by AA Abbott
“All that blood made a mess of my new summer dress,” Jackie deadpanned. “Seriously.”
“Actually,” Erik said, “Jackie called for an ambulance. She wrapped me in a coat. Although it was a warm day, I was beginning to shiver and lose consciousness. She kept me talking so I’d stay awake.”
“I seem to recall I did the talking,” Jackie said.
Erik laughed. “True enough, as I was in no state to chat. I couldn’t have imagined what topics to discuss with a stab victim, but Jackie made a valiant attempt. We talked about music, TV and the best place for a cocktail in Birmingham. And her work. Jackie’s a librarian, so I have a long list of books to read now.”
“You were lucky I’d finished work early that day,” Jackie said. “I was on my way to meet a friend at the Pen Museum.”
“Is that another cocktail bar?” Ross asked.
Amy was about to say she doubted it. She was sure it was simply a quirky museum; she’d seen signs for it on her walk through the Jewellery Quarter. Neither she nor Jackie had a chance to reply, though, for Kat turned to the librarian. “Where do you recommend for a cocktail?”
“The Jekyll & Hyde. They make possibly the meanest Long Island Iced Tea in the known universe. Certainly the finest in the city. ”
“Want to try it later?” Amy asked Kat.
Kat’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps after I’ve shown Ross the sights.”
“Don’t you need to be getting back to London, Amy?” Ross asked. “You’ll need a sick note if you stay away from work any longer. I’ll take Kat to sample the Long Island Iced Tea for you.”
“It’s the weekend now,” Amy pointed out, while realising the last thing she wanted was to spend more time with Ross. She glared sourly at him as he clutched Kat’s hand like a lovesick adolescent. Erik caught her eye. He flashed a sympathetic glance. Clearly, he’d divined the tension between the two colleagues. She hoped he couldn’t guess the reason.
“What I want to know,” Erik said, “is what happened in the cellar. The police say one of the men who attacked me is in prison, and the other dead.”
“Yes,” Amy said. “The man who cut your throat, Jeb, was shot by his friend.”
“Ross and Amy saved my life in that tunnel,” Kat said.
“And you saved ours,” Ross said loyally. “She picked up Jeb’s gun and told Shaun she would use it.”
“I have no doubt she would have done.” A smile illuminated Erik’s face.
“Somehow, the police knew we were there,” Amy said. “They turned up in force, once Jeb was dead and we’d overpowered Shaun.”
“I asked Jackie to phone them,” Erik admitted.
Kat breathed in sharply.
“What else should I have done?” Erik said. “I knew what those men were capable of. You obviously didn’t. You regarded them as your friends, even.” He shook his head. “I called the police to protect you.”
“They would have come anyway,” Jackie said. “When a man’s throat is slashed, you know it wasn’t a household accident. And did I hear you were wandering around the Anchor tunnels? In that case, someone, somewhere was watching you, I bet. Those tunnels hold too many secrets. Nobody’s supposed to have access. You can be sure the police were on their way already.”
“Kat, you really mustn’t worry,” Ross said. “Ted’s confident he can resolve any difficulties with the police.”
He might have to arrange a divorce too, Amy thought, recalling Lulu’s cautionary words. Kat and Ahmed were man and wife in the eyes of the law, assuming it wasn’t a bigamous marriage. There was good reason to suspect it was, though, because the police had mentioned Bronwen’s name too. How many identities had Kat stolen at Jeb’s prompting? She’d be legally married to her first groom. Amy shuddered, relieved, as Lulu had said, it wasn’t her problem.
“You won’t go back to London now, will you Kat?” Erik asked anxiously.
“I’ll stay here until you’re better,” she promised.
“And I’ll be here with you,” Ross said.
“You’ll visit Lizzie too, I guess,” Erik suggested. “She’s still in hospital and in quite a state, I hear.”
“You can rely on me,” Kat said.
“Good.” Erik smiled.
Amy found his happy mood was infectious. When Erik’s eyes twinkled, he was a different person, a far more likable one than the man scrabbling through boxes in Kat’s room. He’d been so focused on retrieving his possessions that he had no time for social niceties, she supposed.
