by Sam Blake
Lily had nodded and flipped over the cover of her sketch pad. She had been sure Vittoria wouldn’t let her down and she hadn’t. And she wouldn’t let Vittoria down.
Lily glanced at the time on her phone again. Not long now.
Chapter 49
THE GATES TO Alcantara House were at the end of a long narrow lane overhung with tangled ivy and wild roses. Croxley had caught glimpses of the sea as they’d headed down the hill, amazed it was so close. The roads were narrow and winding, high old stone walls bordering stunning houses that overlooked a spectacular sweep of beach. Golden sand ran right around to what looked like a range of mountains, hazy in the distance. This place was truly paradise.
Eventually they reached a narrow lane, only wide enough for one car, the hedgerows high on both sides. At the end it opened out into a drive entrance, pillars and ornate wrought-iron gates towering above a paved apron that met the unmetalled road. Giving the taxi driver cash, Croxley got out and, as the taxi turned around, Croxley pressed the gate buzzer. A moment later the electric gates slid open.
Devine was expecting him.
The drive itself was gravel, sweeping into the trees, a fork heading towards the front of the house and the garages. Vittoria had said to stick to the left and walk around the back. As Croxley rounded the bend he found a sweep of lawn in front of him, the Spanish-style two-storey villa to his right, and at the end of the gardens he could see another big single-storey building. The pool house. It had a green tiled roof that matched the main house, was painted the same bright white. Croxley could see a path that ran across the lawn to it.
Beyond the pool house and high tangled hedgerow that ran along the perimeter of the property, the land seemed to drop away into the sea, sunshine sparkling on the water as far as he could see. The beach had to be close – he could hear waves breaking on the shore.
Swinging around to his right, he jumped – a man had come out of a set of French windows and was watching him from the patio that surrounded the house, a cup of coffee in his hand. He raised it when he saw Croxley looking his way.
Marcus Devine.
He looked just like the photograph in the paper, was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He didn’t have a brunette escort with him this time, though. Vittoria had said he’d be on his own. Croxley fucking hoped he was or this could get very complicated.
‘Good morning! Mr Devine?’ Croxley raised his hand, smiling broadly.
‘Marcus, please. Come on up.’
Croxley followed a path to steps leading up onto the slightly raised patio. ‘Hope you don’t mind me coming around the back. Your good lady wife assured me you didn’t have a pack of Rottweilers.’
Marcus laughed, reaching out to shake his hand. ‘Vittoria’s the only Rottweiler around here. Come in. She said you’re a bit of an art expert.’
‘Well, I know my Renoir from my Rennie Mackintosh. Beautiful spot you’ve got here.’
‘Thanks, my parents built the house. Vittoria built the pool house – she swims every day. That’s where some of the paintings are, actually.’
Marcus moved as if he was going to go straight to the pool house. Panic fluttered inside Croxley for a moment. Vittoria had worked this out exactly. He needed to keep Marcus talking and have a brandy before they went to look at the paintings. She was going to call at 3.30 p.m. It was essential Marcus answered the phone.
As they’d sat at lunch in The Hogarth Hotel she’d drawn him a diagram of the pool house. The phone was at the back near the changing-room entrance. Croxley needed to make sure he was standing behind Marcus when he answered the phone – he could pretend he was taking a look into the changing rooms or something.
‘She mentioned your father had a considerable collection. I’d love to take a look before we go down?’
‘Of course, of course. Where are my manners? Come inside. Would you like a coffee?’
‘I’d love one. And Vittoria mentioned you like a drop of brandy. I’ve been meaning to try this Courvoisier VSOP so I picked a bottle up in the airport – we might give the coffee a bit of a kick?’
Pushing open the sliding door, Marcus stepped into the kitchen, grinning over this shoulder. ‘If you’ve a bottle of Courvoisier it seems a waste to mix it with coffee. Will I get some glasses and we can check it out first? Sun’s well over the yardarm at this stage.’
‘And it is Saturday …’
‘Indeed.’
The kitchen was vast, black and white marble floor tiles covering the entire area from the huge white marble-topped island to a polished table that looked like it sat about twelve. Croxley wasn’t counting chairs, though; he was watching Marcus lift two crystal brandy goblets from a cupboard.
Now this was the tricky bit.
Propping up his wheelie case, Croxley put the duty-free bag on the table and, opening it, flipped open the box, pulling out the bottle. He held it up to the light and quickly twisted the top off before Marcus could see that the seal had already been broken. Croxley wafted the neck of the bottle under his nose, sniffing it appreciatively.
‘Have a snifter. It’s rather good.’
He passed the bottle to Marcus, who looked at the label and poured the golden liquid out into two glasses, picking up his own to savour the aroma. He passed Croxley a glass and raised his for a toast. ‘To business.’
Croxley clinked his glass against Devine’s, the chink of crystal like the high note on a piano. ‘Indeed. To business.’
Marcus took a mouthful. ‘Goodness, as delicious as she smells.’
Croxley grinned and pretended to take a sip, but just as the glass reached his lips, he stopped. ‘My goodness, is that a Yeats?’ As if he had just noticed the small painting on the kitchen wall, he put the glass down and walked towards it.
