The Silver Mark

by Sarah Painter

  The new owners had strung up fairy lights as a nod to modern tastes and there were a few more comfortable bench seats, upholstered in navy velvet, but it was still recognisably the venue from Lydia’s childhood. Henry Crow was sitting in his usual place, an open newspaper and almost-finished pint in front of him on the round table.

  ‘Hi Dad,’ Lydia said, ‘hope you don’t mind me crashing your quiet time.’

  ‘All I have these days,’ he said, standing to hug Lydia. ‘Always good to see you, Lyds. You know that.’

  Lydia went to the bar and got a pint of his favourite and a soda and lime for herself. She wished she hadn’t brought the car and could have a proper drink. Now that she was here, she felt suddenly weirdly shy about talking to her dad on his own. She realised how much of a buffer her mum’s presence had become.

  Back at the table, things went downhill rapidly. Her dad looked up from his paper and said, ‘hello’, as if they hadn’t just greeted each other.

  ‘How are you?’ Lydia said, sitting opposite her dad.

  Henry was frowning at her, as if trying to place her. Lydia couldn’t believe the difference a couple of minutes had made. Was Jason right? Was she powering up whatever was making him ill? It was painful but it seemed true; Lydia made him sick.

  ‘I’m all right, love,’ Henry said. ‘You?’

  Lydia passed her dad his pint of beer and he took a long appreciative slurp, like a man who had just crossed the Sahara. ‘Feathers, that’s the stuff.’

  Lydia took a sip of her soda, the ice cubes clinking against the edge of the glass.

  The pause lengthened, and then he spoke. ‘Did Charlie send you?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Sweet talk from a pretty face. Not really his style, but I guess he’s getting desperate.’

  Lydia opened her mouth to correct him, but he was staring down at his drink and his expression was odd. Halfway between fear and longing.

  ‘I’ve told him I can’t. I won’t do it to Lydia.’ He shot her a look full of anger. ‘And I love Susan. Pretty faces are not the way to go. I’m a faithful husband. You tell him that.’

  Hating herself, Lydia forced a quick nod. ‘What does Lydia think about it all? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  His forehead creased. ‘She’s a baby. She doesn’t know a thing about it and she never will.’

  ‘Right,’ Lydia said.

  ‘And I promised Susan when we decided to have children... We promised each other.’

  ‘I’ll tell Charlie, then. It’s a no go.’

  ‘That’s the deal. I’m out and so is my daughter. He’s not training her and neither will I.’

  Lydia paused, weighing up whether she was really going to do this. Then she ploughed ahead. ‘What about her heritage? Shouldn’t she know?’

  Her Dad’s focus sharpened and, in a split second he went from being her father to a stranger. ‘I don’t think you should be pushing me on this… Do you, darling?’

  Lydia managed to shake her head but she didn’t trust herself to speak. The malevolent energy coming from a man she had loved and trusted her whole life was hard to bear.

  He smiled, still channelling the Henry Crow who was heir to the Family. He seemed taller, meaner, and infinitely sharper. ‘Now I know you’re just doing as you’re told, following orders from my dear brother, but I’ve got a little word of advice for you.’ He leaned in very slightly, still smiling and said: ‘Just because I’m out of the business, doesn’t mean I won’t snap every bone in your body if you don’t stop asking stupid questions.’

  * * *

  Shaken, Lydia sat in her car and stared out of the windscreen for a few minutes before calling Emma. ‘I’m in the area,’ she said, looking around at the leafy streets. The sense of space and reduced pollution levels ought to make her breathe more easily. Instead, she felt her lungs constricting and a band wrapped tightly around her shoulders. ‘Come round,’ Emma said immediately and Lydia felt the band loosen slightly.

  Lydia took her boots off in the hall. Emma had already poured two glasses of wine. ‘I’ve got the car,’ Lydia said.

  Emma shrugged. ‘Stay over if you want.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lydia eyed the red wine with longing. ‘I’ll start with tea. Want one?’

