Authors: Jessie Keane
Clara kept quiet; let him speak. So they’d argued. Had Jasper become so upset that he’d lost all reason and killed the object of his adoration?
‘But then,’ Jasper gasped, stifling a sob. ‘The fire. I didn’t know anything about it, not a thing, until I showed up at the house the following day and found it burned to the ground. Some people who lived in the road told me what had happened. That he’d . . . oh Jesus, that he’d
died
.’
‘So you left at ten?’ Clara was eyeing him closely.
Jasper’s mouth dropped open. ‘What, you think
I
would do a thing like that? We argued a lot. But we loved one another. I only wish to God he’d never set eyes on
you
, never seen you as a solution to his problems. I hated that he went home to you, that you were his wife, and I was only a bit on the side, a
nothing
. It’s true we had a fiery relationship. Oh shit.’ Jasper realized what he’d just said and clamped a trembling hand over his mouth. Tears spilled out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Then he tried to gather himself. He dropped his hand and stared at her. ‘I would
never
hurt him. I don’t know how you could even think that.’
‘I don’t think anything, Jasper, I’m trying to make sense of it, that’s all,’ said Clara, wondering if he was telling the truth. If he was into drugs in a big way, who knew what lies he was spouting? Who knew what might go on in that fried brain of his? ‘The insurance people wouldn’t pay out, you know. They said the fire had been started deliberately. They talked about accelerants.’
‘Was it you then?’ snapped Jasper.
‘
What?
’
‘You had the most to gain by his death, didn’t you. The insurance and everything. And it wasn’t a proper marriage at all. Maybe you wanted to get him out of the way so that you could get your grasping hands on everything he had.’
‘No,’ said Clara firmly. ‘Not true. I wouldn’t hurt Toby, any more than you would. You’re talking rubbish. If I’d wanted to do a thing like that – and I never would – I would have been a damned sight more subtle. No accelerants, for a start. Because someone used them, the insurance company are saying I can go and fuck myself, they’re not paying a penny. They’re sure it was started deliberately.’
‘Maybe Toby started it?’ said Jasper, rubbing a hand over his brow. It was obvious the hit from the coke was wearing off now, and all this talk of Toby’s death was exhausting him.
‘But why? Toby loved that place as much as I did.’
‘Then someone else. But who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, will someone find out? Please?’ Jasper gave a hitching gasp and wiped at his tear-streaked face. ‘Whoever did this, I want them to suffer. I want them
dead
.’
86
‘Where the hell have you been?’ asked Marcus when she got back to the Calypso.
Clara looked at her husband with surprise. After the wedding reception had ended last night, she’d slept alone; he hadn’t come near her again. Then she’d got up, washed and dressed, had a bit of breakfast and gone off to see Jasper in a taxi.
Now she was back, and none the wiser for her visit, and Marcus was sitting in the main body of the club with all his boys, including weedy little speccy-four-eyes Gordon, gathered around him, and she walked in and got both barrels, straight between the eyes.
‘Visiting a friend,’ she said, and walked on past him because that was all he was going to get. He didn’t
own
her, for Christ’s sake.
‘Don’t do that. Don’t wander off alone,’ said Marcus.
‘What, you think Sears is going to jump out of a bush and grab me?’ asked Clara with a laugh.
She didn’t
feel
like laughing, but she had to maintain a front. It had taken a lot of bottle to walk out of the door this morning, knowing that Sears had it in for her. And she wondered about Sears and the house fire that killed Toby, too. Had he been behind that? It was possible. He’d had some sort of weird fixation on her, and she’d been married to Toby. Maybe Sears had killed him, wanting him out of the way to clear a path to her. The idea made her shake with rage.
‘Let’s take this upstairs,’ said Marcus, standing up and coming over to her.
‘Yes, why don’t we?’ said Clara, and preceded him up the stairs and into the flat over the club.
Marcus closed the door and leaned against it and looked at her.
‘Are you totally bloody crazy?’ he asked.
‘Me?’ Clara threw her bag onto a chair then turned and faced him. ‘Excuse me,
I’m
not the one who invited my bloody
mistress
to my own wedding.’
‘I didn’t invite Paulette. She turned up. What was I supposed to do, kick her out?’
‘Yes.’
‘What, are you jealous then?’ He was watching her closely.
