Blood Secrets_A gripping crime thriller with killer twists

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘May I help you?’

  It was Flo doing the talking. ‘Yes, I wonder if you can? My name’s Florence Bordeaux – that’s the Hampshire Bordeaux family incidentally – not the Suffolk ones. I’m afraid they’re frightfully common. They’ve only got one house and it’s only Victorian – can you imagine?’

  Whenever Courtney had heard Flo’s voice before she’d sounded like a right cor blimey merchant although her mum’s side of the family was supposed to be worth a few bob. Now she was talking so posh, she made the queen sound like an oik.

  Flo went on, ‘and this is my solicitor, Tiffany Lake of the firm Lake, Lake and Lake in Mayfair. I presume you’re familiar with them?’ She pronounced Tiffany’s name as Tiff-Annie.

  The PA frowned, baffled.

  Flo looked wildly surprised. ‘You’re not?? Well, Lake, Lake and Lake are very exclusive of course. Anyway, I’m Courtney’s aunt. It’s all rather embarrassing, I’m afraid. Her mother was my younger brother’s cleaner and you know what these upper crust boys are like, they can’t keep their friend in their trousers and Courtney was his wrong side of the blanket. It’s all frightful and ghastly but I suppose despite everything, all things considered, she’s still family. Now – where’s this Elliott woman? I want a word with her and I want it sharpish.’

  Courtney’s gaze darted between her two aunts, not a clue what was going on, but she kept it zipped.

  The PA hopped to it and rushed to enter the headmistress’ door. As she did so Courtney’s Aunts came over to her.

  ‘What’s up babe?’ Tiff asked, sitting down and placing a comforting arm round her.

  Courtney gave them both a fretful stare. ‘I’ve been necking booze again.’

  Flo was talking street again. ‘Don’t worry ‘bout it. All these nobs are piss heads. They’re notorious for it.’

  Tiff shook her head slightly. ‘The problem here is our Court had a really bad problem with it a year back. She promised her mum she weren’t gonna do it no more, know what I mean?’

  Courtney hung her head feeling like the lowest of the low. She’d promised her mum to stay off the sauce.

  The PA came back. ‘Mrs Elliott will see you now.’

  Tiff whispered to her niece, ‘Don’t worry bout a thing. Flo knows how to deal with these people. She’ll sort it out.’

  The two sisters marched into a room that was all wooden panels, rows of books and light coming from a huge skylight. Behind a gleaming, teak desk sat the headmistress. Everything about her was pristine and perfectly in place – her greying bob, Liberty floral blouse with a huge, tidy bow in the front and neatly, manicured, short nails.

  Flo took charge. ‘You’re Elliott are you?’

  She took a seat opposite the headmistress without waiting for an answer and without being asked.

  Flo dramatically tugged her gloves off. ‘I trust you don’t mind if my solicitor joins us? If I’m forced to resort to legal action, I want an accurate record of this conversation – make notes for me Tiffany darling.’ Flo tilted her head back and looked down her nose while Tiff stood with a pen poised.

  Mrs Elliott stuttered, ‘Legal action? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

  Flo sounded as if she was talking to the butler. ‘Yes, legal action. You needn’t think you’re defaming my family and getting away with it. And if it comes to it, I might ask my uncle, Judge Humphrey Bordeaux, to hear the case. We all know Humph likes a snort but he’s never let the family down at the high court yet. Now then – what seems to be the problem here? Come on woman – spit it out.’

  Mrs Elliott spat it out but she didn’t seem very sure of herself. ’The situation is this Mrs Bordeaux—’

  Flo bristled. ‘Lady Bordeaux.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Bordeaux. The situation is that I’m afraid your niece was found to be under the influence of alcohol, which is strictly against school rules of course. Normally she would be let off with a warning but I’m afraid this fits a pattern of behaviour with Courtney and that has left us with no choice but…’

  Flo cut her short. ‘You mean she was pissed? Let me ask you a question – why do you think parents send their children to a school like this?’

  Mrs Elliott huffed, ‘We provide an first class education, that’s why, Lady Bordeaux.’