‘It is, my mother loved that painting. She often had friends call and they would all sit in here – she wanted it where the most people could enjoy it.’
Croxley turned to Marcus, grinning. ‘She had very good taste. Is your collection mainly Irish?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘No, mixed. A lot of European works.’
‘Would you have time to show me quickly? I need to leave by four at the latest, but I’d love to see them.’ Croxley glanced at the kitchen clock. 3.15 p.m. He had fifteen minutes to kill before the phone call. Vittoria had said to use the time looking around the house, but his palms were beginning to sweat. What if he didn’t get to the pool house on time? Perhaps they should go straight there now? Getting there would take a few minutes – it was a long walk across the huge lawn, and Croxley was sure he could keep Marcus talking once they were there
‘Of course.’ Marcus made to open the internal door into the hall.
Croxley shook his head. ‘Actually, had we better look at the paintings Vittoria mentioned first? I know I’ll get carried away and we’ll run out of time.’
Marcus frowned, confused. ‘Whatever you think. They’re in the pool house. Vittoria was worried about someone breaking into the main house again.’
‘Again? You make it sound like a regular occurrence.’
Marcus shrugged, obviously not happy. ‘Twice recently. We lost several paintings the first time and the second time we almost lost Vittoria.’
‘Good God, what happened?’ Croxley said, pausing beside the patio doors.
‘Don’t forget your brandy – it’s very good.’
‘Oh, of course. Why don’t you have a top up?’ Croxley turned and picked up the bottle. Marcus grinned and held out his glass.
Putting the bottle down, trying to conceal the shake in his hand, Croxley grabbed his glass and the handle of his wheelie case, nodding towards the garden, a conspiratorial smile on his face. ‘Lead the way.’
*
The pool house was exactly as Vittoria had described it, sliding glass doors on the southern side opening onto a sun terrace with cedar loungers. Double doors faced the house. Croxley had managed, he hoped, to conceal the glass in his hand on the walk across the lawn. As the
y reached the door, Marcus pulled a key chain from his pocket. It took him a moment to get the key in the lock.
‘Vittoria was terrified these pictures might get stolen from the house – she made me hide them down here.’ He rolled his eyes and took another swig of his brandy. ‘This is really very good.’
Croxley nodded appreciatively, then frowned. ‘It’s really no harm to be cautious. From what she described and the images I saw, these could be quite valuable. And it’s really best that not too many people know you’ve got them or you could get a claim from one of the original estates.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping quiet. I just want to sell them.’ Marcus pushed open the door. ‘Here we are.’
Croxley followed him. It was hot inside, the smell of chlorine strong. The sunshine coming in through the glass wall played games with the water, reflecting moving shapes on the ceiling like quicksilver.
Croxley felt his heart rate increasing. Juggling with his glass, he looked at the clock on his phone.
‘Tight for time?’ Marcus glanced at him.
‘No, just checking. I’ve a track history of missing planes.’ It was Croxley’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘I get caught up in far more interesting things and time seems to slip away. This place is fabulous.’
‘Vittoria designed it when we moved in – it made more sense than trying to convert part of the house. There’s a dance studio and changing rooms at the end.’ Marcus indicated with his head and, following his look, Croxley’s eyes alighted on the phone on the wall.
‘Impressive. Now, let’s look at these paintings.’
Marcus swallowed the last mouthful of the VSOP and yawned. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. ‘Sorry, of course. Must be the heat in here – I’m feeling quite woozy.’
‘It’s very warm. It needs to be warm when you’re swimming, though. I can’t bear the cold.’
Marcus shook his head again and ran his hand through his hair.
‘Paintings?’
‘Of course, this way. They’re in the changing rooms.’
‘Super, perhaps we can bring them out into the light?’
Marcus nodded and headed slightly unsteadily down the side of the pool towards the entrance to the changing room. Croxley could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his back. He followed Marcus, the wheels on his case rattling on the tiled floor.
‘Won’t be a minute, I’ll get them.’ Slurring his words slightly, Marcus put his glass down on a side table positioned beside a lounger and disappeared into the changing rooms. It took him a few minutes, but then he was back and carrying four canvases, all quite small.
At least they’d fit in his case.
Croxley put his glass down beside Marcus’s.
Leaning the paintings against the wall of the changing room, side by side, Marcus took a step backwards.
‘Goodness, I could do with some air.’ He looked around vaguely. And shook his head again.
Just as the phone began to ring.
‘Christ, that must be Vittoria.’
‘Perhaps she’s checking up on me.’ Croxley grinned, his attention on the paintings.
Marcus looked like he was trying to grin but his face wasn’t fully responding. ‘That would be right.’
Moving towards the phone, he picked it up. ‘Hello?’ He paused. ‘Hello?’ He glanced at Croxley, his eyes slightly unfocused. ‘Must be Vittoria. Her phone’s probably on the blink or she’s in a dead spot or something.’
As if he heard something at the other end, he paused.
And turned his back on Croxley.
It was the moment he needed.
