2 The Imposter (45 page)

Edward looked around the bathroom, looking for the dead bodies and the Japanese soldiers in the corners, in the laundry cupboard, beneath the bath. He felt his own eyes stretched wide, terrified, and although he knew his fear was senseless he kept looking for them, in the dusky windows and in the mirror above the sink. He lifted his leg out of the water and stared at his foot. He saw the corresponding scars where the bullet had punched its way in and out. He held his breath and dunked his head beneath the water again, letting the warmth envelop him, and then pushed himself up. His body felt leaden and slow, as if he were trying to raise himself out of deep water.

A peal of thunder brought him back to himself again. He got out of the bath and towelled himself dry. He had let his imagination run away with him. They were all dead. The grogginess was just fatigue and hunger. He just needed to manage for another hour, or maybe two, and then he could sleep. There would be more to do tomorrow and then the days that followed, much more, and he would need to be rested to do it, but, for now, he bounced on his heels with satisfaction. He was inordinately proud of himself. The day had been all he could have expected, and more.

63

EDWARD DRESSED AND, putting himself back into character again, made his way down to the study. The storm had grown bigger, and now lightning crackled overhead with thunderclaps, still distant, booming in response. The electricity was still out and it had made the house unnaturally dark, pools of darkness gathered around every corner. He paused to compose himself at the foot of the stairs, his hand on the gilt angel that formed the newel post, and then he went through into the library. Violet and Chiara were sitting in high-backed chairs next to the fire. Joseph was pacing anxiously in front of them. The room was lit with the orange and red of the flickering fire and the warm amber from candles that had been placed around the room.

Chiara got up and hurried to him. “Oh, Edward,” she sobbed. She had been crying. Her eyes were red and her face was ashen.

He held her in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

She held her hand up against her mouth. “Did you see him?”

“Yes. I’m truly sorry, Chiara. It’s horrible.”

“Poor Roger.”

“It’s Spot,” Joseph said. “All of it.”

Chiara buried her face in Edward’s neck. “Poor dog. Poor boy.”

“Are you sure, Joseph? The wreath didn’t say––”

Joseph interrupted him angrily. “Of course it’s him. He’s making it personal: what he did to me, Ruby’s garage, the dog.”

“And this morning,” Edward added.

“Yes, and this morning. It must have been him. Aunt?”

“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I need a drink. We can talk about it over dinner.”

They repaired to the dining room. It was one of the worst dinners Edward had ever endured. The food and wine were superb, the cuisine of such excellence that would normally have provided him with satisfaction, even happiness, but the quality of the meal was lost on him today. Chiara was heartbroken, Violet’s mood was ambiguous and Joseph seethed with fury. This was all as it should be, of course, but the effort of balancing their responses and then adjusting his own––sympathy where required, then umbrage, then shocked affront––was debilitating. He straightened his back and breathed, his chest aching with tension. They sat in awkward silence as they struggled through the main course. Edward chased the last morsels of sole and butter around his plate, soaking the juice with the last slices of potato, and took a mental stock of the situation. Yes, he thought. Everything was good. He was satisfied.

Hargreaves cleared the plates away and, as if that was the signal to resume the conversation, Joseph brought the conversation straight back to Jack Spot. “You think he spoke to the police?” he said, finishing the last of his glass of wine and pouring again.

“Who else would’ve done that?”

It was all becoming such an effort. Edward recognised the fatigue very well––the languor of a player who, in the furtherance of a difficult performance, has given his all. But he was in the last Act now, and he knew he must persevere. “I agree, for what it’s worth,” he concurred.

Hargreaves returned with soufflés and coffee. Edward attempted to finish his, and failed.

Violet dabbed her spoon through the delicate crust. “But how did he know you would be there?”

Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the glass in the windows.

Edward spoke calmly and carefully. “That’s it, isn’t it? Someone has betrayed you. Someone who’s been involved. They told Spot about Honeybourne and Spot tipped off the police. He wants the family off the street, doesn’t he?––can you think of a better way to do it than this? There’s no risk to him and no more bloodshed. It gets George out of the way, too. The police have done his work for him. It’s perfect. He’ll take his chance and take all of Soho now.” He stopped to let his words register. “If you don’t act now, there won’t be another chance.”

