by R. S. Sutton
‘Thanks.’ Valerie fondled the back of his neck as she returned a kiss. It felt warm, desirable and, for a moment, she did not let him go. Parting her lips, she willingly accepted the close contact with a man. Still holding the back of his head, she drew back, a resolute look on her face. Signalling that the moment had passed, Valerie stroked the side of his face and gripped the wheel.
‘Oh, one interesting thing,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘Press that.’ He pointed to a button to the side of the gear lever. Valerie did as she was told and a selection of driving modes came up on the screen: Comfort, Normal and Race. ‘If you touch that one,’ he said, pointing to Race, ‘tighten your seatbelt.’
‘That for when the bad guys are after me?’ she said, driving off.
***
‘Ben,’ she said as he leant against the wheelhouse door, ‘stop messing me about. Try and think of this as a “this could change your life” situation.’ Whoever was frightening him, it was obvious Valerie was coming in a pretty poor second. ‘What’s it all about?’
‘Change my life?’ he said. ‘Don’t get so bloody melodramatic. I did some work for him. Picked people up, dropped them off, that’s all.’
‘What else?’ she said, thinking he had given in rather quickly.
‘I don’t know anything else. The only person I dealt with was Alan Preston. He gave the orders and I did the gofering.’ Ben shrugged his shoulders. ‘A little tax-free, that’s all.’
Valerie still had the feeling he was supplying the minimum information possible. ‘What about his brother, David?’
Ben kept strictly to the “volunteer nothing” method of counter-interrogation. ‘Never knew he had a brother, not until you mentioned him. Honest.’
Valerie said nothing as she looked out across the river. Car headlights reflected off the water as the light faded. On a nearby yacht, a lone seagull lurched as it attempted a landing on a rolling mast.
‘Okay, okay.’ For a moment, Ben’s breath drifted around in the dropping temperature. ‘Picked up some packages and dropped them off at the boat. Probably wacky baccy. What’s the problem?’
‘And coke?’ she said.
‘Okay, okay,’ said Ben. ‘But so what? Smoke it, shove it up your nose. What’s the bloody problem?’
‘And what about your connection with the paranormal?’
‘Paranormal?’ Ben looked quizzical as he drew away. ‘What the frig you on about?’
‘How did you know where Sun Dancer was? And don’t give me that guff about just going out fishing – that ain’t going to wash.’
‘Got a phone call. Someone said to come out while they stayed on board, stop any nosey bugger from butting in. Then when we come chugging over the horizon, they’d sod off. And before you ask, Dan had nowt to do with it, okay.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ben, ‘that’s it. Whoever it was just wanted the boat cleaning up. End of story. What you going to do?’
‘As far as you’re concerned? Nothing. As you said, smoke it, shove it up your nose, what’s it matter?’
Thirteen
Looking at the report for Southern and East, Valerie decided not to spend any more time on stretching it. She scribbled her signature on the bottom before passing it back to Jane.
‘We want some more work out of this company if we can,’ she said. ‘Better not milk it. Or at least, not obviously.’
‘Back to spying on marriages that are no more, or never were in most cases, is it?’ Jane pushed the wad of A4 pages into an envelope and ran her tongue along the edge. ‘I heard someone invented flavoured gum somewhere.’ She banged her fist along the fold, then opened the desk drawer. ‘Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut would be nice.’
‘Get tidied up, then take a few days off,’ said Valerie, putting her jacket on.
‘Off to see you-know-who?’ said Jane, searching for stamps.
‘Need to think,’ Valerie replied. ‘I might have come to a crossroads.’ She pulled the door behind her and set off down the road in search of the Golf.
***
Valerie’s unnoticed tail took his phone and tapped the first autodial number as he followed on the other side of the road.
‘Time to invite her in?’