Jackie looked at her watch. “Actually, I have to be going. My husband’s taking me to a rock concert. I hope you like the book. It’s a popular one.” She pointed to the novel.
“Wait,” Erik said. “Can I buy you a drink next week? I expect I’ll be out of here, and I’d like to treat you, to say thanks. Anyway, I need to give your book back. What was that place you recommended – the Jekyll & Hyde?”
“Yes, or the champagne bar in the Mailbox. Half-price on Fridays.”
“I’ll see you there next Friday evening.”
She winked at him as she left.
Kat began to laugh. “I’ve been so worried about you,” she said. “You’ve been completely obsessed with darria for so long. Now, at last, you have a date!”
“Not in a romantic sense,” Erik protested. “It’s just a gesture of thanks. Jackie’s older than me, and more to the point, she’s happily married.”
“Who’s Darria?” Ross asked.
Kat raised an eyebrow. “It’s a boring little bush, a mean, shrubby thing. Erik thinks he can cure cancer with it.”
“I don’t think, I know,” Erik protested. “My research proves it. Darria can save millions of lives.”
“So why isn’t it on every pharmacy’s shelves already?” Kat scoffed. “I’ll tell you why, Erik. It’s because you’re chasing an impossible dream. Far better to go back home and negotiate with the authorities to get the Snow Mountain factory back. We have a strong legal case and they know it.”
Ross gaped at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’ll help me, won’t you, Ross? You’ve got contacts. Erik and I are rightful owners of the Snow Mountain vodka brand. Erik’s so-called friend and landlord, Marty Bridges, sold us down the river.” Kat turned to her brother. “I don’t know how that snake can look you in the eye,” she spat.
“Of course I’ll help you, Kat,” Ross said.
“Hey, what’s this? A family gathering?”
Amy looked up. Marty Bridges was striding into the ward, a big grin on his face and a bottle of vodka in his hand. A young nurse was trailing after him, her expression worried.
“No alcohol here,” she said to him.
He thrust the bottle in her hand. “No worries, bab,” he said. “Here, you take this as a little gift for looking after my business partner so well.”
“Business partner?” Kat said. “What’s going on?” She looked horrified.
“That’s right,” Marty declared. “Erik and I will be selling darria tea to cure the Big C.”
“Not exactly,” Erik said. “We’ll be researching and commercialising a darria-based medicine.”
“Indeed,” Marty agreed. “It’ll cost me an arm and a leg. So I’m afraid I can’t invest in your insurance start-up after all, Ross, attractive though it is.”
“How dare you,” Kat said.
Marty shrugged. “I’m sorry, bab. I just don’t have enough money.”
“No.” Kat’s cheeks flushed. She rounded on Erik. “You can’t do this. You’re betraying our parents’ memory.”
“I need investment to take my research further,” Erik said. “Besides, you’ve judged Marty too harshly. He’s helped us both. You wouldn’t have your precious British passport without him.”
Would it have been better if she hadn’t? Amy mused. Without it, Kat would have presented a less alluring prospect to Jeb. He might never have suggested she marry visa over-stayers if she hadn’t possessed a British passport in
the first place.
“He does nothing unless there’s something in it for him,” Kat responded. She must hate Marty with a passion. “Do you think he’d give you the time of day if he couldn’t make big bucks from your darria drug?”
“That’s capitalism, dear,” Ross said, squeezing her hand and winking at Marty.
“You’re all crazy,” Kat flared, pulling away from him and stomping out of the ward.
Ross followed her as Marty looked on in amusement.
“Sorry to break up the party,” Marty grinned.
“She’ll get over it,” Erik said. “Ross will calm her down.”
Amy didn’t doubt it. Kat had offered to show Ross round the city. Amy suspected that meant the designer boutiques of the Mailbox, the chic shopping centre wrapped around the Malmaison. The tempting artisan shops of the Jewellery Quarter would probably make the list too. Amy sighed. Kat was a high maintenance woman, but at least with Ross’ deep pockets at her disposal, she needn’t marry the likes of Ahmed again.
“Amy, stop here for a few minutes. There’s something I want to ask you,” Marty said. “Erik, you’ll never guess. I’ve been talking to young Parveen – you know, my neighbour’s daughter.”
