Deadly Obsession (21 page)

‘So why don't you? Why don't you care about our child? About Emily?'

‘Because it shouldn't have happened,' said Riley. Blunt words, but said with regret and some compassion. ‘I don't want to ruin what I have with Amy. I know that's not what you want to hear but it's the truth.'

It wasn't what she wanted to hear. Genevieve may have disliked Amy's existence but at that moment the person she disliked most was herself. For letting herself get into this position, for letting Riley do it to her.

‘Can't we just push all of this to one side and start again?' said Riley. ‘This never happened. You won't go to court about Emily. Amy will never find out. And I'll never tell anyone that you just tried to kill me. You're better than all this.'

Riley placed his hand underneath Genevieve's chin and raised it up towards his face. He could smell the whisky on her breath as he leant down to kiss her. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue against her lips. Genevieve didn't respond. Something inside her told her not to.

She pushed Riley away. ‘You're right, I am better than this. I'm better than you. Kissing you and letting you make love to me again would be the easiest thing in the world, but I can't. How can I love a man I can't respect?'

Riley loosened his grip on her as she staggered to her feet. He made sure that the gun was still way beyond her reach. ‘You pay me what I need, Riley Hart, or it won't just be your wife who hears about Emily. It will be the world.'

As she stumbled from the office, Genevieve could feel a strip of self-respect running back through her, despite having nearly put her own daughter in a position where her mother would be locked up for murder. She had told Riley what she wanted and shown she was serious. She wasn't sure what was to come next, but whatever it was she would make sure it was to Emily's advantage.

Riley would not get away with neglecting his child.

A
s Genevieve placed
the keys in her pocket and stumbled to the back of the shop again, this time to try and tidy up before heading home, she placed her fingers to her face and traced along the tiny scar that still remained from where she'd hit her head on the desk. It was almost a perfect match for the one on her cheek she'd gained in the shootings at The Kitty Kat.

She'd never imagined what had happened next. Who could?

‘
W
ell
, if this doesn't take away the stresses and strains of running one of the most talked about clubs in the UK then I don't know what will,' said Laura as another cool stone was applied to her body in order to rub in the most delicious flow of Manuka honey.

‘And the aloe gel and aloe-based wrap comes next,' purred Amy as she lay face down alongside her best friend in one of the seventeenth century treatment rooms at the Monestero Santa Rosa spa on a clifftop in Italy's Amalfi Coast. ‘This is sheer bliss. I feel like my body has just melted into one big pool of honey. I didn't realise how stressed I was about getting the club off the ground.'

‘You deserve this,' sighed Laura, shutting her eyes as another viscous pouring of honey was drizzled onto her skin by one of the spa staff. ‘That opening night was wild and every night you have organised since has been a huge success. And fair play to Lily because she has been fending off the Z-listers outside the club who want to come and sit their sorry little asses in our VIP areas like nobody's business. Who the hell wants some skank from a TV show about girls getting pissed, shagged and wetting themselves rubbing shoulders with a bona fide Hollywood superstar.'

‘Yeah, because you've never gone out on the piss, pulled some minger and then wet yourself in the cab on the way home, have you?' deadpanned Amy.

Laura chose to ignore her. ‘They shouldn't turn up unless they're on the guest list. Anyhow, why didn't Lily get invited along to this girlie weekend of ours then? She does more at that club than I do, to be honest.'

‘I did suggest it to Riley, but he was adamant that it was to be just you and me. And to be honest, I agree. Lily works for me and Riley, you happen to be my best friend. And always will be. You deserve the success of The Kitty Kat just as much as I do. You've lived this dream with me, ever since we first met at Decoupage. Riley and I could not have opened The Kitty Kat without you. You've always been there for me, no matter what, and seen me through some major upsets.'

‘That's what friends are for.' Laura reached out and grabbed Amy's hand, giving it a squeeze of support. ‘Now, I was thinking about some more theme nights at the club seeing as the eighties and gay ones have become pretty legendary. How about a ‘Single Ladies' night? Or a fetish night? You know, all Beyoncé-fied Sasha Fierceness at the first one and all Gaga extreme outfits on the second. Hashtag strong, hashtag unique!'

