The Pact

by Roberta Kray

  ‘Leaving it in the hands of the gods?’ he suggested.

  She grinned. ‘So now we’re talking divine intervention?’

  Henry raised his eyes to the ceiling and smiled back at her. ‘And the gods, it appears, have spoken.’

  ‘In which case free will has just flown out of the window and it’s completely beyond my control.’

  ‘That’s one interpretation.’

  Eve pondered on the notion. Then, undecided as to whether it was reassuring or not, she pushed it to the back of her mind and moved on to the revelations Sonia had provided. She told him about Peter Marshall, about the trip abroad, about her father’s address book. By the time she had finished, she was even more certain of what she had to do next.

  ‘So you see,’ she said. ‘Something must have happened out there, something that makes this picture important. He travels all the way to a delightful Greek island, plays a few hands of poker, comes back and never talks about it again. That’s weird, isn’t it, Henry? Tell me that it isn’t. I mean that he didn’t even mention it to me.’

  Never one to jump to hasty conclusions, Henry took off his glasses, gave them a polish with his handkerchief and returned them to the bridge of his nose. ‘Unless Sonia was right. Perhaps he did lose heavily. Perhaps he just wanted to forget about it.’

  ‘No,’ she insisted, with a wave of impatience. ‘He wasn’t like that. Okay, he didn’t like to lose – who does? – but he wouldn’t go out of his way to hide it. Believe me, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come home with his pockets empty. He was a gambler, a serious one, and for him losing was just an occupational hazard, one of those twists of fate that hopefully didn’t come around too often.’

  She swirled the last few inches of chocolate around the bottom of her glass, her head gradually filling with those (fortunately not too frequent) childhood memories of her father’s wry smile, of his promise that tomorrow he would find that winning streak again. Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll soon be back on the road to riches. And she had always understood what that meant – that it was time to move on, for their bags to be packed, for the landlady to be avoided, for a silent midnight creep, hand-in-hand, down the creaking stairs … And from nowhere Eve was hit by another of those fearsome crushing waves of grief: she would never see him again. A lump came into her throat. She lowered her eyes, fighting back the tears. ‘No, it’s something more. It has to be. Why else would he have done all that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Henry said truthfully. Then, seeing in her expression an urgent need for consolation, he leaned forward and placed his hand over hers. His voice was full of concern. ‘Are you all right?’

  She swallowed hard and forced a smile. ‘I’m fine, really. Thanks. Sorry. I’m just … just …’ Her lower lip was starting to tremble. She searched for a word that might describe what she was feeling but eventually gave up and resorted to a shrug.

  ‘Eve?’

  She shook her head.

  For a while, as she fought to regain her composure, they sat in silence. And then, as if instinctively understanding that any continued sympathy might be more of a burden than a help, Henry gently removed his hand and returned the conversation to more practical matters. ‘So what about this Joe Silk? Are you sure he’s the man in the photograph?’

  Eve’s shoulders lifted a fraction. ‘I couldn’t swear to it but I’d say the odds are pretty good.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘Not much,’ she said, unwilling to repeat Patrick’s damning description. ‘He’s a bit shady, runs a few clubs in the West End, has some other interests too, property and stuff, that kind of thing.’

  ‘What kind of thing?’

  She looked at him, slowly finding her smile again. Henry might be an innocent but he wasn’t a fool. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘That he’s an out-and-out villain?’

  ‘Well, he’s not what you’d call a pillar of society.’

  Henry scratched his chin. He picked up his cup and drank the last of his coffee. ‘How small a pillar exactly?’

  She hesitated. Then, lifting her thumb and forefinger, she slowly drew them together. ‘Quite. Very. In fact, all things considered, barely visible.’

  ‘So you know what you have to do next.’

  Eve nodded. They were clearly thinking along the same lines. She had to follow things up.

  She had to go to Crete. It was her only chance of discovering the truth. ‘I’ve not got much choice, have I?’

  ‘No,’ he agreed.

