh.’ Surprised, it took Croxley a minute to take this in. ‘Similar paintings?’
Vittoria nodded. ‘A mixture, really. We seem to have quite a few old masters. It’s an eclectic mix. I can send you pictures of them.’
‘Great, that sounds good. I’m free on Saturday.’
‘I’ll organise your flights and hotel, and obviously I’ll pay you an additional fee. I’d rather our initial transaction wasn’t mentioned, so I was thinking, perhaps, a thousand pounds for your day would help? Would that be sufficient? Cash obviously.’
‘That sounds very acceptable.’
‘Perfezionare.’ Vittoria leaned forward and put her glass down. As she did so, her gold charm bracelet slid down her arm, three dull gold charms clattering on the table. His attention drawn by the sound, Croxley looked at the bracelet and his face froze. Vittoria withdrew her hand and pulled the bracelet from the sleeve of her jacket so the charms were clearly visible.
‘That’s an interesting bracelet …’
‘Thank you, isn’t it?’ Vittoria looked at it deliberately and smiled at him. ‘But now, Edward, tell me about Arabella Smyth and how the poor girl came to drown at her best friend’s twenty-first birthday party. That was very unfortunate. Her poor parents. It must have been a comfort for them to have you so close to her when it happened …’
Chapter 32
MARCUS GLANCED BACK up the stairs as he opened the front door. Stephanie had gone to sleep after he’d taken up her tea and croissant. She’d been tossing and turning all night. He had too, pretending he was asleep whenever she turned over. Jet lag was really hitting him this time, but his head had been churning all night, looking for solutions, wondering how on earth all this had happened.
It was warm and sunny outside, the morning rush hour replaced with a steady flow of traffic along the broad road. He waited for a gap and crossed to the coffee shop. He needed to make a phone call where there was no danger of him being overheard, and he was sure the patisserie would have something for lunch to save Steph cooking before he went to the airport. She adored cooking, was always grinding things up and creating new blends of spices, but he was quite sure that this morning she wouldn’t be in the mood. With a bit of luck, they might have a few more almond croissants left as well.
With all this going on, Steph needed cheering up.
She was being very understanding about this Bellissima bitch, but, let’s face it, he was cheating on his wife with her – it wouldn’t be outside the bounds of possibility that he’d had a fling with Bellissima as well. He could hardly tell Steph that he’d got in a mess a few times before when he’d been trying to keep multiple relationships going, had learned his lesson then and sworn never to repeat it.
Pausing outside the shop, Marcus leaned on the Victorian railings that separated the front garden of the house next door from the pavement. He glanced over at Stephanie’s house – the curtains were still pulled upstairs on the big bow window of her bedroom.
He pulled out his mobile. He’d been expecting to leave a message so was surprised when it was answered.
‘Marcus, how are you doing?’ Aidan’s voice was raised slightly, as if he was somewhere noisy. ‘Give me a minute.’ Marcus heard a door open and suck closed as Aidan continued, ‘That’s better. A&E’s like the Mad Cow roundabout this morning – Piccadilly Circus has nothing on us – it’s a bloody nightmare. You know, sometimes private practice looks damn attractive. There are days when I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. I’ve got my finger in the dam but there are so many fucking leaks we’re all going to drown anyway. You’d think I was the only orthopaedic surgeon in Dublin with a specialisation in spinal surgery. Reckon I’m just the only one stupid enough to answer my phone.’ He sighed heavily. ‘So what are you doing?’
‘I’m just back from Sydney – yesterday, actually. Did you hear about this press thing?’
‘The photos? Yes, a few people have mentioned them.’
‘Vittoria?’
‘Let’s just say a lot of people have seen them. What’s the story?’
‘They’re fakes. I’ve never met that woman. But whoever decided to create them has got it in for me. I’ve got to face the music at TransGlobal on Friday.’
‘Can you prove that they’re not real? I mean, where were you when they were supposed to be taken?’
‘Well, that’s where it gets complicated. I was with Stephanie on the date the one where I’m supposedly out drinking was taken. It looks like it was the day before I flew to Milan – whoever created these certainly did their homework on my roster.’
‘So why can’t Stephanie say you were with her? That seems like a no-brainer – you’ve got a witness who can put you somewhere else, mate. I’d go for it.’
‘I wish. The thing is Stephanie is pregnant. Very pregnant. She’s due in a few weeks.’
‘Pregnant by you?’ Marcus winced at Aidan’s tone, the hard edge in his voice.
‘Eh, yes.’
‘And you’re only telling me now? Holy fuck. What about Vittoria?’
‘Look, mate, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you before but … it’s a bit tricky.’
Aidan interrupted him. ‘You can say that again. Marcus, you’re such a wanker.’ His voice was full of contempt. And he was right. Marcus knew he should have trusted him. They’d put the past behind them now – Aidan was his partner in their thirty-six-foot yacht and trust was vital if you were out at sea in the middle of a storm. It could mean life or death.
‘Look, mate, I’m sorry, but as soon as one other person knows a secret, well, it’s not a secret any more. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not about the baby, not till I’ve worked out what to do anyway.’