He listened hard but the traffic kept breaking into the conversation. ‘Hold on.’ He pushed past a couple of pedestrians and into an alley. ‘That’s better. What do you want me to do?’ To aid his concentration, he closed his eyes and leant back on the wall. ‘Okay, okay, not a problem, forty-eight hours. Then where do you suggest?’ He nodded a couple of times. ‘Okay, sure.’ He listened for a few more seconds. ‘No, I won’t lose her. Besides, I’ve a pretty good idea where she’s off to.’ He made a couple more calls, then pocketed the mobile.
Valerie’s ever-present shadow was correct. Preston had called on her return from seeing Ben and invited her round to his flat overlooking the river. ‘Besides,’ he’d said, ‘I’ll need my town car back.’
Valerie picked up the Golf and drove down to the river and around the back of the apartments. ‘Just got to be it,’ she said to herself, looking around the parking area before driving straight into the space signed “Penthouse”.
The main glass door was released by an attendant whose accent made her think of Eton and Winchester. ‘Miss?’
He was tall, around six feet. Slicked-back hair and a full beard surrounded brown eyes and a large nose. His mouth was all but hidden behind the luxurious growth. Whoever had designed the uniform had missed the target. Braid and oversized buttons made him look more like the guy in the Booking.com advert than someone in charge of an exclusive block of apartments.
‘I’m here to see Mr Preston, David Preston.’ Obviously taking his duties very seriously, he managed to look down his nose and raise his eyebrows at the same time. ‘Sorry,’ said Valerie, wondering why someone so obviously well-educated was working as a glorified doorman. ‘Stone, Valerie Stone.’
He picked up the phone and put in a couple of digits. ‘Good evening, sir. There’s a Miss Stone to see you.’ He listened attentively for a few seconds before responding in a slow and measured tone. ‘Certainly sir. Right away, sir.’ He replaced the receiver as the defensive frown turned into a polite welcome. ‘If you’d like to come this way, Miss. Mr Preston has asked me to show you up personally.’
As the lift arrived at the floor below the penthouse, the concierge pressed an illuminated button. ‘Robins here, sir. I have Miss Stone with me. May we come up?’ A couple of lights flashed on the control panel, then the lift resumed its journey to the top floor. ‘Miss Stone,’ he said as the door slid back.
Valerie left the elevator, but before she could thank him, Robins disappeared behind the sliding door. Descending the single step into the room, she flicked her shoes to the side before stepping onto the thick, cream carpet.
‘Think I might need a Garmin to see me through this,’ she said, running a foot from side to side.
The all-leather furniture was made up of two large settees and three chairs. Running down one side was a chrome and glass sideboard supporting a hi-fi system and enough drinks to start a serious party. To the right were two doors, and straight-ahead sliding glass panels led to a balcony. The contemporary pictures on the wall were by nobody Valerie had ever heard of. In the centre of one wall was a large photograph of Sun Dancer going flat out in a force five to six. An oblong coffee table, supporting a chess set, sat in front of one settee.
‘Lovely to see you, Valerie. How did it all go?’
‘Fine, good advice. Gave it to Ben straight and got what I wanted. More or less. I think.’
Lightly holding her arms, Preston gave her a kiss. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘That’s it,’ she said, ‘report’s been sent. End of story. I think all your brother was up to was smoking dope, maybe some cocaine, maybe not, co
uld have been his friends. All Ben did was to clean up after them. Some well-wisher tipped him off, you know, remove anything incriminating from the boat.’ She decided to soften the blow by not telling him there was someone on the boat. She couldn’t see that it was relevant. Fell off on his own or fell off when someone else was with him.
Preston rubbed a couple of fingers across his forehead. ‘Drink?’
‘Bottle of Coke or Pepsi, diet, please. Lots of lemon.’
‘Will a can do?’
‘Yes, sure, just can’t be doing with that damn draft stuff.’
Preston handed the drink over and sat down, looking at the ceiling as he let his head fall back.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Valerie, going to sit beside him. ‘He was your brother and all I’ve done is slag him off. I’m so sorry, just thinking of what it meant to the case, and all the time…’ She broke off and took his hand. ‘It’s okay, David, no one will find out from me, and I don’t think Ben will incriminate himself. Bit of dope is no big deal. No deal at all, as a matter of fact.’