  Flo shook her head slowly and tapped the desk with her fingernail. It was more and more difficult to tell which one was the real head teacher. ‘No. They send their children to a school like this to make friends in high places and get pissed. Girls like that don’t need an education; they just need to meet the right people. Look, I’m willing to be generous here; I don’t want to waste time in the courts. If you’re willing to reconsider, I may be able to overlook the matter.’

  The other woman’s body stiffened in indignation. ‘I’m not sure I can, you see…’

  Flo butted in again. ‘Tiffany, can you tell me what my options are here please?’

  Tiffany sighed. ‘I think we can argue the school has breached Courtney’s human rights. We could go all the way to Stratford…’ she coughed, ‘that’s Strasbourg with that one. Of course, by then the school will be bankrupt anyway, so a judgement won’t make any difference.’

  Flo seemed pleased and rose to her feet. ‘Fine. So - see you in court Mrs Elliott.’

  The headmistress rose too panicking. ‘Let’s not be hasty. Perhaps if Courtney were to agree to alcohol counselling, we might be able to be flexible.’

  Flo shook her head. ‘Courtney’s not agreeing to anything. No expulsion, no counselling, no nothing – are we agreed?’

  Mrs Elliott made the best of her defeat. ‘Very well, but this is her last chance and I mean it. But, obviously due to her current condition, she needs to go home for the remainder of the day. Good afternoon Lady Bordeaux.’

  When they were outside, Courtney dashed up to Tiffany, grabbed her by the arm and whispered, ‘What happened?’

  Tiffany looked at Flo who was striding out of the office like a proper madam. ‘Do you know something? I’m sorta warming up to my half-sister.’

  Courtney begged, ‘Did you get me off?’

  Tiffany looked at her and wore a cocky grin. ‘We sure did. Flo burned the bitch!’

  As soon as they got into Flo’s hired soft top, from the back seat Courtney burst out, ‘I won’t do it again. I swear. It’s just…’ Her lips glued together. The message was for her nan not anyone else.

  Tiff twisted round, her gaze narrowing as she checked out her niece. ‘What’s going on Court? I know you’re worried bout your ol’ mum, but I can tell something else is going on here.’

  Flo nudged her. ‘Leave the girl alone. Can’t you see she’s been put through the wringer.’

  ‘Nah.’ Tiff shook her head. ‘You better spill Court or we ain’t leaving until it’s out in the open.’

  Courtney’s gaze darted from one to the other. Then it gushed out of her. ‘My violin teacher…’ She gulped as her fingers locked tightly together. ‘He said…he said…’

  Her voice got higher and more breathless as she went on.

  At the end Tiff lunged for the door, doing her nut. ‘I’ll fucking teach Tambourine Man to put the frighteners on little girls. By the time I’ve finished he won’t be plucking strings for a while.’

  Flo grabbed the back of her jacket and hauled her back into the passenger seat. ‘That ain’t gonna work—‘

  Tiff waved her fist. ‘One of these speaks volume every time.’

  ‘No,’ Flo shook her head as her fox eyes squinted. ‘You go in there and tight-arse Elliott calls the coppers. Then you’ll be banged up and Courtney here will deffo get the ol’ heave-ho.’

  Seeing the sense of what she was saying Tiff slumped back. ‘So what we gonna do? No way is Fiddler On The Roof getting away with this.’

  Flo sucked her bottom lip as she thought. Then slowly smiled. She tucked into her bag and pulled out Babs’ Annie pills. She passed one to Tiff. They gulped down their tabs at the same time.

  Tiff
said, ‘we keep this between us Court. Your Nanna Babs would only start fretting.’

  In a cunning tone Flo added, ‘What that bastard needs is a lesson he’ll never forget.’

  45

  ‘Come on Fred,’ Pearl said as she caught him before he could fall flat on his face as they entered the care home.

  Poor sod was ten sheets to the wind. They’d just got back from Vi and Di’s funeral. There hadn’t been a dry eye at the funeral except Fred. He’d been as still as a statue and equally as quiet, that is until the drinks arrived. He’d knocked them back as if drinking was going to be outlawed tomorrow. Now he was as pissed as a balding skunk.

  ‘Why she do it?’ His rheumy, bloodshot eyes searched Pearl’s face as if the answer would be written there. His gold tooth had lost its shine. ‘Why didn’t she wait for me?’