  While she dealt with the kettle administration, she asked about Maisie and Archie. ‘Maisie’s asleep and Tom is reading to Archie.’

  ‘How are they?’ Lydia chucked the teabag into the bin and followed Emma to the living room. It was covered with books and toys and the coffee table was overflowing with plastic dishes, dinosaur figures, and a pile of opened post. Several cushions were on the floor, along with a blanket and a circle of soft toys. It was still the most beautiful room Lydia had ever seen in real life. Emma had impeccable taste.

  ‘Will Tom mind me crashing your evening?’ Lydia knew she ought to make more of an effort with her best friend’s significant other.

  ‘He’ll probably go back to work after Archie is down.’

  ‘Busy?’

  ‘The downside to connectivity,’ Emma said, drily. ‘Never actually leaving work.’

  Lydia had no concept of a work-life balance, herself, but she said. ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ to show she was normal.

  After they had caught up with the news on Archie and Maisie, Emma told Lydia a story about someone they had both known at school who had started a charity providing sanitary products for disadvantaged girls and had been given an award. They drank to her excellent work and Lydia decided she would definitely move onto wine just as soon as she had finished her tea.

  Emma was looking at her with a strange expression, though. ‘We haven’t done this in a while.’

  The guilt hit Lydia in the solar plexus. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s been a bit mad-’

  Emma waved her wine glass. ‘When you stayed, I thought you would be around a bit more. I know you’re busy and that our lives are very different. I chose this, I know that. I just miss you.’

  ‘I miss you, too,’ Lydia said. She felt like crap but it wasn’t guilt. Well, not just guilt, anyway. It was sadness. ‘I will be better.’

  ‘I will try, too,’ Emma said. ‘It’s a two-way street. I’m so wrapped up in my mum-life. I know that I’m not the friend you need in your life right now.’

  ‘That’s crazy-talk.’

  ‘No, it’s true. I can’t go out drinking or dancing,’

  ‘I don’t dance,’ Lydia said, trying to lighten the tone.

  ‘I can’t help you with your business stuff. I know your schedule is nuts and it would be helpful if I was more flexible,’ Emma stared at her wine, not looking Lydia in the eye. ‘I know I’m a nightmare. I need, like, a month’s notice to do anything not involving the kids.’

  ‘You are a brilliant friend,’ Lydia said. ‘The best. Now stop talking balls.’

  Emma sniffed. She took a big swig of wine and managed a watery smile. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Anyway, I need to update you on my love life...’ Lydia paused. ‘Assuming you’re still interested in that kind of thing now that you’re a sedate older-lady motherly type with Play Doh on the brain.’

  Emma threw a cushion at Lydia’s head. ‘Shut up. And tell all.’

  Lydia settled more comfortably on the sofa and, hugging the cushion as she spoke, she told Emma about her dismal failure to stay away from Fleet.

  ‘It sounds like he can’t stay away from you, either, to be fair.’

  ‘Well,’ Lydia gestured to herself. ‘Who can blame him?’

  ‘True,’ Emma said. ‘So, it’s going well? You’re at that lovely stage when you can’t keep your hands off each other?’

  ‘I need to keep my hands off him, though. That’s the problem.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s a copper,’ Lydia said promptly.

  ‘And?’

  ‘You know my family,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Not really,’ Emma said. She was serious again and her wine glass was empty. It had gone quic
kly.

  ‘Well, you know enough. And it’s not just that. I have to keep things professional. He’s my source. My contact in the force. I can’t risk losing that for a… A night of fun.’

  ‘Sounds like bollocks,’ Emma said. ‘You’re pulling your usual.’

  ‘My usual?’

  ‘You’re Martin Blank.’

  This was an old argument and not one Lydia felt like having. ‘I am not Martin Blank.’ Grosse Point Blank was one of their all-time favourite films and she and Emma watched it so many times when they were teens that they could both recite along to the whole thing. It did not, however, mean that she wanted to be likened to Martin Blank. Well, she did. But not by Emma who she knew did not mean it as a compliment.