‘It’s okay, I’m okay.’ He took a sip from his gin and tonic and gave her a polite smile. ‘Just, you know…’ He got up and went across to the terrace window. ‘Come and have a look at the view.’
Valerie joined him in the cool evening air and leant on the stainless rail. ‘What’s this, the view money can’t buy?’ Stroking his hand, she gave him a warm smile. ‘Or rather, can.’
Preston stared out over the river. ‘I’d give it all to have him back.’
Valerie placed her drink on the nearby table and put her arms around his neck. ‘I know.’ The kiss was tender and warm. ‘It’s bloody hard.’
He pulled back slightly. ‘That sounds like someone’s been there before.’
‘Been there, done that,’ she said, picking up her drink and going back inside.
‘Got the T-shirt?’
‘Oh yeah. Been every inch of the nine yards. Fully paid-up member.’
He followed her in and, saying nothing, crushed her to his chest. ‘Music,’ he said. ‘Enough of this misery.’ He picked up an iPad, put in a couple of commands and handed it to Valerie. ‘Have a look, there’s thousands in there.’
Valerie scrolled through the Tidal menu. ‘Good choice,’ said Preston as the opening chords to Supertramp’s “Give a Little Bit” erupted from the giant KEF speakers. ‘No need to turn it down,’ he said as Valerie reached for the control again, ‘a bomb could go off in this place and you wouldn’t hear a thing beyond the walls.’
Preston went over to the fridge. ‘Surprise,’ he said. ‘Had it in here for hours, it’ll be freezing.’ He pulled the cork from a bottle of Chablis.
‘Good job Janice isn’t here,’ said Valerie, taking a glass.
‘Don’t want anyone else here.’ He lightly put the rim of his glass to hers.
The music continued and Valerie wasn’t sure if an hour had passed, or two, or more. She hadn’t looked at her watch nor wanted to; she didn’t care but was quite content to grab a lift on the passing cloud. For the last few tracks, the music had got softer and slower as she flowed along. With only drinking one or two glasses of wine, it wasn’t from too much alcohol that she now felt comfortably warm.
She again put a hand over her glass as Preston offered a refill. ‘No thanks,’ she said, reaching for a chess piece from the board in front of them.
‘Do you play?’ he asked as she playfully tapped the rook against her teeth.
‘Play? I know how to play,’ she continued, with a flirtatious grin. ‘I’m afraid there’s a big difference.’
‘Well, I’m not all that great… shall we? We could have a small wager.’
‘What were you thinking of?’
Preston made a playful effort of thinking. ‘If I win, you come to bed with me.’
‘Oh. Heavy stakes.’ Valerie now stroked the chess piece against her cheek. ‘Throwing all your money onto the table in one go, are you?’
‘Can’t think of anything I’d value more,’ said Preston. ‘Not even your car.’
‘And what if I win?’
‘Name it. But I own nothing that would even come close.’
‘Well, you ain’t getting the Jag.’ Rising to her feet, she slowly removed one piece of clothing after the other, before, with a final flourish, she dropped her knickers onto the chess table. ‘Oh,’ she said, holding a hand to her mouth in mocking innocence, ‘I just knocked the king over… I must have lost.’
With a sweep of her leg she sent the chess set into the thick carpet. Then, standing on the coffee table, she held her hands behind her back.
‘Happy birthday, Mr Preston.’ She coyly put one ankle behind the other. He rose to his feet and, with an outstretched hand, ran the back of his fingers down her cheek.
‘But it’s not my birthday.’
‘It is from where I’m standing.’
***
Valerie slowly opened her eyes and reached out into an empty, but still warm, space. The sensations and colours of the previous night still journeyed through her mind. But it was a clear mind. Not one swamped with stale alcohol. There had been no lovemaking in a haze concocted by a distillery. It had been sharp, almost cutting, in its exquisite execution.