‘You’re cutting it a bit fine with a few weeks to go. Are you going to tell Vittoria?’
Marcus cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m away a lot and Steph doesn’t mind that I have to go to Dublin a bit. She knows Vittoria and I aren’t exactly close. I know you get on with her, but she’s quite highly strung – she can be very moody, you know.’
‘All women are moody, Marcus. It’s their prerogative – they have to deal with men every day.’
Marcus could almost hear him saying, men like you. Marcus cleared his throat. ‘She changed, Aid, after the accident. It’s probably post-traumatic stress or something but—’
‘Marcus, she had to give up her dancing career. Have you any idea how hard that is for a girl from her background? The Royal Ballet School only takes the best. It’s all she ever wanted to do. And,’ he lowered his voice, ‘don’t forget her internal injuries. I think I’d be pretty moody carrying that around with me, the constant pain.’
‘I know, I know, which is what makes Steph being pregnant even more of a problem – and not exactly a perfect character witness. If I’ve been lying to my wife, TransGlobal are hardly going to trust what she says, are they?’
Aidan grunted in response. ‘Are you going to ask Vittoria for a divorce?’
There was a pause. ‘That’s where it gets a bit more complicated. We’ve a prenup that protects me, but she’ll do everything to drag me through the dirt with Steph and the baby on the scene. She’l
l take it to court and the press will have a field day. I can’t risk some sympathetic judge throwing the prenup out. I need to make sure the baby’s secure.’ Aidan didn’t reply. Conscious of the silence between them, Marcus filled it. ‘So listen, mate, the reason I’m ringing is that I’m going to go legal on this. I have to clear my name but it’s going to be expensive.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘It’s just, the boat …’
‘You’re worried about the boat? In the middle of this meteoric fuck-up Danny Boy is finally your biggest problem?’ Aidan’s voice was filled with contempt.
Not catching on to his implication, Marcus backtracked hastily. ‘No, no. I mean, I think I’ll be grand. I’m going to sell some pictures to raise the capital but I need to make sure Steph’s looked after too. The marina fees are paid for this year – it’s just that new set of racing sails that we were talking about …’
‘You’d rather keep that 15K in your back pocket?’
‘Right now it seems sensible.’
‘No problem, we can wait until the spring. The boat’s going to be up on the hard for the winter so we won’t be needing fancy new sails. See how it goes. What happens if you lose?’
‘That won’t happen. All this stuff is fake news; I just need to prove it. Worst possible scenario, I’ll be bankrupt.’
Aidan paused like he was thinking. ‘That’s not a good position to be in. Do you think you should transfer everything over to Vittoria? If it’s in her name, then at least some of your assets would be safe from the banks. Whatever about the divorce court, you’ve no chance against the Inquirer’s lawyers if you lose.’
Marcus thought fast for a moment. There was so much going on right now he could hardly concentrate but maybe Aidan had a point. Vittoria could be volatile but at least he had some chance of negotiating with her. The Inquirer’s lawyers wouldn’t take any prisoners – if he lost, it would be everything. Maybe moving cash to Stephanie wasn’t the only thing he should be doing tomorrow. He needed to think about the house and should definitely sell his share in the boat to Aidan while he was at it.
‘Fuck, you’re right, and you should buy me out of the boat – only for a euro or something, but we should get it signed over so nothing can happen to it. I’ve an appointment booked to talk to my lawyers. I’ll get that drawn up and signed and courier it over to you. And I’ll see what they think about Vittoria and the house, putting it in her name to protect it from the Inquirer’s thieving lawyers makes a lot of sense. Christ, I need to talk to them. It’s just if something happened to me, like I had a heart attack in the middle of it all, who’d look after Stephanie?’
Aidan sighed and then said slowly, as if he was trying to get his head around it, ‘Are you going to change your will to include Stephanie?’
‘The baby, definitely. I can look after Stephanie alright once I can keep everything quiet and Vittoria onside, but this is my son we’re talking about. We’re going to call him Lochlan: it means Viking – well, of Viking descent.’
‘And lachain means a crowd of ducks,’ Aidan muttered. He cleared his throat. ‘If Vittoria finds out, she’s not going to be impressed.’
‘Only if she finds out. I’m hoping I can keep it all nice and quiet and tidy.’
‘Marcus,’ Aidan said it like he was about five years old, ‘if you go up against a tabloid newspaper you can be sure they will find every piece of dirt. I’d get the house transferred before you even start. It’ll make Vittoria feel secure when it does all come out – it’ll be like you’re supporting her. You need to tell her that you think they’re going to try and discredit you and to be ready for it. There’s quite a lot of dirt for them to find, let’s face it.’
‘Christ, I never thought of that. You’re right.’ Marcus turned around and looked back at Stephanie’s house. The curtains in the upstairs window twitched. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll keep you posted.’
Chapter 33
STEPHANIE TURNED on the hot tap and pulled up the sleeves of her baby blue sweatshirt to wash their plates as Marcus came up behind her. He put his arms around her and kissed her neck.