“I may have met her many years ago,” Erik said. “What of it?”
“She speaks very highly of young Amy here. They’ve been working together in marketing.”
Amy stared at Marty in dismay. Whatever his intentions, it would be obvious to Parveen now that Amy’s sick leave wasn’t genuine. Monday morning seemed even less appealing than usual.
“We need a marketing specialist,” Erik said.
“Exactly,” Marty said. “What do you think, bab? How about working for us?”
Chapter 42 Marty
Marty had made the job offer flippantly. He was pleasantly surprised by Erik’s reaction.
“I’d love you to work with us, Amy,” Kat’s brother said, “as long as you understand one thing.” He had his serious air again. “You must realise that commercialising the cancer cure is an all-consuming passion for me. It’s what my life’s all about. I’ll work hard, and often I’ll expect you to work hard too, because nothing else matters.”
Amy looked stunned. Marty felt a pang of sympathy for her. She was clearly still processing the suggestion. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently. “I have my own ideas about business strategy and marketing. Phone me on Monday and we can discuss them. Erik looks tired. I’ll give you a lift back to your hotel.”
“See you again soon,” Erik said. His intense green eyes were locked onto Amy’s. He offered her his right hand, pulling her towards him when she took it and kissing her cheek.
“Take care,” Amy said weakly.
Marty jingled his car keys, glad that Amy took the hint and followed him. “You could do a lot worse,” he said, when they were out of Erik’s earshot.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw the way Erik looked at you. He’s as good as gold, you know, worth twenty of Mr Smooth Bastard Ross Pritchard.”
She winced.
“I obviously got that wrong,” Marty said.
“No, I’ve twisted my ankle,” Amy replied.
“You too? I noticed Pritchard was limping. What have you been doing?” Marty teased. “Wait at the door and I’ll bring the car.”
He saluted her like a chauffeur once he’d collected his sleek silver Jaguar. “You and Ross aren’t returning to London in that condition, are you?” he asked.
“I will,” Amy said. “Not Ross.”
“Very wise,” Marty chuckled. “Leave the lovebirds together. You know the story of Icarus who flew too close to the sun?”
“Remind me.”
“It’s a Greek legend.” Marty read extensively when he flew around the globe on business. “Icarus had a pair of wings. He was warned that the sun’s heat would destroy them, but he flew near it anyway. The warnings came true. I see Kat as the hot sun. Like Icarus, people are attracted to her, but they ought to be careful.” Marty gestured around him. “Erik knows that. That’s why he lives here, a hundred miles away from his sister.”
“He’ll move to London, though, won’t he? To set up his business.”
“That’s not how it works, bab,” Marty said cheerfully. “He’s managed perfectly well in Brum until now, especially as I only charge him a pittance in rent. I like it here too, for that matter.”
“The marketing job is in Birmingham, then?”
“Oh yes,” Marty said. “Parveen will be peeved, but so what? She can’t expect everyone in her team to stick to her like a shadow.” He added, “I think you’ll like it here. In London, everyone wears a mask, pretending to be a brighter, shinier version of themselves. I don’t see that in you and you won’t find me pretending to be anyone I’m not. What you see is what you get. Erik’s the same.”
Amy nodded, lips pursed, apparently unimpressed.
“I’m not always politically correct,” Marty admitted. He dimly recalled making a statement about feminine logic when they last met. Perhaps that had annoyed her. “Let’s talk on Monday. You owe it to Erik, at least.”
Chapter 43 Amy
The Malmaison allowed Amy to check out late. She presumed Ross had already arranged it with them. Her first class rail return in her pocket, her bag neatly packed and her emotions rather less organised, she took a cab to New Street station. It annoyed her that she was unable to walk such a short distance. An unexpected sense of loss assailed her as the train began its journey away from the city.
She had to take a taxi from Euston too. Arriving home, Amy opened her front door apprehensively. Luckily, the flat was just as she’d left it. Checking Kat’s room just to make sure, she uncovered no evidence of further dubious callers. At last, a Sunday morning lie-in beckoned. Dreams called to Amy even before her head hit the pillow.
