Fear of the Fathers (15 page)

Thankfully the walk was short and in a couple of minutes they were back at her flat. She opened the communal door and they stood in the hallway, both a little damp.

“Are you going to stop for a coffee?” she asked.

Jennings looked at his watch. “I'd better not,” he said. “It's nearly eleven o' clock. I need to get a move on if I'm going to make the last tube.”

“You'd better take this,” she said, handing him the umbrella. “It's black, so you won't look like a big girl.”

“Thanks. I'll get it back to you next time I come over. And thanks again for the meal, you really didn't have to.”

She smiled at him. “I know. But I wanted to. You've been a great friend and I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it. You know what they say – ‘a friend in need' etc.”

She gave him a hug and took the stairs to her flat. Jennings watched her briefly and headed back out into the rain. He opened the umbrella and set himself against the wind.

A great evening had been tempered with a soft sadness, and he walked to the tube station with a shortened stride. He knew that he was falling for Stella in a big way. And he knew in his heart that it was wrong, and that nothing would come of it. His status as ‘friend' was now cemented. There was no going back. He stopped in the middle of the street and closed the umbrella. With arms outstretched in defiance he let the wind and rain strike with full force. He laughed like a madman.

“Fuck it!” he shouted to the skies. “Fuck it all!”

Annie waited as patiently as she could for Kamal to return. He had been gone for two hours. He had taken the mobile phone to contact the kidnappers. As the minutes ticked by she grew more nervous, trying without success to banish thoughts of abandonment from her mind. As much as he claimed to be committed to helping her, there was no real reason for him to do so. All his talk of ‘the cosmos' was hot air as far as she was concerned. Any faith in humankind that she might have had was buried in the past, along with her demons. People just did what they wanted, and only helped if it suited their purpose. He had, however, trusted her enough to leave her ungagged and unfettered, and for this she was grateful.

She had almost resigned herself to facing her troubles alone when the door opened and Kamal walked in. “Good,” he said. “You are still here. Are you okay? You look edgy.”

“Sorry,” she said. “But you've been gone a long time.”

“Yes, I have. I had to drive back towards London to make the call. I do not know who we're dealing with, but there's a good chance they'll be able to trace the phone. We need to stay in control of the situation.”

“What did they say?” she asked.

“Not much. They confirmed that they had your mother and your son, and suggested that we might come to a suitable arrangement.”

“Do you think we can?”

Kamal sat down on his bed. “To be honest, I think they are playing for time. I do not think they have any intention of making a deal. I suspect they want everyone dead: you; me; your son; and your mother.”

Annie started to cry. “So what's the point in talking to them? If that's what they want, then there's no way out.”

“There is always a way out,” he said. “We just have to play along until we find it. It is a game of chess now. We must be careful and plan every move. The first thing is to get away from here. We have tarried too long.”

“But nobody's going to find us are they?”

“As I said, we do not know who we are dealing with, or what means they have at their disposal. We must err on the side of caution. We leave in the morning.”

Kamal went to the bathroom. Annie poured herself a large brandy and took a couple of mouthfuls. She knew by now that drink was never an answer, but her nerves were stretched to their elastic extent. She didn't share Kamal's optimism about there always being a way out. Sometimes there was no way out. Sometimes you were trapped.

Kamal came out of the bathroom, and seeing Annie's brandy, decided to pour one for himself. “The French call it
eau de vie
,” he said. “The ‘water of life'. And I must say that for once I agree with them.”

Annie turned on the television. The news had just started and the assassination attempt was still the main story. The police had released some grainy CCTV footage of the alleged perpetrator as he walked into Cheltenham racecourse. She watched it idly for a few minutes and then switched over to watch a film. Kamal poured himself another drink.

Annie turned to him and said, “I don't want to keep on about it, but how do you know that they're not real police.”

“I said I did not think they were. And I stand by that. They are men who want to get out of paying me a lot of money, and are going to considerable lengths to do so. What is this obsession with the police?”

Annie bowed her head like a scolded child. “It's just that they knew…” She shuffled awkwardly. “Well, they knew a lot about me and my family.”

“Information is freely available nowadays,” said Kamal. “You can find out just about anything if you know where to look. It is not only the police who have access to your privacy.”

“What were they paying you for?” she asked.

Kamal gave her a severe look. “You do not need to know,” he said. “It is best that you do not. All you need to know about me is that I am serious, and I am going to help you.”

Annie decided that it was best left. With her injury, and her mind on David and her mother, she hadn't even thought about asking Kamal why all this was happening. And now she had broached the subject, she wished that she had kept her mouth shut.

Kamal stripped to his boxer shorts, got into bed, and turned off the lights. Annie carried on watching the television.

“We must be away early in the morning,” he said. “You should get some sleep.”

Not wishing to argue she went to the bathroom then came back and laid her head down. The room was quiet. She felt alone. She curled up into a ball; tears rolled down her cheeks. She was isolated. The loneliness that had dogged her from childhood loomed larger than ever. Her mother had made her feel part of something again, and David had given her purpose, but now it looked as though they would be taken away. Maybe she deserved it, maybe there would never be an escape from the evil she had done.

The sound of Kamal's snoring broke into her despair. He had been good to her, but how long would his kindness last? His words were benign, yet his eyes were stern and fixed, and unreadable. They reminded her of newspaper photographs under the banner ‘Eyes of a killer'. They reminded her of…

She bolted upright and panicked.