Amy wasn't sure that either was such a good idea and was about to say so when one of the spa staff interrupted. ‘Okay, ladies, it is time for your wrap. If you would both like to turn over onto your backs we can wrap you both.' The masseur's accent was as rich as Italian chocolate.

‘With an accent like that, you can turn me anyway you like,' grinned Laura. ‘It's hot. You'll be making me very hot under the collar. Not that I'm wearing one of course.' Laura shifted her body, somewhat coquettishly towards the man.

The masseur smiled, but with no hint of flirtation. It was obviously something he had heard and experienced a million times before. He was a total professional. Besides, he knew that both Laura and Amy would be cooling off any overheating after the treatment by visiting the spa's famed ice fountain.

When his back was turned preparing the wrap, Laura turned to Amy and mouthed the words, ‘How can he resist this? He must be gay'. She jiggled her boobs to emphasise her point. Amy was still giggling as the first layer of wrap was applied to her body.

T
he ice fountain
had indeed cooled the girls down and had revitalised and refreshed them after the intense relaxation of the wrap. It was great to be away from Manchester and just chill for a few days. Later that evening, as they wandered around the rosemary and lemon scented tiered gardens housed within the spa's building, a former monastery, both women were in a reflective and relaxed mood.

‘I'm not used to seeing you this chilled out, Laura. No bottle of Prosecco, no man chasing, no reaching for your latest Viva Glam MAC lipstick, no Twitter, no Facebook, no mobile glued to your face. It's nice to see.' Laura had always been much more a social media, tap-the-app kind of girl than Amy, but it was lovely to see her friend not Instagramming or the like.

‘I know, get me! But it's this place, it's just so beautiful, isn't it? Staring out across the azure of that sea you can't help but feel that it's nice to just totally relax and forget about any stresses back in the UK. Not that I really have any to be honest, well, maybe one or two that I should deal with.' There was a definite sense of contemplation behind Laura's gaze and a softening of her voice. Amy was used to her friend hurtling through life at the speed of a car chase from
The Fast And The Furious
so the difference in her demeanour was clear to see.

‘I'm so lucky to have you in my life, Laura. I've always said that. You and Riley were the only people who helped me cope when Mum and Dad died. You are my strength.'

‘Well, the feeling is mutual, sister. One hundred per cent. And as for men, well they ruin everything sometimes, don't they? Why do we let them, eh?'

Amy reached out to take her friend's hand again. Something was obviously irking Laura, she never slated men. Maybe Amy would try to delve a little deeper into what was making her think that way. When the time was right. The serenity of their surrounding did not lend itself to further investigation.

‘It was the sisters here who first made the concoctions for the treatments,' said Laura. ‘I read that on this place's website before we came.'

‘Oh I read that too,' agreed Amy. ‘And the fact they used to bake delicious filled pastries too called
sfogliatelle
. Very “Patisserie Week” on
Bake Off
. They were shell-shaped and apparently quite delicious.'

‘So was that masseur today,' said Laura. ‘Delicious, I mean. Do you think he does private sessions?'

Amy couldn't help but raise her eyebrows and smile. So much for the calm. The moment for serious talk had just left the building.

D
espite everything
, Tommy Hearn loved his wife. He may have had a funny way of showing it throughout their married life together but underneath it all he loved her. Jemima was the wife he needed as she let him do exactly what he wanted.

Sure she wasn't as glamorous as Bianca Hart, Riley's mother, had been. She had had that retro sixties glamour when it was all beehive hairdos and mini-skirts, but Jemima was a pretty woman. He'd been bewitched by her when they'd first met. Her prettiness was striking, but she was meeker than any young woman he'd ever met. That was one of the things that drew him to her. Tommy was a wide boy, someone who wanted to rule the streets in the same way Cazwell Hart did and the thought of having a girlfriend who was pretty enough to be admired but quiet enough to let him puff his chest out and play hard man was just what he wanted. She didn't even have to be the sexiest of women in the bedroom department as he could obtain that wherever he liked. If Tommy had learnt one thing at an early age it was that his rugged good looks could definitely bring women to their knees. Literally. Jemima was good in the bedroom though, he'd give her that. There had been a time when their sex life was electric. But things had changed, life had moved on and the pair of them had become a sexless yet understanding couple.