Sunday dawned bright and clear, according to the BBC weather forecast at any rate. Amy’s windows on the outside world were small, at the top of one of her bedrooms walls, and perpetually in shade. Only the heat within the room gave a hint of the elements outside.
For breakfast, she would have to limp to Pret, if not to a supermarket. The store cupboard had yielded only mouldy bread; the fridge, sour milk. Unlocking the front door, she was unprepared for the smart, loafer-shod foot that immediately planted itself inside the hallway.
Amy gasped, looking up into the craggy face of the large gentleman to whom the foot belonged. In his thirties, with the twisted nose and ears of a rugby player or boxer, he appeared ill at ease in his suit. “Good morning, Madam,” he said conversationally. “May we come in?”
She noticed the equally sturdy, somewhat more polished, besuited fellow behind him. “Certainly not,” she said. Deciding they were probably Jehovah’s Witnesses, she resolved to be polite. “If you have a leaflet about your church meetings, please leave it with me.”
“No church leaflets,” said the second man, not quite succeeding in suppressing a grin. “We’re bailiffs appointed by the owner to take possession of this flat.” He showed her a plastic identity card. “Here’s my certificate, darling.”
“The landlord has a county court possession order, Madam,” his companion said. “Are you Miss Katharine White?”
“No, I’m her friend.” Amy’s head began to spin. “You’d better come in,” she said. “I can’t offer you tea, though, unless you take it black.”
“No problem, darling.”
She took them to Kat’s room, to the sofa and folding chairs. Her rent, of course, had been paid to Kat regularly. That signified nothing, however. It was Kat’s responsibility to pay the landlord, and it appeared Kat had not done so.
“What are the arrears?” she asked.
“Five months.”
Although Kat had collected rent, then, she hadn’t paid any during the whole of Amy’s residence at the property, and much of Bronwen’s. How, Amy wondered, could she raise funds to clear the arrears? Charles was unlikely to help.
Ross might, though. “I’ll just make a phone call to get the cash for you,” she said.
The rugby player frowned. “It’s too late, Madam. We’re here to evict you. I must ask you to allow us to inspect this flat, and seize such assets as we see fit to make good the arrears. All other goods will be placed outside and you must remove them from the premises.”
“We’ll change the locks,” his companion said.
“You shouldn’t take my things,” Amy said. “I don’t owe any rent.”
They agreed this was reasonable, as she wasn’t Miss Katharine White. In the event, they took bags full of designer clothes and shoes from Kat’s room. The girls’ other belongings were placed neatly in the car park, where Amy sat on a wine crate and watched as the locks were changed.
Chapter 44 Ross
Ross had enjoyed a most satisfactory night, and wasn’t best pleased to take a call from Amy on Sunday morning.
“They did what?” he said stiffly. “For crying out loud, how could you let that happen?” He’d never been visited by bailiffs – there was no reason why a man of his means should ever meet one – but he knew that, like vampires, they could only cross the threshold if invited.
“What’s the matter?” Kat’s green eyes were wide with alarm.
Ross softened. “Hold on,” he said, muting the phone. “You’ve been evicted from your flat,” he told Kat. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. You can move in with me.”
She snuggled up to him. “And Amy?” she asked. “She has nowhere else to go.”
“She can stay in my spare room, I suppose,” Ross acceded with bad grace. “For a week or so, anyhow.” If it was the price he must pay for Kat to live with him, it was worth it. Anyway, Amy could look after the flat while he was away with Kat in Birmingham and Thailand.
He spoke to Amy again. “Stay exactly where you are. I’m coming back to London. We’ll move everything into my flat.”
“I can’t go with you,” Kat said. “Erik is still in hospital.”
“Don’t worry,” Ross replied, “I’ll be back tonight.”
He spent the bare minimum of time with Amy in London, both of them hobbling as they moved dresses, boxes and bags in and out of the lift and into his flat. Most of the items belonged to Kat. There was very little kitchen equipment, which suited Ross well as his designer kitchen was already well-stocked with sleek chrome gadgets. He gave Amy his spare keys, emphasised his expectations of tidiness, and departed for Euston to return to his new lover. His life was almost perfect. Only his minor leg wound and Amy’s presence in his penthouse reminded Ross that his bliss was not a dream.