  Vi wait for what? Pearl didn’t have a clue what he was going on about. He didn’t have a skullcap to wear at the Jewish funeral, so he’d covered his head with one of his many hats, a fedora, which lurched precariously to the side.

  His face crumbled and he started to bawl, awful, heartbreaking sobs that made Pearl’s heart ache too. Falling in love wasn’t a pretty sight sometimes.

  The receptionist kindly offered, ‘Shall I take him to his room?’

  ‘Nah, you’re alright darlin’,’ she answered, ‘I’ll get him sorted.’

  Fred was no light burden but she managed to shift him along the corridor. A door opened and Lin Chen’s head appeared. As soon as she clocked Pearl she scampered back in and slammed the door. Pearl had tried a few times to dig away at her to get the truth of who’d nicked the gold from her room, but Lin always clammed up.

  Pearl got Fred to his room, shifted a black photo album lying on the bed and managed to get him horizontal. Thank God he was snoring by the time his head hit his pillow.

  ‘You old soak,’ she whispered tenderly as her heart squeezed.

  Pearl pulled off his hat, kissed his forehead and quietly left his room.

  She headed straight for her own, desperate to take off her black mourning dress and slip into one of her usual colourful kaftans. She’d wanted to attend the funeral in her most colourful kaftan because they should be celebrating her friends’ lives with colour and joy. But it was to be a very traditional send off which meant only somber colours allowed. She bowed her head as she reached her door; she would miss Vi and Di so much.

  Pearl entered her room and went rigid with shock. Someone had been in her room and rearranged it. Her double bed was in the middle of the room, her bedside table under the window and her comfy armchair was right near her by the door. Her hand flew to her mouth as she found the precious photo of her children not on the wall where it had held pride of place but propped up against her portable telly.

  Panic rising, she rushed over to the framed photo and got down on her knees and gently picked it up. That someone had been in here and touched her kids sickened her very soul. It was a family portrait taken at Griffiths and Sons photography studio in Roman Road. If you were black and lived in East London that’s where you got her family snap done back in the early days.

  They all wore their Sunday best with Pearl sitting on a chair with baby Carl in her arms, six-year-old Leticia, Pinky and Styley’s mum, on one side and five-year-old Johnson, on the other. Presiding in the background, tall and strong was her husband Clifton. He was the only one with a small, smile on his face. He’d loved a joke. He’d been such a handsome man, someone she could always lean on. A year after this picture was taken he was wasting away in bed dying from lung cancer. Pearl liked to tell herself that it was his death that had made her go astray but the truth was she’d long been leaving her kids in the arms of others while she gallivanted about in Blues parties and Soho clubs. What a mess she’d made of her life.

  Still clutching the beloved photo she straightened and looked around the room. She was still making a right, royal muck up of it. And this time some bastard was sending her a clear warning.

  ‘I want it to stop. Right now, do you hear me,’ Pearl ordered her grandsons as she sat with them at their table in the back of the gym. She waved her hands around to emphasise her demand.

  The boxing gym was busy today and baking. Pearl nearly had to take off her scarf because the place was that hot. Apparently the heaters and radiators had been on full blast so that the men sweated to achieve a good workout. She was sweating buckets just looking at the guys go through their paces.

  Pinky stared hard at her as he stroked the pink trim on his shirtsleeve. ‘You just told us that some numb nuts has been in your gaff and rearranged your gear to put the frighteners on you, playing mind games and that.’

  ‘Yeah, no one does that to our grams,’ Styley punched in. ‘I should go round to that wank hole estate in Mile End and bust open that Miller slag’s head until her brains are all over the shop.’

  Pearl thumped her fist on the table. ‘No one is mashing up anyone’s head, you hear?’ Her hand went under her kaftan, to her garter, and she pulled out her flask of Wray and Nephew. She took a deep swig and then wiped her mouth. ‘That gold is evil. I don’t want nothing more to do with it.’

  Styley gazed at her as if she was the one with the mashed head. ‘Are you for fucking—?‘

  Pearl’s swiftly whacked him across the head. ‘Remember who you’re speaking to boy. You’re not chatting to one of your ragamuffin mates now.’ She kissed her teeth very hard showing how upset she was. ‘Cuss off at me? I’ll put you under manners with my belt if I owned one.’