  She put her mug down on the table, next to a plastic T-Rex. ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ Emma’s voice was strangely flat.

  ‘Better had,’ Lydia got up. ‘Sorry. Let’s have a proper night soon, though, yeah?’

  ‘When you don’t have an early start,’ Emma said, in the same monotone. Her mouth was a line of unhappiness and Lydia knew she should stay, make things better, but she didn’t know how. On her way home, Lydia felt the guilt gnawing in her insides until she admitted the real truth; it had been easier to leave.

  Chapter Eight

  Instead of her office, Maria Silver suggested The Seven Stars. It was an old pub, backing onto the Royal Justice Courts and established on the doorstep of Lincoln’s Inn, one of the most prestigious Inns of Court, where barristers have been learning their trade and paying their respects since the early fifteenth century. Not surprisingly, it was a known drinking hole of the legal establishment. Maria was playing an at-home advantage without actually inviting a Crow into her workplace. Smart.

  The heatwave had cooled in intensity a little, but hadn’t yet broken. A period of intense sunshine like this would surely have to end in thunder and torrential rain but, for now, the sky was still clear blue. Outside The Seven Stars was mobbed. Drinkers often stood around outside pubs in London, spilling out across the pavement and, on quiet roads, into the street, and the warm weather had only amplified this tendency. Stretching down the street, past the legal-wig shop next door to the pub, and beyond, people were sitting on the pavement. Settled in as comfortably as if they were in their own living rooms.

  Lydia pushed her way into the darkness of the pub. The cosy fug of a London boozer welcomed her inside. It still smelled of smoke from the generations that had enjoyed tobacco within its walls before the ban, and the light glinting on the gilt lettering on the mirrors, the polished brass and warm cherry wood of the bar, all invited Lydia to sit down, have a drink, forget her cares. It was a kind of magic, really, and it was no wonder that the place had been thriving since 1602 when it had served homesick Dutch sailors coming in off the Thames.

  Having obtained a large coke with ice, Lydia avoided the attention of a young barrister, high off his first case who wanted to celebrate by buying her champagne, and scouted the interior for Maria. Right at the back and leaning against the dark green wall, was Maria Silver. She was petting a black cat which was sat on a tall wooden bar table and purring loudly enough for Lydia to hear as she approached.

  Lydia introduced herself and Maria nodded before turning her attention back to the cat. It was wearing a white ruff around its neck and, unusually for a cat, seemed to be okay with the fancy dress. Lydia had heard rumours that this pub had a resident cat and she wasn’t entirely thrilled to see they were true. Her eyes were already starting to itch from its fur.

  Lydia waited for Maria to speak, trying to appear unfazed by the situation. In theory they held the same status; Maria was the daughter of Alejandro, head of the Silver family. But then Lydia’s father had abdicated his position, which made things a little blurry. Plus, the official line was that the Family stuff was in the past. That nobody cared anymore about relative status or power. Which, of course, was laughable.

  ‘Something is amusing you?’ Maria raised an eyebrow. ‘It had better not be Cicero. He is easily offended.’

  On cue, the cat gave Lydia the haughtiest look she had ever seen on a feline. Which really was saying something.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘I heard from a friend of a friend that you’ve been asking about Robert Sharp.’

  ‘Do lawyers have friends? I thought it was just clients.’

  Maria smiled. ‘That’s detectives you are thinking of. And solicitors.’

  Lydia took a welcome mouthful of her coke. There were a couple of ceiling fans, but they were just moving the warm air around.

  ‘You are going to stumble across it eventually and I thought I would save you the trouble. Sharp had engaged our services.’

  ‘That’s very public spirited of you. Have you extended the same courtesy to the police?’

  ‘Naturally,’ Maria said. ‘And this courtesy is by way of a peace offering. Continued good relations.’

  It clicked. ‘Your dad made you call me.’

  Maria’s eyes flickered and her mouth hardened. That had pissed her off. And no wonder. Hot-shot legal mind, aged somewhere in her forties, and still at the beck and call of her daddy. ‘No,’ she bit off the word.