“What about Roger?”

“That must have been someone who knew you had a dog. Someone who knew the house, too, so that they could get in, take him, and get out again. Spot wouldn’t know that without help. And you, Joseph, unless it was all a complete coincidence, he must have been told by someone who knew what you were going to do that night.”

“I feel sick,” Chiara said.

Joseph pushed his untouched soufflé to the side. “Where was Billy today?”

“I’m wondering that too,” Edward allowed. He spoke with elaborate care––the very essence of probity––he would let them draw their conclusions themselves.

“He did all this?” Violet said.

“Who else?”

Violet’s cup made three distinct clicks against the saucer as she set it down. “It can’t be him. I knew his mother and father.”

“Then where was he this morning?” Joseph’s face was redder, and a nerve in his cheek trembled. He set his empty wine glass down rather hard on the table.

Violet went across to the drinks cabinet and poured four brandies. Chiara sipped hers and then, putting it down, pushed away from the table and stood. “This is just pointless talk!” she said indignantly, walking towards the fire. “Talk got us into this mess. There’s no more time for talk. We need to
do
something.” Her alabaster cheeks had turned to a pale olive colour and her dark eyes flashed at Violet. “Who cares if it was Billy? I don’t. We can deal with that later. Whoever betrayed us, that damage has already been done. It’s what comes next that is important. Look at us, sitting here, eating a pleasant meal, talking about it, doing nothing. Spot has had his way with us for too long. He’s gone too far. Do I need to spell it out? He came to our house. He killed my dog. Father would have had him
shot
for that!”

Edward was surprised, and secretly gratified, by this burst of vehemence. It was Joseph’s quick trigger that he had hoped to tease into activity. That was why he had spared him from the police and why he had humiliated him before his fiancée. His sister had never shown any interest in the family business before, and, although he had witnessed the Italian side to her personality––the temper, the sudden eruptions of fervour––he had never seen it in this context. She had always been ambivalent––or perhaps even slightly embarrassed––about the family business, or so he had thought. He saw now that he had misread her. It was a mistake that he was pleased to have made.

Joseph nodded avidly. “She’s right. Edward and I talked about it while we were walking here. He has an idea of what we need to do. You should listen to him.”

Violet sipped her brandy, her eyes glittering over the rim of the tumbler. “Very well.” She turned her cool gaze onto him. Her lips had a firm line, like lips that seldom smiled or spoke. “Tell us, then, Edward––what would you do?”

There was a portentous crack from the woods nearby and they automatically looked out of the window. The tops of the pines and the fir still flexed, but if any tree had fallen, it was too dark for them to see it.

“Well?”

Edward got up and walked to the window just as the wind threw a hard spray of rain against the panes. He winced at it, and then, his back to them all, took a breath and picked his words very deliberately. He had anticipated this, readied himself for it, and, after coming so far, he did not want to fluff his lines. “You can’t just ignore him any more,” he said, his tone calm and even. He spoke as if he were addressing a classroom of children who were not listening very well. “Spot isn’t going to settle for Soho, he wants everything. There’s no other choice––you
have
to fight back now. If you don’t, he’ll finish you off and then there’ll be nothing left for the family. No business. No income. No position. Nothing. He’ll take it all––this house, even, if he wants it. You don’t have anything to lose and it still isn’t too late. But you need to make a statement.”

She regarded him coolly. “What kind of statement?”

“Something he can’t ignore.”

PART SIX

London

April 1946

64

ST MARK’S WAS THE PARISH CHURCH nearest to Halewell Close. It was a Norman building, laid out in cruciform shape and with seating for three hundred. Violet had hired a London florist to dress the building for the wedding and it had taken three days until she was satisfied: armfuls of flowers had been arranged in vases and tied to the ends of the pews and the altar was lit with twenty large candles that spat and sputtered, throwing dancing shadows across the walls. It was cool and crisp behind the thick stone walls. Plenty of the seats were taken but there were spaces. George Costello and Jack McVitie and the other men who had been arrested at Honeybourne were all absent. Billy Stavropoulos was absent.

