Falling from Grace: A Billionaire Romantic Suspense series (The Filth Monger Series Book 1) (10 page)

I shrugged. ‘There wasn’t any,’ I said, casually. ‘I think that’s pretty strange, to be honest.’

‘Well, no one lives there,’ she said.

She was trying to sound disinterested, but I could tell she was on edge. Her hands were shaking. Not much – the tremor was almost imperceptible – but it was enough for me. I’d got her rattled. She might, after all, prove helpful. If I could just keep the pressure on…

‘I’d have thought there’d be some,’ I said. I leaned back against the wall, and folded my arms, making sure to keep the envelopes inside my jacket secure. ‘Makes me think you might be collecting it for someone.’

I stared at her, watching her face for any further signs of discomfort. There…the eyes darting to the side, not meeting my gaze…the tremble of the lower lip.

‘If you’re after Charlotte,’ she said, looking up at me finally. ‘You’re too late. She’s gone.’

‘She was never here, Jane,’ I said. Looking through the post had given me her name at least. ‘As you know very well.’

She didn’t like me using her name at all. Her eyes widened and she looked almost fearful. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what she’s done, but I’m not getting involved. I collect her post for her, that’s all. She’s been good to me. I wouldn’t have this flat without her. Don’t ask me to grass.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I said, putting out a hand towards the stairs. She looked down at herself, as if suddenly realising she was exposed, and pulled the house coat around her, defensively. I gestured again at the stairs, and she stood back, allowing me to pass.

I started down the stairs, the facts beginning to gel in my mind. Jane was a pro. Charlotte had got her this flat. Charlotte…was never a journalist. They might do most things, but even the most hardened hack didn’t screw around just for a story. When she’d said she was selling her story, she’d meant just that. Selling it, not writing it. She was a prostitute looking for a quick buck. And I was an idiot.

The girl must have gone into the flat, because she suddenly screamed, and shouted down the stairs at me. ‘Oh my god, that’s my cat, you sick fuck! And look at the front door!’ She came back out onto the landing. ‘It’s knackered. You’re paying for that. I’ve got your number plate.’

I stopped briefly and shook my head in disbelief. The bitch had seen me coming in. She’d probably been waiting for a client again. Of course she had. The outfit said it all. And now she had my registration number. She’d warn Charlotte and she’d be another step ahead. I had nothing to lose. I might as well put some pressure on.

I turned and looked back up the stairs at her. She sounded defiant, but her eyes told a different story. They were huge and staring. She looked scared to death. ‘You said you wouldn’t get involved,’ I said, making sure to use my most threatening tone. ‘You’d be wise to stick to that and, if you do see Charlotte, be sure to give her this.’

Following the Fliss episode, I’d had some new business cards made. I hoped Charlotte would see the humour and relent a little. Maybe even get in touch.

They were plain, black on white, and had nothing on them but my title and my mobile number. I took one out and scribbled two words on it, before letting it fall onto the bottom stair.

It landed face up, and I threw it a backwards smile as I left the flats.

Call me,
it said.

The Filth Monger

I rang Giles again en route to the Castle. I knew now why the Herald hadn’t run the story yet. It would take time to get it written, and she might even be touting it around different papers. From the minute I’d seen that business card, I’d been jumping to conclusions. I was willing to bet, now, that if I’d managed to get the rest of the cards out of that case, they’d all have been different. Business cards for different journalists at different papers. Worst case scenario, this could all end in a bidding war between the tabloids, and then the shit would really hit the fan. It could be huge.

I didn’t care too much what they’d say about me. Everyone who knew me, knew what my life entailed, and why. Anyone else, I didn’t give a shit what they thought. But if they dug deep enough, all sorts of stuff could come out. Sordid stuff, the stuff of tabloid dreams, enough to derail the lives of people I’d sworn to protect. I couldn’t have that happen. It was essential I found her, and the only way I’d have time to do that would be if Giles could keep a lid on things for as long as possible.

