“What?”
“That Sylvia was seeing David, for years apparently.”
“Good God! No, of course I didn’t. What did she want? Is it to do with David or what?”
“It’s the insurance money. Apparently Sylvia was handling all the claims, and now Helen is running short of cash.”
The phone had stopped ringing.
“Did you speak to Sylvia?”
“No. I even called her office, but they said she was away. New York, I think. But when Helen called again, just before you got home, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I told her that, considering what David had done to us, she could damned well call Sylvia herself!”
Christina’s mood changed. “I have felt very lonely while you’ve been away, Edward.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t have any choice.” He stroked her face and kissed her gently.
“But is everything all right? I mean, truthfully. Please, no more lies. I hated prizing open the drawers like some demented, jealous woman, and then when it all became clear how badly off we are financially, I almost hated you for being so dishonest with me.”
“The truth is that we’re out of trouble now, and with the expectation I have for Royal Flush… If he wins the Derby, it’ll put this place on the map. He’ll be worth millions.” He kissed her again. “We’re almost in the clear, sweetheart.”
“And you didn’t have to remortgage the farm?”
“Nope. I got away without having to do that by the skin of my teeth. We’re safe.”
She leaned against him as they continued up the stairs. “Things have to change between us,” she said quietly. “From now on, don’t lie to me anymore.”
“I won’t. Hell, you might take a screwdriver to me next, never mind my desk!” He drew her close to him, and they walked up to their bedroom. He gave silent thanks that he had taken Philip Simmons’s passport with him to Paris. If he hadn’t, Christina would have found it with the others.
They left for their daughters’ school an hour later and sat through a lengthy production of The Taming of the Shrew. Both girls were delighted that their father was there, but Christina did not tell them he had slept through most of the last act. They had wine and cheese with the other parents, then left. They listened to classical music on the car stereo rather than the news, and it was almost one in the morning by the time they reached home.
De Jersey was so exhausted he went straight to bed and fell into a deep sleep. Christina lay next to him, her eyes wide open, wondering how many other lies her husband had told her. She was so naïve, she realized, and this was the first time she had ever questioned their relationship or his past. She had never felt their age difference until now and wondered what he had done in the years before he met her. She looked at him now, sleeping like a baby, and felt intensely irritated. They hardly made love anymore, and he had not even kissed her good night. She flopped back on her pillow, the seeds of discontent continuing to grow.
Driscoll sat in the TV room with a large gin and tonic. He had been watching the news flashes, partly in amusement and partly in denial. They were not in the clear by any means. The biggest plus was that neither he nor Wilcox had been in trouble with the law before, so even if Maureen could describe them, she could look at mug shots until the cows came home: they were not in the books. The news flashes described the missing vehicles, and requests for information were repeated with numbers to call if anyone had information. A warrant had been issued for Westbrook’s arrest. A parade of debs and his associates were interviewed on the news, telling tales of his womanizing and dealings in high society. His face was becoming as familiar as Lord Lucan’s.
“What the hell were you doing all day?” Liz asked, setting down a bowl of raw carrots.
“Touting for business,” he said, then looked at her as she started to crunch a carrot.
“Christ, do you have to do that?” he asked.
“I’m on a diet.”
“Well, I’m hungry. I didn’t have time for lunch.”
She stood up. “What do you want?”
“Omelet. Nothing too rich. My gut’s giving me hell.”
“You should see another specialist. You want anything in the omelet or just plain?”
“Bit of cheese.”
“That’s fattening.”
“I don’t give a fuck!”
“Tony!”
“I’m sorry, but I’m trying to listen to the news.” Suddenly he felt gleeful. “You seen it?”
“I only just got in. I’ve been having a mud bath at the new hydro clinic.”
“Well, there’s been a big robbery.”
“Oh, I know about that. Sandra had the TV on. Do you want a side salad with your omelet?”
“Sure.” He watched her walk out of the room. He wondered how Sandra would feel if she knew her last customer’s husband had been in on the robbery of the Crown Jewels.
Shortly after Westbrook and Pamela arrived home, Pamela dyed her hair back to its usual auburn. Westbrook was on her sofa bed and continued to apologize for imposing on her, swearing that as soon as he recovered he’d make his own arrangements. He had a fake passport and cash to leave the country, but until he could stand up travel was out of the question. He watched the television all that day and night, but even the news flashes could not hold his attention and he dozed fitfully. Where on earth had they managed to get so many photographs of him, let alone of his so-called associates? He wondered where these close friends had been for the past year.
Wilcox arrived home in time for the twins’ birthday party, which he’d forgotten. It was a bit of a pain; all he wanted to do was relax and watch the news. But he blew up balloons and sat out with the kids as they ate sausages, eggs, and chips. He left the chaos for a while to go to the local video store. He returned, arms loaded with Mars bars, Smarties, cartoons, sci-fi films, and all the evening newspapers he could lay hands on. The headlines all told of the robbery, and everyone was talking about it, even in the video store. The public seemed to view it as sacrilege. Later in the evening he sneaked away to his bedroom to watch the late-night television news. The hunt for Westbrook was on, but as yet there seemed to be no clues as to the identity of the rest of the team. Nevertheless, they gave out descriptions based on what little they had to go on. Wilcox sighed with relief. He wanted to call Driscoll. He ached to hear how he was coping and became paranoid that the police had to be withholding evidence. He chopped up the last of his stash of cocaine, and Rika found him snorting it in the bathroom. They had a blistering row, which somehow eased his tension.
After they had made love, Rika lay beside him, her body glistening with sweat, and he leaned on his elbow, smiling at her. “The kids had a great day. Thank you. They get on really well with you, Rika. Dunno what I’d do without you, but they’re gonna go to boarding school soon. Their mother suggested they go and stay over with her for the next holidays and-”
She turned toward him. “Vhat you saying? You don’t need me no more?”
“No, I am not saying that at all.”
“Then vhy you say it?”
“No reason. Why do you question everything I bloody say?”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Vhy vere you so late coming home? I told you I needed things for the party.”
“I hadda sell a car. In fact, I’m selling off most of them.”
Rika pouted. “You still got no money.”
“Yeah, but not for long.”
“Ve get married then? You marry Rika?”
He closed his eyes. “Yeah, maybe… Just let me get some kip. I’m tired out.”
Rika got off the bed and put on a robe. She tightened the belt and walked out. He sighed and picked up the remote control. He switched from one program to another and fell asleep with the remote still in his hand.