by Roberta Kray
After a while, she heard Velma’s door click shut, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Sadie felt a pang of guilt that she’d spent ten minutes offloading all her own problems and not asked the woman anything about herself. It was hardly polite, was it? Well, she’d have to find a way to make it up to her, maybe take her for a drink at the Fox once this business with Eddie was sorted.
Sadie sighed into the silence of the room. She felt that peculiar loneliness that often comes from being in a large city, surrounded by millions of people but not really knowing anyone. Joel had offered to take a few days off work and come with her, but she’d passed on it. Even though Eddie didn’t have a faithful bone in his body, he’d still get the hump if she turned up with someone else. He was perverse like that. And anyway that hadn’t been the only reason she’d wanted to come alone. Eddie was the past and Joel was the future, two different parts of her life that she preferred to keep separate.
‘Time to move on,’ she murmured.
And there was only one way to do that. She rummaged in her bag, took out her make-up and prepared to meet Nathan Stone.
3
Sadie was feeling a mix of emotions as she emerged from the phone box and began to walk towards the high street. Just hearing Joel’s voice again was enough to cheer her up, but it also reminded her of how much she missed him. In her head, she could see him standing in the workroom with the phone pressed against his ear. She could see his mop of tawny hair and his kind brown eyes. She could almost smell the cherry and the oak and the maple, all the woods he used to make his beautiful furniture.
Sadie loved that room with the floor covered in shavings, the tall windows and flood of light. She loved to watch Joel work, to see his strong hands plane and turn and shape the wood. He was a craftsman and an artist. There was something almost spiritual in his acts of creation. He was a religious man, although not in a bible-thumping kind of way; he went to church, helped out in the community, but never forced his views on to anyone else. She knew that he brought out the best in her, that she had become a nicer and a kinder person through knowing him.
The only point he wouldn’t compromise on, however, was the two of them having kids before they married. And at thirty, Sadie’s biological clock was starting to tick. She wished she’d been smarter and cut the ties with Eddie years ago. Why had she wasted so much time on him? The main reason – and she wasn’t especially proud of it – was that she hadn’t wanted to be proved wrong. And she especially hadn’t wanted to hear her mother say, I told you so. A part of her had gone on believing that one day she would change him. Ha! If false pride was a sin then she was definitely guilty of it.
The temperature had dropped a few degrees and despite her warm jacket, jeans and jumper, Sadie was still cold. She hunched her shoulders, turned the corner and began to walk south along the high street. A freezing wind whipped around her head, making her teeth chatter. She hadn’t mentioned Nathan Stone to Joel, thinking he would only worry about it. Going to visit a local gangster hadn’t exactly been on her list of things to do when it came to searching for Eddie, but if that’s what it took…
It was another twenty yards before she came across the blue neon sign of Ramones. She stopped outside and peered through the glass. The place was quiet with just a couple of girls sitting at the bar. She hesitated, nerves causing butterflies to flutter in her stomach. Was she doing the right thing? God, she didn’t even know what the guy looked like. And what if he point blank refused to help her? Well, there was only one way to find out.
Sadie put on her confident face as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit with soft jazz music playing in the background. The two girls turned to stare at her and the barman glanced up from the paper he was reading. Ignoring all three of them, she headed towards the rear, hoping her courage wouldn’t drain away before she got there.
She wasn’t sure what she feared most as she wound her way between the tables – that Nathan Stone would be there, or that he wouldn’t. And what was she going to say to him if he was? She should have worked that out before she came inside. But it was too late now. She’d just have to play it by ear.
As she looked around, her gaze fell on a grey-haired man seated at a corner table under one of the meagre lights. He was alone and was bent over what looked like a ledger, busily totting up figures on a calculator. She stopped and stared, wondering if this was Nathan Stone. Surely it had to be. But now was possibly not the best time to approach him. She hesitated, uncertain whether to advance or retreat. As she was still pondering her options, the man raised his head, looked at her and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Sadie walked over to the table. ‘Mr Stone?’
The man didn’t answer her directly. ‘And you are?’
‘Sadie,’ she said. ‘Sadie Wise. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could have a word.’
‘Now?’
She lifted her shoulders and dropped them again. ‘Would you rather I came back later?’
He thought about this for a moment, but then flapped a hand towards the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘Seeing as you’re here.’