  ‘So I’m going to do it,’ she said with determination. ‘I’m going to go there on Monday.’ There were plenty of cheap flights on the internet. She could pick up a bargain, especially at short notice.

  ‘Monday? Why wait. We can go right now.’

  ‘What?’ She burst out laughing. Henry wasn’t usually the impulsive sort. ‘What have you put in that coffee? It’s a lovely idea but we can’t.’ He might be able to explain a few hours away to Celia but she might just notice if he went AWOL for a week and came home with a suntan. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Why ever not? I might not be an expert in these matters but I’m still a solicitor.’

  She stared at him, bemused. ‘What on earth has being a solicitor got to do with it?’

  ‘Well, someone should be with you when you give your statement to the police.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, realization dawning. Another laugh bubbled on to her lips. ‘Actually, I think we may have got our wires crossed. I was talking about going to Crete rather than the local cop shop.’

  ‘Crete?’ he echoed. And then, suddenly aware that what he suggested must have sounded like an indecent proposal, Henry blushed a deep shade of pink. ‘Oh, I see.’ He gave a small embarrassed cough and cleared his throat. ‘I see, right.’

  Eve couldn’t resist the temptation to tease him a little. ‘Although you’re more than welcome to join me if you like.’

  ‘Er, I’m not sure that—’

  ‘I’m only joking,’ she said, regretting the flippant invitation as soon as she had made it. Her relationship with Henry was so pure, so absolutely platonic, that even the most oblique reference to sex felt almost sordid. She straightened her face and swept any hint of innuendo from her voice. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll be there and back before you know it.’

  Henry’s cheeks, although still flushed, were gradually resuming their normal colour. ‘But do you really think it’s wise?’ he said. ‘If this man, this Joe Silk, is a criminal then wouldn’t it be better to—’

  ‘I’m not going to the cops!’ she insisted. ‘Not yet. I can’t. Silk’s not the only one in the photo, Terry’s in it too, and until I understand what it means I can’t afford to just hand it over.’

  ‘Your father wouldn’t have kept it if it implicated Terry.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s true but it doesn’t mean they won’t try and stitch him up. He only escaped the robbery charge on a technicality and I don’t suppose they’re best pleased about that. No, the last thing I should do is bring him to their attention again – and especially in connection to Joe Silk. I can’t. I can’t take the risk.’

  She gazed down at the table, sighed, and then lifted her eyes again. ‘And anyway, even if that wasn’t on the cards, what could I possibly say? Hey, my father hid this photograph in Norwich Cathedral and I found it and yes, okay, so it’s just a blurry picture of some people sitting round a table but I really think you should launch a major inquiry. Come on, they’re as likely to call for the men in white coats as to take me seriously.’

  ‘You could tell them what’s been happening,’ Henry said, ‘that you’ve been threatened, burgled, assaulted, followed – followed by a man who is possibly the same one as they found dead less than a week ago …’

  None of which I reported at the time.’

  ‘You told them about the breakin.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Sonia did that.’

  ‘So?’

  �
�So I’m hardly likely to come across as the most reliable of witnesses. At best I’m going to look suspicious for withholding evidence and at worst like some neurotic attention-seeking female. And by the time they’ve finished their interviews – that’s if they haven’t sectioned me by then – I could already have been to Crete and back.’

  ‘But you could be in danger. Please, you have to think about it.’

  She didn’t need reminding. She was thinking about it. But, if anything, it only reinforced the decision she had already made. ‘Well then, I’m probably safer out of the country for a while.’

  As if confronted with an argument he couldn’t win, Henry sank his face into his hands. A few seconds passed before he looked at her again. ‘I don’t know. I don’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t either but I have to at least try and find out the truth. You understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘Why can’t you just talk to Terry?’

  ‘Because for one my visiting order isn’t valid until the end of next week and it’s not the kind of conversation I want to have over the phone, and for two, well, he hasn’t exactly been honest with me recently. Even if he knows what the photo means, there’s no guarantee that he’ll tell me.’

