The robin stopped singing. Suddenly, there was only silence. Was Simon here, watching her?
‘I never meant to be such a rotten failure as a wife,’ she murmured. ‘And I think I almost loved you, once.’
No answer came.
Of course not. Simon wasn’t here, he was dead and gone. He’d killed himself. She hated the thought that he’d been so miserable, that he’d had no one he felt he could turn to. She swiped angrily at the tears on her face. God, she was so fucking hormonal; half the time she didn’t even know what she was crying about. At least today she did. She was crying for Simon, for their sons, for all the hopes and dreams that now would never be.
She could hear a car coming along the lane from the direction of the town, the same way she’d just come, and it sounded as if it was travelling quite fast. Daisy stepped onto the verge so that it could easily pass by.
The car that approached was long and dark with tinted windows. And instead of passing, the driver pulled in on the verge about ten paces from where Daisy was standing. She felt a prickle of unease, but told herself this must be someone who’d known Simon and was coming to pay their respects, just as she was. She braced herself to make polite conversation, to receive commiserations. She didn’t want to, but one had to be polite.
The car’s powerful engine fell silent. Then all four doors opened, and four bulky men got out, dressed in heavy black coats. Daisy’s heartbeat picked up speed. These weren’t mourners, they didn’t carry any flowers. They looked like thugs, like the men she often saw hanging around Kit, and around Michael when he was alive. She knew what Kit was into, the life he led. In the past, she’d experienced frightening things in his company. Yes, she knew what he was, what Michael had been too, and what Rob was, and it did alarm her – but, at the same time, it fascinated her too, and excited her more than she cared to admit.
Slowly, the men walked towards her. The driver hung back, as did the man who’d been in the front passenger seat, though he was close enough for her to see that his face was hideously scarred. The two men who’d got out of the back of the car kept walking until they were standing right in front of her. They were both dark-haired, but one of them was square, blockish, with a sinister vulpine look, while the other was thinner, taller, younger with film-star good looks, marred by vicious intent in his eyes and the cruel smile on his face.
What is this? she wondered in a paroxysm of fear. What do they want?
She was out in the middle of nowhere, utterly alone. The Mini was twenty yards away. If she ran, right now, would they try to stop her? But Daisy didn’t think she was capable of running. She felt frozen with terror.
The handsome mean-eyed one moved in closer. Daisy took a stumbling step backward, her breathing unsteady. Then the other one, the bulky one who seemed to be in charge, spoke.
‘Daisy Darke, right?’ He gave a smile that chilled her to the bone. ‘Formerly Daisy Bray, then Daisy Collins, and after the divorce you changed your name, didn’t you? To Darke. Same as your birth mother, Ruby Darke.’
‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Daisy shakily. She had never felt so vulnerable. Oh my God the twins, she thought. If anything happens to me, they’ll have nothing left. No parents at all.
‘He’s Vittore Danieri,’ said the younger one, who was standing too close, unnervingly close, to her. ‘And I’m Fabio, his brother. Such a pity about your ex-husband,’ he said, smirking.
Daisy felt her mouth go dry as dust. ‘How do you know about what happened to Simon?’
This amused all four of them greatly.
‘How do we know about what happened to Simon Collins?’ Fabio asked his brother with a grin.
‘You mean the Simon Collins who was the brother-in-law of Kit Miller?’ asked Vittore.
‘That’s the one,’ said Fabio, striking his head as if it had just come to him in a flash. His eyes grinned into Daisy’s as he came in even closer to her.
Daisy shrank back. They were going to hurt her, she was sure of that now. She was powerless to stop this. These were Tito’s brothers, and they wanted revenge.
‘Simon Collins was father to Miller’s nephews, too,’ said Vittore, looking straight into Daisy fear-stricken eyes.
‘Such a shame, what happened. Hung himself, didn’t he?’ said Fabio.
He leaned in till Daisy could smell his breath, could feel the heat and the hatred radiating off him like poison gas. She glanced behind her: she was on the outside edge of the verge, there was nowhere left to go but the ditch. She could run up the drive, but there would be no one in the house to help her. Simon had lived here alone after they split up.
They were going to attack her. She knew it. They’d followed her out from the town to this place, where Simon had killed himself.
But had he?
For days it had been tormenting her, the sheer weirdness of Simon’s death, given his fiery aggressive nature, his business successes, his clear and very genuine delight in his twin sons. She’d been struggling to believe that he could have taken his own life. And now… these men. These horrible people. They knew how he’d died.
Because he didn’t hang himself: they murdered him. They must have forced him to write that suicide note… how? Threatened his parents? Threatened to harm the twins? Yes. Then he would do whatever they told him to. And then… they killed him, and made it look as if he’d killed himself.
Daisy swallowed hard. She knew she daren’t let on how terrified she was. You didn’t show fear when you dealt with wild dogs; you faced them down.
The robin started singing again, high up in the tree. Was that the last sound, the last beautiful thing she would ever know, that haunting birdsong? She hardly dared breathe. She was afraid she was about to faint, drenched as she was in cold sweat and sick with fear. The four men were silent, watching her. She felt they could smell her terror, like pheromones drifting in the gusty spring air.
Then Vittore spoke: ‘This time, you can go,’ he said.
‘But maybe not next time,’ said Fabio with a grin. And he leaned in closer, closer.
Daisy shrank into herself. But he wasn’t reaching for her. Instead, he was bending, snatching up the bright bouquet of flowers, the one she had laid there for Simon. With a final triumphant sneer, he whacked the bouquet against the trunk of the tree, scattering the blooms, shredding them, killing them. Daisy flinched. Then he tossed the remnants of the bouquet onto the verge. Gave her a twisted smile. And turned away.
Vittore touched his fingers to his brow in an ironic salute. The four men left her standing there, and got into their car. One of Vittore’s heavies started the engine, then the car shot forward, missing her by inches. Soon it was gone, roaring away into the distance.
The minute it was out of sight, Daisy fell to her knees on the mud-churned verge, clutching her hands to her face, amazed that she was still in one piece. Breathless with fright, she crouched like that for long minutes until the fear started to grip her again, the fear that they might come back, change their minds, do dreadful things to her.
Like they did to Simon.
Simon’s death hadn’t been an accident: Vittore had wiped Simon out, and in so doing he had deprived Matt and Luke of their father.
Somehow she managed to drag herself to her feet and stagger back to the Mini. She had to get home, to where she was safe.
But would she be safe? Could she be safe anywhere now?
They must have followed her out here. They’d been watching and waiting their chance with Simon, and they’d got it. And now they were watching her.
She started the engine and drove, very carefully, trembling like a leaf in a high wind, back to Ruby’s place.