How it had happened was something Tommy was ruminating on as Jemima served him a glass of whiskey in the front room of their five bedroom house in Wilmslow, Cheshire. If you had money in Manchester, it was where many of the rich and famous chose to live.

He watched her as she served him the tumbler of liquid. She barely looked him in the eyes as she did so. Her hair was grey and scraped back as per normal. Why didn't she dye it? Style it? Frame her face in a better way? Occasionally she did, normally on the insistence of Caitlyn Rich, one of the few women in their world who paid any attention to Jemima. Caitlyn was hard to say no to. Tommy wouldn't want a wife like that.

Jemima had made an effort for a while. When was it? About up until the time of the shootings at The Kitty Kat? Yes, probably about then, thought Tommy. But lately she'd made no effort at all. But there was still a prettiness there, hidden away, Tommy could see that. Just that lately it was buried deeper and deeper behind a façade of misery and harshness.

Tommy watched his wife sit down opposite him and open a book to read. It was a trashy love story no doubt, a tale of some lonely female tourist being whisked off to paradise by a dashing Sheikh or a muscle-bound prince. His wife definitely had a style when it came to her choice of escapist read and it was always the more romantic the better.

Was he to blame for her being the way she was? Had he made her the woman he saw before him? Deep down he thought that maybe he had. But he'd always been honest with her, always provided for her, always stayed by her side when yes, there were more exciting, sexual, fire cracking females out there. But that wasn't what Tommy wanted, at least not in a wife. He wanted someone he could rely on. Someone who would live his life alongside him. Someone who would see him as number one.

Yes, Tommy Hearn could see that his wife had changed over the years, he could see that he had probably created the bitter and sad woman he was staring at right now, and he could see that she had let herself go. He could also see that she was easy to love, because she let him be exactly what he wanted, a man who answered to no-one. She always had done, and that pleased him greatly. Tommy Hearn had always walked with a swagger and he was changing for nobody. He just couldn't see how arrogant that made him.

C
aitlyn Rich adored New York
. She always did on her numerous visits to the Big Apple – the bright, dazzling, enticing lights of Times Square, the lightly-cooked, beautifully fresh seafood at Midtown's Le Bernardin, the erotic luxury of shopping for lingerie at Kiki De Montparnasse. Every sidewalk turn and every countless corner housed a delight that only New York could offer.

But her now regular trips there with her cosmetic surgeon lover, Jona Fleet, were proving to be the best moments she had ever experienced in the city. Waking up alongside a man who truly cared for her was a joyous intimacy, especially one who could fix both her looks if need be and also fix the aching she now often experienced for a nerve stimulating bout of love-making. And Jona's nine inches never disappointed. Which was something she hadn't been able to say about her husband, Adam, for the longest time.

It was becoming apparent to Caitlyn that she was seeing less and less of her thuggish husband and that neither he nor she seemed to care about it. It was a fact that was brutally obvious as Adam walked into the entrance hall of their Manchester home to find Caitlyn directing two poor workmen in no uncertain terms where to place her newly finished mirror-mosaic swan.

‘Oh, you're back then? How was your sister?' barked Adam as he elbowed his way through the front door of their home, a cloud of cigar smoke accompanying him. It was clear form his frown that he was not in the best of moods.

‘Yes, darling, I'm back and she's fine,' she lied. She'd not seen her sister Lolly for six months, but she was a fabulous cover for Caitlyn's affair with Jona. ‘Which is more than can be said for you. You have an expression painted across that aging face of yours that could curdle the thickest
crème fraîche
. Did you miss me, darling?' There was more than a spoonful of irony in Caitlyn's tone. She didn't actually believe Adam had missed her since the late nineties. He certainly showed no interest in where she was most of the time. If he'd looked at her passport lately he would have seen the visas proving that she and Jona had taken a bite of the Big Apple no less than four times in the last twelve months and also two trips to LA, where Jona was attending a cosmetic surgery show as an international speaker.

‘Miss you?' grunted Adam. ‘The only bloody thing I miss is the masses of cash you keep spunking up the wall while you're away. How much did you spend this time?' And what the fuck is that?' he said, pointing at the swan being carried by the two workmen. ‘Haven't we got enough of those bloody things around here now? It's looking like some bloody Arab palace in here.'