Edward allowed himself the indulgence of a private smile. Joseph had looked for Billy for three days with no success. He seemed more and more convinced of his guilt to the point that just the mention of his name now would trigger his temper. Edward didn’t have to do anything to foster his suspicion. Edward was proud of his work. He had engineered things so that Joseph would reach his own conclusions and everything else had followed naturally from there. He thought that it had been masterfully executed and, tonight, he would start to snip away the loose ends.

Joseph had asked Edward to replace Billy as Best Man and he had graciously accepted. That really was the icing on the cake, he thought. He allowed himself a moment of smugness. His fingers closed around the box in his right-hand pocket and he pulled it out.

Eve and Joseph were gazing at each other happily. Edward stared out into the crowd beyond. There were plenty of faces that he recognised. He drew his gaze forwards and, at the front, there was Chiara. She was one of Eve’s bridesmaids. She was wearing a peach-coloured dress, the same as the others, and the colour suited her. She noticed Edward’s eyes on her and she smiled at him softly.

The vicar arranged Joseph and Eve so that they were facing each other. At his direction, Joseph took the ring and slipped it onto Eve’s finger.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Joseph bowed his head and kissed Eve. As he withdrew, and before he turned to the congregation, he looked to his side, at Edward, and smiled.

* * *

THE RECEPTION was to be held in the garden of Halewell Close. A large marquee had been erected on the main lawn, and, within it, thirty tables had been arranged, each of them set for ten guests. Bunting had been draped across the surrounding trees and lanterns hung from their boughs. A second, smaller marquee abutted the first and it was here that the meal was to be prepared and served. The food was to be provided by the kitchen at Claridges. The catering tent had been crazed with activity all day. There had been a generous budget for ingredients, and Ruby Ward had provided everything they could possibly have required. They peeled and diced vegetables, prepared consommés, butchered meat. Those not invited to the service parked their cars on the lower lawn, an array of sparkling metal and chrome worth many thousands of pounds. Immaculately dressed waiters and waitresses distributed glasses of champagne as the guests assembled inside the tent. Edward took a flute and drained it in a single, thirsty gulp.

“Hello,” Chiara said as he sat down next to her on the top table. “You look very handsome.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “And you look lovely. That’s a beautiful dress.”

She smiled at him, a little shyly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, of course––but it’s all a little, I don’t know––”

“Hectic?”

“Well, yes––exactly. And strange.”

“The people who aren’t here?”

“Exactly.”

They both looked out across the space: the bar was jammed tight and children scampered between the tables.

“I do wonder about my aunt sometimes,” she said with a long sigh. “This is typical––any excuse to show off. I think Joseph would have preferred something a little quieter, but he wouldn’t have had much say in the matter.”

Joseph and Eve were in the middle of the table, to Edward’s left. They were beaming with happiness, his hand resting atop hers on the table. Violet was next to Joseph. Eve’s parents had not been invited.

“No news about Billy?” she asked.

Edward hesitated, seeking earnestly for the truth. “Not that I’ve heard,” he said. “It’s very strange.”

“Joseph is convinced he’s the one who spoke to the police.”

“So it must be possible.”

“I heard him talking to Violet about it yesterday. It’s been days since anyone saw him. It doesn’t look good, does it?”

“No,” Edward allowed. “It doesn’t.” He took a gulp of his champagne, pleased with himself again. It was astonishing the difference it made. He felt more confident, more in control, and he felt that that confidence must be obvious in his posture and bearing, and on the ease with which he could put all the right expressions onto his face. All the doubt that he had felt… how foolish he had been!

“Joseph will kill him if he finds him,” Chiara confided.

Edward nodded, thinking that that wouldn’t be necessary.

The meal was pleasant. The cook had prepared a seafood starter, followed by breast of chicken. The food was excellent and the drink flowed freely. The conversation was boisterous, fuelled by the alcohol, and Edward soon forgot his anxiety.