There was no answer. His mobile went to answerphone every time. It was infuriating. At one point, I went to leave a message, before stalling and hanging up. I couldn’t leave one, couldn’t leave anything that could incriminate me. The Home Office were into everything, I knew that from the Fliss episode. Giles would do his best to fulfil his promise, but not at the expense of his career and, if he were questioned about his dealings with me, it could all come out.

I threw my mobile down on the passenger seat in disgust, and put my foot down. My brief stop at Charlotte’s fake address meant I’d be late to the Castle now, and I didn’t want to run the risk of missing Rick. I needed to speak to him urgently. There was something about all this that smacked of his handiwork. I had a mole – that much was clear - and, if I wasn’t mistaken, Rick was the small mammal with the shovel hands and the velvety black coat. If so, he was my best – and worst – chance of putting this whole thing to bed.

The rush hour traffic thinned out as I headed into Berkshire, and I was actually early as I swung into the long gravel driveway of the Castle. I always drove fast, and my growing sense of urgency had driven the milometer through the roof. The security guards had opened the gate for me ahead of time, and I drove down through the avenue of trees unhindered, which was more than anyone else would be able to do.

The old family pile looked magnificent in the sunset, and I wished I was happier to come here. No matter how often I did – and depending on what was going on and who I was trying to help, it was sometimes frequently - it always stirred up old memories, and never happy ones. I considered stopping in at the east wing and paying my respects to the aged relatives, but I couldn’t face it. Anyway, respect for that quarter was hard to come by.

I parked by the front doors, and looked up at the place. I didn’t usually bother. I’d seen it a million times before, but tonight the sun was setting behind it, and the turrets were silhouetted against a blaze of orange and gold. It could almost be a real castle, rather than a Victorian mansion with delusions of grandeur. It amused people to call it the Castle, though, particularly due to the kinds of things that went on here.

I was about to walk up the steps to the front doors, when a frail voice called my name. I stopped, with an affectionate sigh, and turned round. It was my mother. She’d been hidden in the shadows and my eyes, dazzled by the sunset, hadn’t picked her out.

‘Good evening, Mother,’ I said, immediately falling back into the formal speech patterns I’d had drummed into me from such an early age.

‘Oh, my darling,’ she said, rushing forward with her arms open. ‘Let me look at you.’

‘I’m just the same, Mother.’ I surrendered myself to her bony embrace, pecking her dry-powdered, paper-thin cheek in salutation. ‘How are you?’

‘Sooo happy,’ she said, clasping her hands to her breast. ‘I’ve heard from her again!’

‘Heard from…?’ My heart sank. She wasn’t getting any better. Worse, if anything.

‘From Aimee, you…silly boy.’ She gave me a stern look. ‘You know very well. Have…have
you
heard from her?’

‘No, Mother, of course not.’ I hated this, but I had to try to keep her grounded. ‘You know she’s dead.’

‘Oh, you!’ She smiled a wild, dreamy smile. ‘You always say that!’

‘Yes, Mother.’
Well, at least she remembered that.
‘I do, because it’s true.’

She gave a secretive smile. ‘She’s alive to me.’

‘How’s Father?’ I didn’t really want to know, but it changed the subject.

Her smile faded instantly, and she turned back into her usual, distant self. ‘He’s…he’s the same.’

‘Oh.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I’ll try to pop in at the weekend, if I can. I have to go, Mother. Pressing business…’

‘Of course.’ She gave an absent nod.

I pecked her on the cheek again, feeling her fragile bones beneath my hug. She’d aged so suddenly, so instantaneously after…

A car pulled up on the drive, interrupting my thoughts and skidding to a halt right next to us. Gravel smattered everywhere. It was Rick.

My mother quailed behind me, and I put my arm across her in protection.

‘Sorry,’ said Rick, swinging out of his car. He was shielding his eyes against the sunset. ‘Didn’t see you.’

‘You cast-iron dick,’ I said, the anger swelling in me like a tidal wave. I turned to my mother and patted her hand. It was cold and claw-like, and I wondered, for the thousandth time, what had happened to her. Well, I knew, but it didn’t stop me wondering how it had aged her like this. ‘Go back to Father, Mother. You’re best off away from here.’