As had become customary, Caitlyn ignored him. ‘Check our credit cards, darling, I withdrew a few hundred and used it wisely.' Caitlyn had learnt long ago that Adam never really paid much attention to the money she spent. He moaned about it, that was for sure, but he had bigger fish to fry than sitting down and balancing the pounds and pennies. And Caitlyn always used the joint accounts wisely and only in the UK. For her ‘lay-cations' as she liked to call them with Jona she would only ever use cash or transfer money from a joint account into her own solo one. She and Adam may have had complete understanding that each of them had their ‘own interests' when it came to their marriage but a sassy lady like Caitlyn knew that the last thing a woman should do to a man, especially one who waved a weapon at people as a profession, is rub the fact she had a lover in his face. Did he know? Maybe? Did he care? Definitely not. As long as it was out of sight, it was out of mind, and as long as Caitlyn was still happy to play the trophy wife when required, then Adam was content with his marital life.

‘What have you bought this sodding flamingo for?' he snapped, pointing to the statue again. He tilted his head in an attempt to try and see it from a different vantage point. ‘It looks deformed. Bloody rubbish.'

Caitlyn watched as Adam marched across the hall and into his office. ‘Yes, dear, I missed you too,' she said between gritted teeth as he disappeared out of sight.

But for once, maybe Caitlyn was in agreement with Adam. She tilted her head too to look at the statue. He was right, it did still look like a deformed flamingo.

Turning to the workmen, Caitlyn clapped her hands twice and placed her fingertips to her lips in consternation. ‘Right, you two, put this thing back onto your van and hotfoot it back down to London tout de suite. I shall be phoning Jean-Paul immediately to tell him that his swan will not be swimming its way into my luxury abode until it's had a complete makeover.'

As the two workmen picked up the statue and shuffled their way back to the front door, one of them turned to Caitlyn and said. ‘For what it's worth, I thought it was a flamingo as well.'

Caitlyn shooed them out and shut the door behind them.

‘Dear man, your opinion is worth nothing,' she snipped, before rushing off to phone Jean-Paul. It may have been Adam who used guns for a living but the Belgian sculptor would be getting a verbal ‘Force Caitlyn' with both barrels.

‘
Y
ou've bought
a swan for the entrance hall as well?' asked Lily. ‘How many statues does that make now? We've already got David and his mirrored cock in there, Immodesty Blaize's rack in the greenhouse and enough shiny skulls, French bulldogs, doves and glitterballs to give Europe a mirror shortage. You're becoming obsessed, Mother.'

‘Well, excuse me for wanting to make our home a little more glamorous,' answers Caitlyn. ‘And do you have to be so coarse? The statue of David has a penis, not a cock, and the greenhouse, as you call it, is a
conservatoire
, Lily.'

‘Tom-ay-to, tom-ar-to' smiled Lily. ‘So I'm a little rough around the edges, it must be the way you and Dad have raised me.'

‘Well, dear girl,' said Caitlyn, taking her daughter's face in her hands and staring deep into her eyes. ‘You do a look a little rough, it has to be said. What have you been doing to yourself?' Lily had only just surfaced from her bed where she had spent most of the day and had come to join her mother in the Rich sitting room. ‘I turn my back for two seconds …'

‘Two seconds,' scoffed Lily. ‘You're hardly ever here these days. You talk about making it a home. It's hardly yours anymore. You're always down at your sister's.' Lily stuck her fingers in the air and double-quote-marked the words ‘your sister's' to make her meaning clear.

Caitlyn shifted awkwardly in her seat. ‘Your auntie likes company, what can I say?'

‘And you must love looking after her because you always come back with a spring in your step and a smile across your face.'

‘When did you get so smart?' asked Caitlyn.

‘When I grew up. I've been around long enough to know exactly what goes on underneath this roof and more to the point, outside of it. You and Dad aren't the cosiest of couples at the best of times and I can understand why, especially now I know what Dad does for a job.'

Lily explained to her mother about the conversation she had had with Adam and also about her recent catch-up with Amy Hart.