Sadie sat down and cleared her throat. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’
‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for someone,’ she said. ‘His name’s Eddie Wise. I was told that you might be able to help.’
Nathan Stone placed his hands on the table, linked his fingers together and gave her a long hard look. ‘And who told you that?’
Sadie was reluctant to mention Velma’s name in case it got her into trouble. ‘Someone in a pub. They said you knew everybody in Kellston.’ She took the photo out and slid it across the table. ‘This is him.’
Stone looked at the photo but his expression, impassive, gave nothing away.
Now that she was up close she could see that despite the grey hair he was only in his early forties. His face had a fine, almost ascetic quality with pronounced cheekbones, a long aquiline nose and deep-set grey eyes. Not how she imagined a gangster to look, although in truth she didn’t have much to go on other than the TV and the movies. ‘I’m not here to cause trouble. I give you my word. All I want is a divorce, nothing else.’ As if to prove her point, she plucked the papers from her bag and pushed them across the table too. ‘His signature, that’s all I’m after.’
But Nathan Stone seemed singularly uninterested in the paperwork. He sat back, folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. ‘Why?’
She didn’t really see how that was any of his business but answered him anyway. ‘Well, we’ve been separated for years and we’re never getting back together again so —’
Stone quickly interrupted her. ‘No, I mean why should I help you?’
Sadie frowned. ‘Why shouldn’t you?’
‘Because it’s usually a mistake to get involved in other people’s relationships.’
‘Except you wouldn’t be. All I want is an address or a place I can find him. That’s not getting involved. It’s just… just being helpful.’
Stone pulled a face. ‘Helpful to you,’ he said. ‘What’s in it for me?’
‘What do you want?’ she asked, although as soon as the words were out she had a feeling she might regret them.
A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’
‘Why?’
‘Ever been to the dogs?’
‘What?’
Stone’s grey eyes bored into her. ‘The dogs,’ he said again. ‘The races. Greyhounds. Four legs, brain the size of a peanut. Would you like to go?’
Sadie stared back at him. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘As a favour,’ he said. ‘I do something for you and you do something for me. You want to know where Eddie is, don’t you?’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘I can find out.’
‘But you won’t do it unless I come out with you.’ Sadie,
recalling what Velma had told her about Stone’s preference for blondes, narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you hitting on me?’
He gave a low mocking laugh as if the very idea was beyond ridiculous. ‘No, love, I’m not. Like I said, I’m just asking for a favour. I have to meet a guy, a possible investor, him and his missus. The girl who was going to come with me can’t make it, and I need someone to keep the wife occupied while I talk business.’
‘You must know lots of girls. Why me?’
‘Why not? It’s short notice and I need someone presentable.’ Stone gave her a dubious look. ‘I take it you can do presentable?’
Sadie bristled. ‘You’re not exactly selling it to me.’
‘Your choice,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Then the answer’s no,’ she said. ‘Sorry, but I can’t.’
Stone pushed the papers and the photo back across the table. ‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Both,’ Sadie said firmly, shoving the documents into her bag. She refused to be manipulated into doing something she didn’t feel comfortable with – and spending an evening with Nathan Stone was pretty much at the top of the list.
‘Shame,’ he said slyly, ‘because now I come to think about it, your old man does look kind of familiar. I think he may well live round here. Still, if you’re not interested…’
Sadie stood up, intending to leave, but then hesitated. What if she was throwing away her best chance of finding Eddie? And all for the sake of a few hours down a dog track. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t as if she’d even be alone with him; Mr Investor and his wife would be there too.
Stone bent his head over the ledger again, running a finger down one of the columns. After a while, aware that she was still standing there, he glanced up again and said, ‘I’m sorry, was there something else?’
‘Tomorrow night. Strictly business, yes?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely.’
‘And then you’ll tell me where Eddie is?’
Stone gave a nod. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Sadie wondered if she could trust him. Well, of course she couldn’t, but there was probably more chance of tracking down Eddie with his help than without it. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a deal.’
Nathan Stone’s expression was smug. ‘Where are you staying then?’
‘Oaklands, opposite the station.’
‘Fine. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
As Sadie walked away, she couldn’t work out whether she’d just been very smart or very stupid. On balance, she suspected it was the latter. Still, it was done now. There was no turning back. Whatever the consequences, she would have to live with them.