  ‘I thought you two were close.’

  ‘We were … are. But God knows what else he’s got himself involved in. First there was all that Rowan stuff and now … I just don’t want to waste time hanging around and then find out that I have to go to Crete anyway.’

  He nodded. ‘So you’re definitely leaving on Monday?’

  ‘If I can get a flight.’ She had to follow her instincts but the worry in his eyes was intolerable. And she realized that if she didn’t say something to reassure him he might feel obliged to try and accompany her for real. The lie slipped easily from her lips. ‘Look, if it helps, I won’t go on my own. I’ll ask Sonia to come with me.’

  A brief flash of relief came into his eyes before caution crawled back in again. ‘Are you sure that she’s—’

  Are you kidding? If you’re talking protection, she’s perfect for the job. Have you ever seen Sonia when she’s angry? There’s not a man on earth who wouldn’t think twice.’

  He smiled.

  ‘We’ll be fine. I promise.’ Then, before he had time to raise any more objections, she quickly changed the subject. ‘But I could do with a favour, a big one. I’ve taken a copy of the photo but I need somewhere to put the original. Just until I get back. Is there any chance that you could keep it in the office safe?’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She glanced around. There were only a couple of other tables occupied, both by what looked like genuine travellers with suitcases at their feet, but she still shied on the side of caution. Waiting until she was sure that no one was looking, she slipped the brown envelope from her pocket and slid it across the table.

  ‘Can I open it?’

  ‘Best not,’ she said. ‘Not here.’

  He glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Why? Do you think we’re—’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ She laughed. ‘But you’d make a lousy spy if we were.’

  Henry’s thoughts, as he ascended from the depths of Covent Garden tube, were mixed. After seeing Eve safely on to the train back to Norwich, he was still of a mind that he should have done more to dissuade her from what he considered a foolhardy and possibly even dangerous venture but was also, if being strictly honest, impressed by her refusal to follow any course of action that was even remotely sensible.

  He couldn’t help wishing that he had the opportunity to be getting on that plane on Monday. And he also couldn’t help being faintly thrilled by his own role in this mystery. With the envelope safely transferred from her pocket to his, he felt like some secret agent or – and this was infinitely more appealing – like his fictional hero, Philip Marlowe, embarking on yet another of his wonderfully confusing cases.

  Walking out into Long Acre, he was still trying to piece it all together – the latest turn of events, the list of names, all the possible connections – but without much success. The photograph was undoubtedly an integral part of the puzzle but the overall picture was no clearer. What was the link between Alex Weston and Joe Silk? Why had Patterson been following Eve? What did Cavelli have to do with it all?

  He was so absorbed by these questions, so distracted, that he didn’t even pause to consider the possibility that he might be being followed.

  Had Louise plucked up the courage to tell Henry about the pictures she’d intercepted, about the surveillance, he would never have taken the risk of meeting Eve. And if he hadn’t met Eve, Micky Porter wouldn’t have been able to follow him back to the office in Covent Garden. And if Micky hadn’t followed him he would never have had an address to pass on to Joe Silk. And Joe Silk, in turn, would not have been able to pass on those details to the psychopathic Keeler Chase.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Five Bells was situated halfway down an alley off the main square. It was either a pub suffering from an identity crisis or it had simply decided to hedge its bets. Old flock wallpaper clashed with brash chrome tables and art deco lamps. Even the jukebox, an eclectic mix of rock, hip hop, pop and Sinatra, couldn’t quite decide where it was coming from. Frank was currently belting out ‘For Once In My Life’.

  The clientele was as confusing as the decor, a mix of the young and not so young, of noisy students, middleaged professionals and a small group of pensioners who, as if there was safety in numbers, were huddled together in a corner by the bar.

  ‘Is it that bad?’ he said.

  Eve’s gaze, halting in its scrutiny, flicked quickly back towards him. ‘What?’