‘Amy Hart is back in town, is she? Well I never. I bet that pleased your father hugely.' The sarcasm was clear. As was the reason that Adam had possessed a face of thunder when he'd arrived home earlier.

‘I know what Daddy does. He's a gangster, isn't he?'

Caitlyn stayed silent, unsure what to say.

‘I'm fine with it. None of us are virginal pure, are we?' stated Lily.

‘Your father is a good provider, Lily. That is all you need to worry about.'

‘Believe you me, I know that, and I'm more than happy to lap up the maids, personal chefs, posh cars and riches of the Rich household when need be. Why do you think I still live here? I'm lazy and can't be arsed to move out. Who needs responsibility? But are you okay with what Daddy does? Have you always known?'

Caitlyn took hold of Lily's hand. ‘I have known what your father does ever since we first met each other and I fell in love. I gave my heart to the man I wanted to be with, and it just so happened that he doesn't have the most honourable of jobs. Not everyone can marry a charity worker or a Nobel Prize winner, darling. But your father's job has bought this house and everything in it. It's put clothes on our back and food on our table. Given us a lifestyle that is pretty darned good. You are definitely my daughter, Lily Rich. You love the finer things as much as I do. My feelings for your father may have changed over the years and maybe we're not as
cosy
– as you put it – as we once were, but I will always be grateful for the opportunities he has put my way. If I hadn't have met him I might have ended up a secretary or a hairdresser or something, but really, darling, you know me. I don't have a perfect manicure just to go chipping it on a PC keyboard and I certainly don't want to go around smelling of bleach and perming solution. That's not very me, is it?'

‘So you turn a blind eye to it all?'

‘Your father and I turn a blind eye to a lot of things. But the one thing that we both truly care about is you. So tell me, what's been going on in your life to make you look like you should still be celebrating Halloween, when in reality we're skidding towards Christmas? Those dark circles under your eyes are not an attractive look for one so young.'

Lily knew she looked rough. Her drug taking had been getting a little too out of hand and she had begun to question everything in her life. When she worked at The Kitty Kat Club she possessed a
raison d'être
but now she was without purpose. She sold the drugs to make some money, but that wasn't why she did it. She could have blagged money from her parents, but after the independence of working the club so well she did not want to revert to handouts. The drug-dealing gave her something that was hers, but what it also gave her was the opportunity to take more herself, and that was spiralling out of control, especially now that it was Riley Hart who was filling her thoughts.

‘I'm just tired,' lied Lily. The last thing she wanted to confess to her mother was her increasing reliance on narcotics. ‘It's just that Amy Hart coming back has given me a lot to think about. She thinks Riley might still be alive and that it wasn't him who was killed at the club.'

‘Now there's a stupid bombshell if ever I heard one. Don't the police do all sorts of records and checks, dentistry and things like that, to make sure a corpse is who they say it is? Who the hell did she bury or cremate or whatever she did, for God's sake?' A streak of major panic flashed across Caitlyn's face. If Riley was alive, not that she could see how he could be, then Adam could be in serious danger. She was fully aware of the Weston Smith business. Blind eye and all that.

‘I thought the same, but apparently the police have washed their hands of the whole thing. But Amy thinks Riley still might be hiding somewhere.'

‘Has she tried his mobile?'

‘Er, yeah … I think she's tried most things, Mother. He seems to be incommunicado.'

‘So why is all this giving you something to think about and turning your beautiful face into something from a zombie comic? I need to get you some pampering, dear girl. Freshen up that skin a little.'

‘It's the talk of Riley being alive. I'm hoping it's true. When he was alive …' She hesitated, wondering if she should carry on, but doubtless Adam would tell her mother if she didn't. ‘We were having an affair. It ended because he dumped me, but I loved him, Mum. I think I still do.'

Caitlyn's mouth dropped open. ‘You were having an affair with Riley Hart? You stupid girl, how could you?'

‘Er, hello? Kettle, pot, black. You just said you can't choose the profession of the man you fall in love with. And as for affairs, isn't your hypocrisy a bit rich coming from someone who spends half their time at their
sister's
?' Again Lily double-quote-marked the air as she said the word.

Caitlyn knew she was right. Lily was a smart cookie. She pulled her close and hugged her. ‘Oh you poor girl, you really are your mother's daughter, aren't you?'