‘I promise I’ll sort all of this out. For you and junior.’ He ran his hand across her belly, resting it there, waiting to see if the baby kicked. As if he heard him, Stephanie felt a movement. Marcus kissed her again and unwrapped himself so he could pick up his hat from the kitchen table.
‘I’ll be back Friday as soon as the hearing’s over.’
Stephanie smiled over her shoulder at him, her hands wet with suds. He kissed her quickly and headed for the front door. As soon as she heard it close, she grabbed a tea towel and, drying her hands, went to the front window and watched as Marcus got into a waiting taxi. In the living room, her handbag was resting on the end of the sofa. It only took her a moment to find the piece of paper she’d scribbled Lily Power’s telephone number on.
Taking a step back to look at it dispassionately, this whole situation suddenly seemed utterly bizarre. How had any of this happened? She knew women who would do anything for publicity but this Bellissima was just incredible. Everyone knew full well Marcus was married to an eminent psychologist – you only had to search for his name on the Internet to discover that. It was pretty obvious that he’d immediately deny the woolly allegation that he’d been with her, this Bellisima, in The Velvet Club – but the photographs? She was shameless, looking for every scrap of publicity. She was the type who loved being hounded by the paparazzi and Marcus was an easy target. He was a society creature, loved to go to gallery openings and charity events, was often photographed by the society press. Stephanie had managed to keep out of photos with him, but they’d had to be so careful, taking separate taxis, her leaving ahead of him.
Biting her lip, Stephanie hesitated for a moment, her mobile phone in her hand. Would she look too keen if she rang now? It was Wednesday and she had only met Lily on Saturday. She’d been hoping Lily would call her.
Stephanie took a deep breath. The last series of Lies would air in the spring, by which time she’d have had the baby and hopefully would have slimmed down again and be out of these awful maternity jeans and into real clothes that didn’t make her look like a beached whale. Which meant that she could get back on the PR circuit. But the next series hadn’t been commissioned yet and Lily had been in the business long enough to know that anything could happen in TV. Just because a show was popular didn’t mean it was getting the advertising ratings it needed. Numbers gave her a headache so she didn’t even want to know, but she couldn’t just assume Marcus was going to look after her. Especially not now.
Stephanie pulled at her ponytail and mentally shook her head. If this whole thing went to court and it came out that the night when they were suggesting he’d been out drinking with Bellisima, he’d actually been with her here in Notting Hill, then she’d have to give evidence. And if Bellisima’s lawyers wanted to shoot holes in his credibility, showing the judge that he had a long-term mistress would be the perfect way to do it. If he could lie to his wife, wasn’t it just as easy to lie to his employer, to lie about his drinking and who he was socialising with?
And if the court didn’t tear him apart after that, Vittoria surely would.
Stephanie knew how the press worked – if this came to court, she’d have photographers with long lenses practically hanging out of the trees along the road. The very thought of it made her cringe. And it was almost the end of September now – she was due in three weeks. She could be quite sure that if Marcus brought a case against the Inquirer they’d be looking for dirt on him from the second it was filed – he’d be followed and they’d both be papped. Going backwards and forwards to Dublin to keep up appearances wouldn’t fool them. It would be impossible to keep their relationship quiet with his name on Lochlan’s birth certificate.
Stephanie went back through to the kitchen and sat down heavily at the table, her head in her hands.
The real question, the one she’d been avoiding, was when all
this came out would Marcus choose to stay with her or go back to Vittoria? Because they wouldn’t be able to return to how they were now, with him sharing his time between London and Dublin. And if he lost his job and Vittoria took everything, how would they manage?
They hadn’t talked about what would happen after Lochlan was born, but she had assumed that he’d move in with her. He had been so overjoyed when she’d told him she was pregnant – well, shocked at first, but then just so happy – she didn’t think he was going to leave her.
She could give him something Vittoria couldn’t.
At least he was transferring money to her tomorrow as soon as the banks opened. It sounded like a lot of money but she hadn’t wanted to push for an exact figure – would it be enough for everything she needed, for a proper education for their baby? Stephanie had grown up on a council estate – she didn’t want that for her Lochlan, but she didn’t know if she could afford the repayments for this house on her own. In fact, she knew for sure she couldn’t.
Stephanie felt a kick and massaged her stomach. Lochlan must be able to read her thoughts.
She’d always managed before, had found a way that didn’t mean relying on anyone else. When she’d got her first part she’d been totally out of her depth, had worked so hard to make sure she did the best possible job. And hard work always paid off.
Right now she just needed a back-up plan. One that enabled her to earn enough money to cover childcare and pay for a flat – she adored this house but she wasn’t about to go bankrupt to keep it. And being a brand ambassador for a luxury store like No. 42 would open up other doors, she was sure. The very fact that she had been approached by No. 42, however informally, meant her agent could get in touch with others. All she needed was a regular stipend from a few places, plus the few bits of voiceover work she did, and then if they recommissioned Lies she’d be laughing, and if they didn’t she’d be OK too.
She picked up her phone and dialled Lily Power’s number.