‘Oh, don’t flatter yourself. But I do expect to be treated with a little respect, and I don’t think that was very respectful.’
‘Oh, I am sorry, your majesty,’ he said.
‘Don’t mock me.’
‘Clara.’ Marcus pushed away from the door and came and stood right in front of her.
‘What?’ She eyed him warily.
‘I don’t think you understand the situation here. I’m not old Frank the rent man and I’m not a poofter like Toby.’
Clara’s stare hardened. ‘Don’t call him that. Don’t you
dare
.’
Their eyes locked. ‘Good Christ,’ said Marcus. ‘You actually felt something for that poor bastard, didn’t you? Perhaps you have got a heart and not a block of ice after all.’
Clara gulped. Every time Toby’s name was mentioned, she felt close to tears. It crucified her that his life had ended so horribly. But she wasn’t going to start trying to explain her feelings to a hard nut like Marcus.
‘Just don’t call him that.
Never
call him that. OK?’ she snapped.
‘Clara?’
‘What?’
‘You can’t order me about and expect to get away with it.’
‘I wasn’t aware that I was ordering you about.’
‘You were, you stroppy mare. So come on. What’s the big mystery? Where did you get to?’
‘I went to see Jasper. Toby’s boyfriend.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he might have known something about the fire. He was there the night it happened.’
‘What did he tell you?’ Marcus looked interested now.
‘He left at ten. According to him, Toby was fine then. By two o’clock, when I got home, the place had burned down and Toby was as good as dead.’
‘Maybe he’s lying,’ said Marcus.
‘Maybe. They were arguing, he said. About me, about Toby’s marriage to me.’
‘Or maybe it’s down to someone else.’
‘Don’t say me, for God’s sake. That’s what Jasper said.’
‘What about Toby himself? Christ, Clara, he had enough secrets, God knows. Was Jasper his only boyfriend, do you think? Maybe there was something else going on.’
‘I can’t see why Toby would start the fire to get an insurance payout,’ said Clara, holding her head in both hands. ‘I’ve thought about it over and over again, and I just can’t see it. He had no money problems. I knew the business inside-out, it was thriving. And he adored that house. Besides, he was clever. You know he was. He’d have had the sense to do the thing a lot more carefully than that, if he was going to.’
‘Sears then. What about him? He was trying to frighten Toby into handing over the clubs, and it got out of hand. Or maybe he didn’t realize Toby was at home that night. And speaking of Sears . . . ’
‘Yeah? What about him?’
‘Seriously. No more wandering off alone. I’ve been hearing rumours around the streets.’
‘About what?’
‘They’re saying he’s put a contract out on you.’
‘He
what
?’
Marcus nodded. ‘There’s a price on your head. So no more fucking around. Word is, you’re to be delivered up to Sears, Clara. Dead or alive – but preferably dead.’
Clara sat down hard on a chair as he spoke the words. ‘What did you say?’
‘He wants you dead. Big surprise.’
‘What should I do then?’ she asked blankly.
‘Stay close. In fact,’ Marcus gave a winning smile, ‘I think it’s time we did a little socializing – as a married couple.’
87
Marcus’s mother was a tiny withered thing who lived in a stately mews house in Chelsea. She was dressed for her son’s visit with his new bride in a dark navy velvet gown that had probably cost a working man’s weekly wage. The gown had a neckline edged with creamy guipure lace. She had cold black pebbles where her eyes should be, and a perfectly coiffed head of startlingly white hair. She opened the door to them, supporting herself on an ivory walking stick.
‘She’s older than you’d expect,’ Marcus had warned Clara on the way over in the E-type. ‘She had me when she was forty-nine.’
‘Black hair!’ said Marcus’s mother, leading the way into an overheated sitting room where she sat down by the fire. She laid the walking stick at her feet and stared at Clara. ‘Well, well. She’s got black hair, like yours. Like mine, too. I had black hair once. I was a beauty, you know.’ The gimlet eyes held Clara’s. ‘An absolute catch. But there’s something Celtic there, maybe Irish, with her pale skin and blue eyes. It’s a pretty effect, anyway. Whereas in us It’s dark eyes and dark skin to go with the hair. I think
that’s
something Latin.’