She nodded, still looking frightened, and scuttled off away in the direction of the east wing. I turned back to Rick. ‘You fucking write-off,’ I said, through gritted teeth. ‘Get inside. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

‘We’re on the VIP list for the F Bar,’ I said, in tones of mock awe, as we came out of the tube at Islington.

‘Ooh, the F Bar.’ Liv put her hands to her heart, as if she might faint at the very mention of it. ‘What the fuck is the F Bar?’

‘Depends what F stands for, I guess,’ I said, laughing at her melodramatic pose.

‘Yeah,’ said Liv, dragging me across the road. ‘The Fuck Bar. That figures, knowing Kitty.’

Kitty had barely left the house when Liv had made double sure I knew she wasn’t kidding about going to her gig. ‘It’s for your own good,’ she’d said firmly. ‘If she was right about one thing, it was that you should fuck that bastard off right now. Get your life back. It starts here, Grace. Tonight.’

I’d protested, saying I wasn’t ready for it, I needed time to myself, to think, but she’d played her ace card.

‘Look, I’ve just finished with someone too. I need someone there, tonight, to support me.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Not when she’d welcomed me into her house so willingly. I had to be there for her. So I’d grabbed a quick shower and thrown on the first halfway suitable clothes I’d dragged out of my case. A sweater and jeans.

I’d been eyeing them doubtfully, when Liv came into the room.

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘You’ll be right at home.’

As we walked into the bar she was playing at, I saw what she meant. Jackaroo’s was a travellers bar, targeted to young tourists who favoured a backpack over a suitcase, and it was pure spit-and-sawdust. Jeans were definitely the dress code here, followed closely by rugby shirts and tees. It was all bare wood, barrels and benches.

‘See,’ said Liv in my ear, as I looked around the upstairs bar. It was heaving, and noisy, with people pushing past all the time. I felt lost and out of place. ‘They’re all foreign. All of them. No one here will have a clue who you are. You can relax.’

I couldn’t see me relaxing at all, but I followed her as she pushed through the crowds towards the stairs that led down to where she was going to perform.

‘Where’s your equipment, anyway?’ I shouted at her, above the noise of the music, which was growing louder and louder as we went down the stairs.

‘Oh, that,’ Liv yelled over her shoulder. ‘Gav’s bringing it. Him and Celeste.’

‘Gav?’ I yelled back. I thought I’d misheard. ‘Celeste?’

‘Yes.’ We reached the bottom of the stairs. They opened out into a dance floor with a bar framing it on one side, and a stage on the other. ‘He’s in the band now. Took over from Mike. It’s how I know him.’

‘And Celeste?’

‘His ex.’ Liv rolled her eyes. She leant in towards me, to make sure I heard. ‘Plays keyboards. Hates me, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ I nodded, wondering what the hell I’d let myself in for.

We went over to the bar, where Liv pushed through the crowds to order us beers. I kept expecting someone to have a go at her, but they didn’t. It was a lot more relaxed than the usual places I frequented in London. Either that, or Liv was a well-known face. But it was more than that. When I looked around, I realised that almost everyone was stoned. I could see it in their eyes, and smell it in the air. It reminded me of Gav.

Talking of which, there he was…walking towards us, through the crowds of backpackers. There was a blonde girl with him, hanging onto his arm. She had an upturned nose and a sneer on her face. My heart sank.
Here we go
.

‘Hey,’ he said, as he edged his way in next to us at the bar.

‘Hey,’ said Liv, looking over at the girl. ‘Hi Celeste.’

‘Hi.’ Celeste gave her a short, sharp smile, before turning to me. ‘Brought you as back-up, has she?’

I went to speak, but Liv cut me off. ‘I don’t need back-up. She’s here for other reasons. Get a life, Celeste, and a boyfriend of your own.’

‘Hey.’ Gav started to laugh, holding his hands up as if trying to calm them down. ‘Let’s cool it, shall we.’ The sniping clearly discomfited him. He turned from one to the other, not knowing what to say. I could see he was weak. He’d go whichever way was easiest and, for some reason, I despised him for it. The tension between Liv and Celeste was palpable, and neither spoke again…just glared at each other, while Gav pushed through to the bar.