  ‘So, what did Sharp want?’

  ‘My department specialises in protecting large companies’ intellectual property assets, as well as defending them from bogus claims, libellous lawsuits, all the usual hazards involved in doing business. An individual is not our remit, but Sharp’s case was taken as a favour to one of our existing clients, JRB.’

  ‘What does that stand for?’

  ‘I believe it’s just the founder’s initials. It doesn’t mean anything in particular.’

  Lydia noticed that Maria had side-stepped the question but she wasn’t sure why. ‘Why did they want you to look after Robert?’

  Maria shrugged. ‘We didn’t ask.’

  ‘And what kind of trouble was Mr Sharp in?’

  ‘I have no idea. We didn’t get that far.’ Maria turned her attention back to the cat, who was nuzzling its head on her forearm with its tail high in the air, its back a steep curve. ‘His first appointment was scheduled for next week. Cancelled now, of course.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Lydia said. ‘And he definitely gave no indication of the nature of his issue when he made the appointment? Nothing in email?’

  ‘I didn’t speak to him, my secretary did.’

  ‘Can I speak to your secretary?’

  Maria stopped petting the cat and it straightened up in fury. She looked at Lydia for a few seconds as if weighing something up in her mind and then said. ‘If you must.’

  * * *

  Lydia had been planning to go shopping for food on the way back to the flat, but the muggy heat sapped her motivation. Keeping to the shade as much as possible, she headed back from the station, hoping to beg a late lunch from Angel.

  The Fork was busy, with most of the tables filled and a buzz of chatter and the gentle clink of cutlery on china. Lydia didn’t recognise the kid behind the counter but she had a more immediate problem. Uncle Charlie was holding court in a corner table, and his dining companions were not Crows.

  Lydia hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether she should simply head straight upstairs and deal with the hunger. She was sure there was half a packet of crackers kicking about her kitchen. Maybe even a heel of bread. Uncle Charlie looked straight at her, though, his face breaking in to a welcoming smile. It was the smile of a card sharp welcoming a mark and Lydia felt her spine stiffen in response. He raised a hand and beckoned her over.

  He stood to greet her, holding her shoulders and kissing each cheek. The full treatment which, Lydia assumed, was for the benefit of the onlookers. The men at Charlie’s table also got to their feet. A beat too slowly for proper politeness, but still.

  ‘My niece,’ Charlie said. ‘This is Lydia. Lydia, this is Julius and Marko.’

  ‘Charmed,’ Lydia said. ‘Li
sten, I won’t keep you. I’m just getting some takeaway.’

  ‘Join us,’ Marko said. He flashed a bright white smile with a tiny jewel embedded in one of his incisors.

  The cafe wasn’t table service. You ordered at the counter and took a number for your table, but Charlie stayed on his feet and signalled the boy who was ringing up a coffee cake and a cola for a woman who, now that Lydia was looking in her direction, had an odd vibe.

  ‘Another piece of lasagne for my niece,’ Charlie’s voice carried easily over the hubbub of the room and several people looked up. Lydia slid into the seat by the window to try to end the scene as quickly as possible. Declining the invitation was clearly not an option. Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it quickly, hoping for a work emergency that could spirit her away from this awkwardness. It was a text from Emma:

  Archie wanted me to send you this.

  A second message was a photo of a felt-tip drawing of a stick figure with long black hair, drawn in violent slashing scribbles, and round yellow circles orbiting her flung-apart arms. The mouth was drawn in crimson and it wasn’t smiling or frowning, just a grim straight line.

  She thumbed a quick reply:

  I love it! Please thank him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she added:

  Be round soon.

  Another moment and she added ‘Love L’ and a kiss. Jason said she was emotionally withholding which clearly wasn’t the case.

  Charlie had sat down and he moved his own plate and glass over to his new position. The guy from the counter arrived and hurriedly put down a bundle of cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin and a basket of fresh bread.