It’s called desire, whispered a treacherous voice in her head. You remember that, don’t you?
‘You know what I think?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Thomas Knox, loosening his tie, leaning back, staring at her. ‘What do you think?’
She was no fool, and it was time he was made aware of that fact. ‘I think you already had Gabe’s address,’ she said. ‘That was much too fast.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe I did.’
‘Did you?’
A hint of a smile. ‘That would be telling, wouldn’t it?’
‘For God’s sake,’ said Ruby, shaking her head.
‘What?’
‘You’re so… so…’
‘So what?’
‘Mysterious.’
He raised his eyebrows at her, took a sip of wine.
‘There’s nothing mysterious about me, Ruby. I fulfilled my part of the deal, that’s all. And I think it’s past time you fulfilled yours.’
Ruby’s eyes narrowed. ‘You had that address already. I know it.’
‘You don’t know. You’re guessing.’
‘And you’re not telling.’
No. I’m not.’ He drained his glass, put it aside. ‘I did what I said I would do. I got you the address. Now it’s your turn.’
Ruby stared at him. ‘So what do you want from me?’ she asked.
‘Oh, come on. We both know the answer to that one.’
‘Thomas…’
‘That’s nice.’
‘What?’
‘That’s the first time you’ve said my name.’
‘Hm. Well – Thomas – I have Gabe’s address now. And I’ve passed it on to Kit. I’ve got what I wanted.’
‘Not all of it, though.’
‘Go on.’
‘You also want me to give Kit my backing. Which I am fully prepared to do, of course. For a price.’
‘Go on then. Name it.’
Dusty had given way to something else. Sounded like Henry Mancini, a sultry tinkling on the piano, a suggestion of a muted horn. Music intended for seduction.
Those hard blue eyes drilled into hers.
‘Oh, I dunno. We’ll start with the top, shall we? See how we go from there.’
Ruby stared at him. ‘What?’ She hadn’t a clue what he meant.
‘The top you’re wearing.’ Again that smile, there and then quickly gone. ‘Take it off.’
‘I’m not a whore, Mr Knox,’ said Ruby coldly. ‘If you want one, I suggest you look elsewhere.’
‘So we’re back to “Mr Knox” again,’ he noted. ‘You weren’t so coy in the war though, were you? Posing nude at the Windmill. Bedding that lecherous bastard Cornelius Bray. Having his illegitimate twins, I believe, who were liquorice allsorts, one half-black – Kit – and the other white – Daisy.’
Ruby’s mouth opened in shock.
‘Bray only wanted to own up to the white kid though, didn’t he,’ Thomas went on. ‘So him and his childless missus Vanessa brought up Daisy, and poor old dark-skinned Kit was stuffed out of sight – by Charlie your brother, I believe – in a kids’ home. Took you a long, long time to find Kit, didn’t it? And he still hasn’t forgiven you for letting him be taken.’
‘Shut up,’ said Ruby.
‘Then Michael Ward helped you find your boy and you became his lover. You’re not exactly a nervous virgin, are you? You’re a woman of the world. Tough in business, I’ve been told. You must be, to have done so well with it. And you have this cool air about you. I like that, it’s sort of challenging. Yet there’s this hot sensuality in your eyes, and in the way you move. A woman like you, Ruby, needs a lover.’
Ruby stood up. She hated the fact that, despite all her best intentions, she could feel a hard pulse beating deep in the pit of her belly. He had aroused her, talking this way. ‘Have you quite finished?’ she asked.
‘No. I haven’t. You know what I’d like?’
‘No. I don’t.’
‘I’d like to see you naked in my bed.’
Ruby gulped, tried to compose herself. She felt flushed suddenly, unstable. Today had been horrible, stressful; she told herself that she was just feeling the after-effects of that, and too much wine.
When she could trust herself to speak she said: ‘If I “needed” a lover, Mr Knox – it wouldn’t be you.’ She snatched up her bag and went to the door.
‘So…’ his words drifted after her…’ You don’t want me keeping an eye out for Kit then?’
Ruby stopped. Looked back at him. ‘You bastard.’
‘Been called worse,’ he shrugged.
65
‘Here, little bambina, look at this. Chocolate,’ said Tito, dandling the three-year-old Agneta on his knee as Gabe drove.
Gabe didn’t know how he was driving. He didn’t know how he was managing to keep sane. What he had just seen…
No. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t.
And the little girl had been there, she’d seen it all. Gabe glanced at the girl. She wasn’t crying any more. She seemed very calm – almost dazed, he thought – and her huge turquoise eyes were gazing up at Tito’s smiling face. Her hands reached for the chocolate he was offering.
Jesus, look at that, thought Gabe, wondering if he was going to throw up again. He didn’t think there was anything left in his stomach to bring up. Then he saw the small smear of blood on Agneta’s jacket and felt his guts heave afresh. He stopped the Jeep, pulled in quickly to the side of the road, jumped out and vomited one more time.
Ah Jesus.
Ah God, he couldn’t think about it, he couldn’t…
His stomach heaved and he retched.
‘Gabe’s not well,’ Tito was telling the little girl. ‘Poor Gabe, hm? Is that nice, that chocolate?’
Gasping, wiping at his mouth, shivering with the aftermath of the shock he’d suffered, the awful things that Tito had made him do, Gabe fell back into the driver’s seat and looked again at the little girl Tito had snatched.
She’d sat there in silence in the pushchair while they’d done it, got the spades from the Jeep… but no. He couldn’t think about it. All he could think was that Dad had been right; Tito really was a monster.
She was eating the chocolate and smiling up at Tito’s face. Numb, Gabe thought of that thing he’d heard about baby birds… that imprinting thing. The first thing they saw, they attached to, they loved. He looked at the child’s face, at the adoring way she was staring up at Tito.
Jesus, was he going to be sick again? Was he going to pass out?
He was shuddering, revolted. His eyes kept darting back, looking at that small bloodstain on the girl’s pink jacket…
‘Come on, bambina, eat up,’ said Tito at the smiling child as Gabe drove south, towards London, towards home and sanity.
Ah God just get me there. Please get me there, thought Gabe.
66
‘Holy shit,’ said Rob, as Kit drove the Bentley up to the front entrance of Brayfield House next day.
Kit could understand Rob’s astonishment; he remembered the effect the place had had on him, back in the day when he first met Daisy. Built of glowing rose-red brick with cream stone quoins at the corners, the Elizabethan manor was a pink jewel in the morning light, set amidst an expanse of lush green watercress beds and rolling sheep-dotted fields. It had two outer gables and a smaller central one, and a stunningly beautiful clock tower stood off to one side. And this humble abode had been home to the Bray family for four generations.