  He quickly glanced round the gym to see if anyone had seen what had happened. Everyone was avoiding his gaze, which meant they had seen alright. Only a fool was going to repeat it to another soul.

  His brother said, ‘No, grams is right. We leave this alone now.’ He touched her hand. ‘Whatever you want we will do,’ he caught his brother’s eye, ‘won’t we Sty?’

  A disgruntled Styley rubbed the side of his head. ‘Yeah. Whatever you want. But what about Biggin and Dee? She ain’t gonna want to let it go that easy.’

  Pearl took another lug of the rum and then put it away as she thought long and hard about his question. ‘Well. I haven’t figured that one out yet but you leave them to me.’ She stood up. ‘Now I’ve got to get back. My friend Fred—‘

  Styley’s eyes lit up with mischief. ‘Your friend, is he?’

  Pinky joined in. ‘Oooo, has gramsie got herself a boyfriend?’

  She tried to swat them both but they jumped up and danced good-naturedly out of her reach.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ she muttered to herself so they couldn’t hear. ‘I haven’t got my leg over since 1998.’

  Styley hailed one of their guys over to drive Pearl home. She hugged them tight at the door. She wished she’d never started any of this. If anything happened to her grandbaby boys she’d never forgive herself. Now all she had to do was to get Neville to persuade Dee to pack in in. Problem was he hadn’t listened to her in over thirty years.

  ‘We really gonna leave it alone?’ Styley asked as he and his brother watched their grandma Pearl being driven away.

  ‘Walk away from a shed load of gold?’ Pinky scoffed. He laughed and then became deadly serious. ‘Hell will freeze over before that happens.’

  ‘What’s our next step going to be?’

  Pinky rubbed his chin. And grinned. ‘Didn’t grams say that there’s some hanky-panky foolishness going on between Babs Miller and a former copper?’

  ‘You mad? We can’t have a fucking Fed anywhere near this.’

  Pinky put his arm round his brother’s shoulders. ‘Don’t sweat it. All we’re gonna do is create a little bit of trouble in paradise that might bring the gold to the surface.’

  46

  ‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ Dee slowly acknowledged, as her gaze leisurely took in all Neville’s expensive chintz and whatnots in the gorgeous sitting room of his house.

  Fuck me! She was a nervous wreck. This bloke was her dad, her flip
ping old man. Never in a million years, and some, had she ever believed she’d clap eyes on the fella who had helped give her life. Seeing him in the flesh, realising that she looked like him to boot overwhelmed her so much she wanted to weep with joy. The corners of her mouth turned down remembering all the bad, nasty things Babs had told her about him. Not one good thing had Babs told her. Not one. Dee resented the bloody hell out of her for that.

  Neville nodded his head in approval as he smiled and waved at a deep-blue antique armchair. ‘Take a seat my daughter.’

  Daughter. An electric thrill charged through Dee.

  As she plonked herself down, crossed her long legs and popped her Chloe Paddington bag on the polished wooden floor he poured them both a glass of bubbly. And not any old crap. Rose Lafitte. Now that was class! One of Dee’s big worries had been if she did ever meet her old man he’d been some scuzzball, a proper down ‘n’ out on his uppers only wanting to know her so he could get his light-fingered mitts in her purse. Not only did Neville pass the tacky test he had plenty of wonga to burn.

  ‘So,’ Dee drew the word out, ‘where’s your lady and kid? You’re married, right?’

  His house hadn’t shown much evidence of either, but you never could tell with a bloke. He might have them tucked up in another gaff.

  ‘I’ve never tied the knot.’

  Dee’s brows shot up. Now that surprised her. Neville was a handsome geezer so in his day he must’ve been a real babe magnet.

  Seeing her astounded expression he shrugged and chuckled. ‘I’m not saying I was a saint, coz I weren’t. I’m as red-blooded as the next geezer.’ He sipped from his glass. ‘Truth is Babs was right, when she was carrying you I had a little boy with someone else.’

  ‘And you didn’t marry his mother?’ Dee couldn’t hide the disapproval in her tone. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide it was blokes who sprayed their seed left, right and friggin’ centre without looking back to see if it had taken.