‘Hello, Mrs Redmayne,’ said Clara, wondering how this doll-like creature could have produced a fabulously robust bruiser like Marcus. She was glad now that Marcus had told her about the late age at which his mother had him – this woman looked old enough to be his grandmother. And she had a chilly judgemental glint in her eye that made Clara decide instantly that she didn’t like her at all.
‘Mother,’ said Marcus, going to her chair and kissing her cheek, while his mother’s eyes remained glued to Clara.
‘She’s got a confident look about her,’ said the old lady, and it didn’t sound like a compliment. Clara thought that this old cow would have preferred someone like Bernie – compliant, meek, easily intimidated – someone she could dominate.
‘Well . . . ?’ the old lady said, and held out her hand.
For an instant Clara thought the woman was holding out a hand to her; but then Marcus produced a blue Tiffany box tied with white ribbon from his jacket pocket and laid it in his mother’s palm. She didn’t open it. She merely nodded, lips clamped tightly together in grim satisfaction, and put it aside on the small table beside her chair.
‘Sit down,’ said the old lady.
Clara sat.
This is going to be a
long
afternoon
, she thought.
‘So – what do you think of her?’ asked Marcus on the journey back to the Calypso.
‘She’s a monster,’ said Clara.
Marcus smiled. ‘Yeah. Thought you might have that in common.’
‘
I’m
not a monster.’
‘Don’t suppose she thinks she is, either.’
Clara stared at his face, intent on the traffic. ‘What, you think I’m like her? You think I’m like
that
? You think that every time you see me – I’m guessing it is every time, isn’t it? Yes, I thought so – you have to present me with a gift? That’s not true, Marcus. Not at all.’
He glanced at her. ‘No?’
‘No.’ Clara thought of trying on the jewels with Toby, the great laughs they’d had. Toby had gifted her with rubies, emeralds, diamonds – and most of them had been lost in the fire. Worse – far, far worse – he had been lost too.
Some things you just couldn’t replace.
She was starting to know that now. She had no family to speak of any more. She’d lost Frank, who had at least been kind to her, and Toby, who she’d loved dearly. Now, what did she have? A husband who married her as a business deal, to get her clubs and have her in his bed.
She’d listened to him talking to his mother today and thought,
Yes, that’s what drives him
. He had told the old witch that he’d taken over Clara’s clubs. Not strictly true – they were equal partners – but Clara hadn’t argued the point. And she had seen something like hope in his eyes as he’d said it. But his mother had seemed unimpressed.
I bet he’s been trying to impress her forever
, thought Clara.
Trying, and failing. And bringing gifts to her feet, like a dog that longs for a pat of approval from its master.
‘We were bombed out during the war. I must have been, oh, fourteen, fifteen,’ said Marcus as he drove through the traffic. ‘And the thing I remember? She didn’t look for me to see I was all right. When it was over, I found her grubbing about on her hands and knees, searching for her jewellery box among all the bricks and shit and stuff that had blown in on our fucking heads. That was all that mattered to her.’
Marcus drove into the alley beside the club’s side entrance, and Clara got out as soon as he killed the engine. She heard a ‘pop’ like a kid’s toy gun going off, and something punched into the open car door, sending a quiver of vibration up her arm.
‘What the f—’ she said in surprise, and then Marcus came barrelling around the front of the car and knocked her flat to the ground.
Another ‘pop’ and a second hole appeared in the gleaming red finish of the car door. Another one zinged off the top of the bonnet.
‘Keep down,’ said Marcus by her ear.
What else could she do? Flattened under Marcus’s weight, she could only lie there and wait for one of those bullets to find its mark.
Someone was trying to shoot her
. She couldn’t believe it, but it was true.
Someone was trying to
kill
her.
‘Crawl around the front, we’ll get to the other side and then we’ve got some better cover,’ said Marcus.
Clara was almost too scared to move, but Marcus shoved her forward and she moved around the motor’s long bonnet. Another shot dinged into the car, and she had a horrific flash of it thudding not into metal but into her body, smashing its way into her flesh, her bone, her veins, stopping her heart.
‘Oh Christ,’ she gasped as they got round the other side, in between the club door and the car. The shots were all hitting the far side, whoever was shooting at them must be up in the office building on the other side of the alley, maybe even up on the roof of that building. One of the bullets hit the front tyre, and the E-type sagged wearily.