The bedroom was just as she imagined, understated. Crisp white bedding. A cream carpet. Two Chinese cabinets, one to each side of the bed, and no television. Everything else was behind a door to a walk-in dressing room and wardrobe.
‘Morning, sleepyhead.’ With a piece of toast between his teeth, Preston kicked the door shut with his heel. ‘Breakfast?’ He placed a tray on the bed and removed the piece of toast. ‘Made it myself.’
‘You made some toast…’ she said, revealing creamy white breasts while pushing herself up. ‘Escoffier is alive, and living on the bank of the Thames.’
‘I made the bread that made the toast.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She took a piece of toast from the silver rack and laced it with butter. ‘Not just a bloody sex machine then?’
‘Me? Jesus. I seem to remember a certain lady going at it like it was her last day on earth.’
‘Hold on,’ she said, ‘I’ll just see if I can find my complaints book.’
‘Ha. Shouldn’t think there’s many entries in that.’
Valerie pulled The Telegraph from the tray. ‘What’s happening in the world?’ said Preston, lightly touching a pink nipple.
‘Just having a look in the stop press, see if a certain riverside apartment had been reported at the centre of a seismic shift last night.’
‘What are we going to do?’ he asked, lying back across the bed.
‘Well, I can give myself a couple of days off. So, you say.’
‘No,’ he said, rolling onto his stomach and looking up. ‘Us?’
‘Us?’ she repeated. ‘Steady on. I’ve only just beamed down from the mother ship, don’t know which side is up and which side is down yet.’ She got up and made her way to the shower, her perfect bottom moving like a poem across virgin parchment. ‘Can I pinch some shower gel and shampoo?’
Preston shuffled lists on the iPad as he shouted from the lounge. ‘Like classical music too?’
‘Sure, blast away.’
It was the wrong music, and it sent Valerie into a descending spiral.
Almost anything else would have been fine, but now she felt a downward pressure of guilt crushing her brain, her body, even her soul. She could listen to all the old music without it being accompanied by pain, but after a night in Preston’s bed this piece was too much.
She slumped to the shower floor, tears mingling with the drenching water as the music thundered around. The piece had been played as they left the church surrounded by friends and relatives. And after that he had made a ritual of playing it full-on while bringing her breakfast after Sunday-morning lovemaking.
/> Lovemaking in green fields and haystacks. Between silk sheets. Other times and places. He always made it special. But Sunday morning, accompanied by Widor’s Toccata, was sacred.
‘Valerie! Valerie!’ Preston’s voice broke into this most private grief. ‘Christ, what’s the matter?’
Quickly recovering her wits, Valerie dragged herself away from the mental precipice. ‘Stupid bitch I am,’ she said. ‘Slipped, banged my arm.’
He threw a towel around her shoulders and helped her back into the bedroom. ‘Sit down a minute. It’s a bit early for a brandy, unless you think you need one?’
‘No, no, just banged my arm, that’s all,’ she said, rubbing at the phantom injury.
Fourteen
No matter where she started thinking about Preston, it all came around in a big circle: a mixture of guilt and wanting to break out. Is this what she had to settle for, she wondered, nudging the office door with her hip. The door bounced back as a large boot was jammed against the frame.
‘Miss Stone? Miss Valerie Stone?’ The man in the dark suit eased past and dropped his plastic mac on Valerie’s desk. ‘We would like a word with you.’ He motioned through the window to a double-parked car across the street.
‘Oh yes.’ Valerie followed his gaze through the crooked blind, ‘And who’s we?’
‘Us.’ He pulled out a warrant card and held it up. ‘To be exact, me, DI Simonds.’
Before he could put it away, Valerie took the card and scrutinised the photo. ‘And what’s it all about?’ she said, handing it back.
‘A word, somewhere in private, discuss a couple of things. Nothing wrong, you’re not in any trouble if that’s what you’re worrying about.’ Pocketing the card, he looked around the office.
‘And you can’t tell me what it’s about?’
‘Not can’t, Miss, just better back at… somewhere else. Somewhere a bit more secure.’