  ‘The pub, the beer, the company? Take your pick. You haven’t said a word for the last five minutes.’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ She picked up her glass and took a drink. ‘Sorry, it’s been a long day.’

  ‘Want to share it with me?’

  She didn’t, she couldn’t, but she took a moment to pretend to think about it before casually waving the request away. By now, hopefully, Henry would have the photograph secured in a box of solid steel. So long as it was safe she had one less thing to worry about. ‘Oh, the usual stuff.’

  Jack lifted his eyebrows. Then, when she didn’t elaborate, he took hold of her hand and lifted it an inch above the table. ‘And how’s the injury?’

  She gazed down at the scratches. After three days they had faded into thin pinkish stripes. The other damage wasn’t so bad either; there weren’t as many bruises as she’d expected after the assault by Cavelli’s bunnyboiling girlfriend, only a few grey marks on her upper arms. It was her muscles that hurt more than anything, as if she’d been subjected to a vigorous ten-hour workout in the gym.

  ‘It’s not good news,’ she said. ‘They might have to amputate.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Rotten luck. Still, not to worry, at least you’ve got the other one.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s your optimistic outlook that maintains my faith in the human spirit. What would I do without you?’

  ‘Talking of which,’ he said. ‘Do you fancy a drive out on Monday? I’ve got the day off. We could find a country pub or go up to the coast. Be good to get out of the city for a while.’

  ‘Ah.’ She pulled a face. ‘Actually, I’m going away next week.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, disappointed.

  ‘I just fancied a break.’ She glanced towards the rain-spattered windows. ‘I’ve had enough of grey days. I’m in need of some sun.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  She shrugged, thinking it wiser not to reveal the details. ‘I haven’t decided. And I’m not fussy. Anywhere where the sea is blue, the wine is cheap, and the sun manages to make a regular appearance.’

  ‘So you haven’t booked it yet?’

  No. I’ll check out flights on the net, see what’s on offer.’

  ‘You know,’ he said, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. ‘That so
unds like a damn fine idea. I don’t suppose you’d care for some company, would you?’

  Eve hadn’t been expecting that. She aimed for a smile while she scrabbled about for a suitable excuse. ‘Er … wouldn’t it be rather short notice for work and all?’

  ‘I’m sure I could swing it. They owe me enough leave; I don’t see why I shouldn’t take some of it now.’

  ‘Right,’ she murmured, desperately searching for another way to put him off. She remembered the earlier misunderstanding with Henry. Sadly, there could be no confusion here; he had definitely invited himself.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, seeing her expression which was probably bordering on horror. ‘That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.’

  She relaxed a little. ‘You haven’t. It was just … well …’

  ‘It’s okay, I understand. I shouldn’t have presumed … You’re probably already going with someone, right?’

  ‘No,’ she said, the reply leaping out of her mouth before she could prevent it. ‘It’s not that.’ She didn’t want him thinking that she was jetting off with another man. Why it should matter she didn’t know-it wasn’t as if they were in a steady relationship – but for some reason it did. And then she inwardly cursed. Why hadn’t she said yes, that she’d made plans with a girlfriend? That would have provided an easy get-out clause. ‘It was just a bit of a surprise. I mean, we haven’t really known each other that long, have we?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said again. ‘But if that’s the only problem I give you my word that you won’t be under any obligation to marry me just because we go on holiday together.’

  She grinned back at him. ‘Oh, please don’t shatter all my dreams.’

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you,’ he said. ‘No pressure. Although I will, of course, be devastated if you turn me down.’

  She looked into his blue eyes and then slowly lowered her gaze to that sensuous mouth. She had an irresistible urge to lean forward and kiss him. Instead she lifted her glass and took a few more sips of beer. Her resolve was beginning to waver. It might not be such a bad idea to take him with her. No, it was impossible. How could she ask around, find the information she needed, if he was always there? But what if Henry was right, if she was walking straight into danger? It would make sense to have Jack for protection. And she might not even discover anything, might draw a blank, in which case she’d still be stuck there on her own which seemed a shame when she could—