4
Mona Farrell watched as her father walked across the living room, went to the cabinet, gazed at the bottles for a moment and then proceeded to pour a stiff scotch. There was a chink of ice cubes against glass as he carried the drink back to his armchair and sat down. She studied him while pretending not to, her fingers flicking through the pages of the magazine while her eyes made their careful scrutiny.
She was trying to work out which part of him she hated most: the curved dome of his paunch straining against the cotton of his white shirt, his heavy, jowly face with its piggy eyes or his abnormally small feet sheathed in a pair of brown leather brogues. Then, of course, there was his hair, thin and sandy coloured, brushed back from a wide forehead. Or his fleshy fingers with their neat manicured nails. And that was just the physical stuff. When it came to personality, she hardly knew where to begin.
It was quite remarkable, she thought, that one man could be in possession of so many ugly traits. He was arrogant, controlling, overbearing, greedy and callous. He was conceited and quick-tempered. He was a snob. Already he was eagerly looking forward to the New Year’s Honours list when he would, or so he’d been assured by people in the know, be receiving a knighthood for services to industry. She gave an inner hiss. Services? Since when did manufacturing arms count as a bloody service? It was a disgrace, a crime against humanity. And when he became Sir Paul Farrell he’d be even more pompous than he already was.
It was hot and stuffy in the room, the radiators blasting out a fierce heat. The curtains were pulled across but, even above the noise of the television, she could hear the sound of the rain battering against the windows. Her mother was staring at the screen with a glazed expression on her face. Beside her, on the small mahogany table, was a glass of vodka and tonic. Not the first of the day, and probably not even the third or fourth.
Once, a long time ago, Christine Naylor had been considered a catch. In her twenties she’d been a socialite, a tall willowy blonde, a model who had appeared on the front cover of Vogue. Now, although still slim and attractive, there was something brittle about her, something fragile and damaged. He had done that. He had made her weak and shallow and stupid.
Mona returned to studying her father, aware from his scowl that he still had the hump with her. They’d been late, almost twenty minutes late, for the appointment and he hated wasting money. It was Dr Lund’s policy to charge for the whole hour no matter what time his patients arrived – a nice arrangement for him, but not so agreeable to those who had to struggle with the vagaries of London’s public transport system.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she said, for the tenth time that night.
‘You should have got an earlier train.’
‘Why? I’m not psychic. How was I to know there were going to be signal problems?’
‘Nothing’s ever your fault, Mona. One day, perhaps, you’ll start taking responsibility for your actions.’
Oh, here it comes, she thought, another damn lecture. He just couldn’t help himself. She wrinkled her nose and closed her ears, letting the words wash over her. Responsibility… disappointment… duty… It was always the same. He was like a stuck record repeating the same pathetic complaints over and over.
Of course if it hadn’t been for that unfortunate ‘incident’ a year ago, she’d never have been forced to see Lund in the first place. He was an unpleasant skinny man with a protruding Adam’s apple and a reddish beard. A psychoanalyst. At least that’s what he called himself. Money for old rope was what she called it. All he did was sit there in that black leather chair, asking stupid questions about her childhood and making odd little bobbing gestures with his head.
Perhaps Lund thought the beard made him look like Freud. She wasn’t up to speed with Freud’s theories, but had an idea that he’d believed the root of most women’s problems lay in some kind of sexual neurosis. But then he would have believed that, wouldn’t he? He was a man and all they thought about was sex. Well, sex and money. Lund was probably of the opinion that deep down she wanted to sleep with her father whereas all she really wanted to do was to kill him.
Lund had only asked her once about the fire. Had it been an accident or…? And she had told him the truth, or at least as much of the truth as she’d felt like telling him, that the house was a Gothic monstrosity, a blot on the landscape, and that she’d been doing Hampstead a favour by attempting to raze it to the ground. She was not sure if he’d taken her seriously. What she hadn’t mentioned – she didn’t trust doctors or their confidentiality clauses – was that she’d been hoping to dispatch her father at the same time.
‘Are you listening to me?’
Mona gazed at her father and raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t need to listen. I know it all off by heart.’
‘And I’ll go on repeating it until you finally start to take some notice.’