It was 8pm in a wet and stormy Beverly Hills, and Grant Romano was having a small dinner party to celebrate winning his first Oscar. Three weeks previously he had picked up the Best Actor award for his role as a serial killer in
Painting the Town Red
. He was unsure as to whether he really deserved it, but his turn was long overdue and he was happy for the recognition.

There were seven guests at the table and all were good friends. There was his agent Terry Mack and his wife Jill, his next door neigh-bours Bill and Jess Calhoun, and newlyweds Scott and Brooke Grady. The seventh was Ceri Nolan, a girl he had met at a New Year's Eve party. They had been dating ever since. He had invited the Gibsons but Mel was filming on location in Germany.

Before they ate Terry Mack stood up and raised a glass of champagne. “Here's to Grant Romano!” he toasted. “The greatest actor of his generation!”

The guests raised their glasses in answer. “Cheers!”

Romano shook his head and laughed. “Thank you Terry, but I think ‘greatest actor of his generation' is pushing it a bit far. Anyone that hangs around long enough gets an Oscar in the end.”

“Rubbish,” said Mack. “They don't hand them out to just anybody. You should have won at least four of these as far as I'm concerned.”

“Well, you are slightly biased,” said Romano. “Anyway, let's eat.”

The middle of the table was filled with an assortment of starters from around the world, encompassing Asia, through Africa and Europe, to the Americas. Romano liked variety at his dinners and found that differing cuisines provided good talking points.

At the end of the table Scott Grady was washing down some sushi with champagne. Retirement was suiting him. In the three months since the affair at Stonehenge his world had changed beyond all recognition. Gone were the late nights, the covert meetings, and the silent kills; replaced by late, lazy brunches, leisurely rounds of golf, and good loving. He wondered why he hadn't hung up his gun years before. He looked at Brooke, glowing with beauty and kindness, and gave her a smile. She squeezed his hand.

“So, Scott,” said Bill Calhoun, who was sitting next to him. “How do you know Grant? Are you in the business as well?”

“No, I'm not in the business – although I've been thinking about getting involved. I'm retired, and I'm looking for something to do with myself.”

“What are you retired from?” asked Calhoun. “You look a bit young to be drawing a pension.”

Grady took a bite of a spring roll. “The military,” he replied. “Twenty-five years in the Marines.”

“You must have been all over the world then Scott.”

“I've been around,” he said. “And please, call me Grady, all my friends do.”

Calhoun and his wife, both in their mid-sixties, were stretched testaments to the LA way. They were tanned and healthy, confident and convivial, upbeat and affluent. They had what appeared to be the perfect existence, the sort of life that was the aspiration of every nebheaded dreamer that turned up in the city fantasizing about a better future. Grady found them pleasant enough, but there was a small part of him that expected sinister robots to break out from underneath their thin veneer and kill everyone in the room.

“So how
do
you know Grant then, Grady?” pressed Calhoun.

“We're old friends from high school,” said Grady. It was what he told anyone who asked the question. The reality was far too complicated. “We were both on the football team. I bumped into him again over Christmas at JFK. I was thinking of moving out here and he helped me.”

Calhoun nodded. “Yes, of course. Grant's like that, isn't he? That's what Jesse and I like about him. Nothing's ever too much trouble. He might be a big star but he always looks after the little people.”

Grady wasn't too sure about the ‘little people' reference, but he agreed with Calhoun that Romano was one of the good guys.

Outside the already dreary weather had taken a turn for the worse. Lightning blazed, thunder cracked, and rain swirled in the wind. For a moment the lights dimmed causing a brief, arresting silence, but then they returned and the conversation followed.

“Looks like we might have problems,” said Calhoun. “Although I dare say that Grant has a generator.”

A couple of waitresses, who had been hired for the evening, cleared the empty salvers from the table, and returned a few minutes later with fresh plates and bottles of wine. The main course, to Grady's delight, was rib-eye steak. He had his bloody with a mountain of fries and salad, and washed it down with a deliciously heavy Cabernet Sauvignon from Romano's own Californian estate.

“So what area of the movies are you interested in?” Calhoun asked.

“I don't really know,” said Grady. “I was thinking of investing in one of Grant's projects. Or I might do a bit of consultancy – you know, military stuff. I've got to be honest, I don't want to do too much, I just want to enjoy myself. And besides, Mrs Grady here is four months gone.” He patted her belly affectionately. “And I want to be around as much as I can be. I want to watch my kid grow up.”

“That's the attitude to have,” said Calhoun. “I missed most of that with my two.” He looked away regretfully.

By the time dessert arrived the whole table was in a state of semi-inebriation, and the talk was flowing as fast as the drink. Grady tucked in to his strawberry pavlova with passion. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed. His past life was a dream away. After much remorse and painful soul searching, he'd finally discovered how to be happy.

“Have you ever thought about acting?” Calhoun asked.

“Not really,” said Grady. “People like Grant make it look easy but I'm sure it's not. I'm going to keep as far away from the camera as possible.”

“Well, you should think about it Grady. A good-looking guy with a physique like yours could be a big hit. You could be the new Denzel Washington.”

“I think I'm a bit old to be a sex symbol,” laughed Grady. “But thank you anyway.”

After dinner the waitresses brought in coffee and brandy. Romano excused himself for a while and took Grady to the ‘smoking room' on the other side of the house. Romano fancied a cigar and didn't want to offend his guests by lighting up at the table. The room was sparse but comfy, with a couple of couches, a coffee table, a stereo, and a TV. Glazed sliding doors gave a view of the pool and the sprawl of the city below.