Dashing towards him, Croxley shoved Marcus hard in the back. Caught off guard he fell forward, and Edward gave him another push, one that sent him into the pool.
The sound of the splash reverberated around the building.
Edward waited, paralysed, sick with fear. If Marcus swam to the surface now this would take a bit of explaining. When he’d said that to Vittoria, she said to pretend he’d tripped.
Easy for her to say.
He stood paralysed, waiting to see if Marcus swam to the surface. He wasn’t moving. Perhaps he’d knocked his head on the way in, or perhaps the powerful sedative was doing its job.
Christ, he hoped so.
Vittoria had reassured him that she’d tell the authorities that she’d spoken to Marcus on the phone, that he’d seemed fine long after Croxley had left. It had sounded fool-proof. But now, looking at the dark shape of Marcus’s body under the rippling blue water, Croxley wasn’t so sure.
But he didn’t have time to think about it.
As he straightened up, he saw a flash of black and felt the scratch of coarse lamb’s wool on his face as someone put their forearm across his throat.
He barely felt the snap of his neck, was unconscious when he too hit the water.
Chapter 50
STANDING IN THE reception of The Hogarth Hotel, Vittoria stifled a yawn.
‘How can we help, madam? I’m so sorry for the delay.’
‘Not to worry, thank you. I need to check out when you’re ready. Excuse my yawning – I’ve been a bit under the weather the last day or so.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, madam. Would you like us to call a doctor?’
Vittoria shook her head. ‘I’m over the worst of it now. I think it was some sort of twenty-four-hour flu – I slept most of yesterday and I’m still tired. But a day in bed works wonders, and I’m so much better than I was yesterday morning. Maybe I was just exhausted, working too much. I just needed a break in your lovely hotel.’
Behind her an elegant older American couple arrived to check out. ‘It is fabulous, isn’t it? We’ve had the nicest stay.’
Vittoria smiled at the woman. ‘I hope you’ve seen lots of London.’
Before the American could answer, the receptionist produced a printout of her bill and passed it across the counter. Vittoria pulled her business credit card out and handed it to her. The receptionist looked at it. ‘That’s lovely, Ms Devine – will we be seeing you again?’
‘I certainly hope so. Can you call me a cab for 1 p.m., going to City Airport? I just need to make a call and I think I’ll have a cup of tea while I wait.’
‘Certainly. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll take care of your luggage and I’ll send someone to take your order immediately.’
*
At the far end of The Lighthouse Bar, Vittoria sat down on a corner sofa and pulled out her phone, looking for the number she needed.
‘Aidan? It’s me.’ She put the phone to her ear and continued speaking a fraction too loudly. ‘I’m still in London, just heading for the airport. I’ve been trying to get hold of Marcus for ages. I was in bed all day yesterday, some sort of flu thing …’ She smiled at his response. ‘Yes, I’m fine today, just exhausted. I tried to get up for some fresh air but it honestly wasn’t worth it. I felt so terrible … I know. But he’s not answering his mobile or the landline.’
Listening to Aidan’s answer, she said, ‘I thought I’d caught him yesterday – he answered the landline during the afternoon but the connection was terrible. All I heard was some splashing, so he must have been in the pool house. Were you with him?’
She tucked her hair behind her ear as he replied, then she frowned. ‘You weren’t? I wonder who it was. I arranged for him to meet an art consultant about some pictures he wanted to sell. But they would hardly have gone swimming. Perhaps he had some friends over.’
She paused again to listen his reply. ‘I’m landing at 4.30. Could you call over to him? I did tell him he should turn off his phone in case the press started calling, but I’m starting to think he might have a visitor or two. I just hope there were no photographers watching the place.’
As Vittoria finished the call her favourite waiter appeared. ‘Would you like to order, Ms Devine?’
Vittoria smiled. ‘Thank you, Joel.’
She loved how everyone in this hotel knew who she was. When she cal
led room service they greeted her by name. It was a very simple thing but made everything more personal. And Vittoria liked things to be personal.
Chapter 51
VITTORIA SWITCHED off her phone as the cab dropped her outside the expansive entrance of London City Airport. It was relatively quiet inside compared to normal. She usually travelled during the week, when it was packed with business travellers, but on a Sunday it was far less busy. This time she went straight through security with only her mascara arousing interest, a ‘liquid’ she’d left in her make-up bag.
The flight was half-empty and the seat beside her was vacant. The moment she fastened her seatbelt, Vittoria closed her eyes. She’d managed to get a few hours’ sleep that morning but she knew she needed to cat-nap as much as possible so she would be alert later.
*
Vittoria felt much better when she landed to late afternoon sunshine in Dublin. It was milder here than in London and it had obviously been a warm day. The autumn could be beautiful in Ireland.
Her car was in the long term car park, only a short bus ride from the airport, and she was on the M50 when she remembered that her phone was still off after the flight. Tempting as it was to turn it on, it was buried at the bottom of her handbag. She was sure it could wait. She remembered the phone again as she reached the lane that led down to the house, but ahead of her, the gates were standing wide open. Vittoria felt her heartbeat quicken.
