Lawless (22 page)

‘Well, I’m off,’ she said to the assembled troops. ‘Cora’s in charge, OK.’

‘Have a good one,’ said the barman.

‘We’ll be fine here,’ said Cora.

She knew they would. Sensible people, well trained: she’d surrounded herself with a good team. Tanya, the single weak link in an otherwise strong chain, she’d sacked and replaced with someone better.

‘Well – bye then.’ Bianca went out and threw her bag in the car, a beaten-up old cream Morgan. She already had the soft leather top down. It was a golden day, beautiful, spring in all its glory; a person should be happy, in love, ebullient, on a day like this.

She was in love. But it was a tragic sort of love, a one-way street, because he
hadn’t phoned.

Bianca started the engine, listened to its deep throaty roar. She loved to drive, to feel the wind whipping through her hair. She slipped on her shades and heaved a sharp sigh. She knew what Cora and Claire and the rest were thinking. She’d been done over. Used, then dumped. And they were right. She was furious with herself, and even more furious with him. Tony Mobley. The bastard.

‘Fuck it,’ she muttered, and slipped into first, and shot off towards London.

She was better than this. She was camorristi. Tito had drummed into her the ways of the Camorra, how to be proud, how to be vengeful. She remembered everything he had taught her so well.

Behind her, in Dante’s, the phone started ringing.

‘Is Bianca there?’ asked Kit, slumped on his sofa, wanting to hear her, speak to her. He’d put one of Michael’s LPs on the stereo, he had a bundle of them, a lot of Henry Mancini and some good Everly Brothers stuff, some Elvis, Roy Orbison, Billy Fury. Billy was currently singing ‘Jealousy’ to a hard tango beat.

Jesus he’d missed Bianca so much – but with all the shit going down since he’d got back, he hadn’t had a moment to get in touch.

‘Nope. Who’s calling?’ asked a stern female voice.

‘K— um . . . Tony,’ said Kit.

‘Tony Mobley?’

‘Yeah. Can I speak to her? Who is that?’

‘It’s Cora. She’s not here.’

‘Where is she then?’ He felt his stomach drop away, he was that disappointed. And the business with the fake name, what a fucking embarrassment that was turning out to be.

Old habits die hard.

Yeah, he’d become used to the usual deceptions most bachelors practised to keep themselves out of the firing line. But with Bianca . . . the minute the lie had come out of his mouth, he had wanted to snatch it back. It felt wrong, distasteful.

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Come on. You can.’

‘No can do.’

‘Give me a clue, yeah?’

‘No. She’d kill me if she knew I’d given out her whereabouts to a total stranger.’

‘I’m not a stranger. I’m . . .’
oh shit
‘. . . Tony. So you know about me? Did we meet when I came in the club recently?’

‘We did meet. Briefly. When Bianca’s not here, I manage the place.’

‘I remember you. Tall redhead, right?’

‘Yeah. OK. Right.’

‘So you know I’m not a stranger. Tell me where she is.’

‘No,’ said Cora.

Cora placed the phone carefully on its cradle.

‘Who was that?’ asked Claire, passing by with the barman lugging a crate of mixers behind her.

‘Nobody,’ said Cora, and went back out into the bar. All men were wasters, especially the gorgeous ones. Maybe Bianca just needed to learn that lesson the hard way.

52

‘Got some more news,’ said Jay in Vittore’s ear.

He had just joined his boss at the busy bar in the Danieri club called Goldie’s. It was late evening and the place was full of customers. ‘Waterloo’, Abba’s big hit from last year’s Eurovision, was banging out of the speakers at a colossal volume. People were bopping on the strobe-lit dance floor in flares and cheesecloth tie-dye tops, and waitresses in gold miniskirts, gold boots and gold nipple tassels were shimmying around among the punters, carrying trays of drinks to tables and corner banquettes.

Vittore had been watching these girls with disdain. As he had tidied up Tito’s – now transformed as Vito’s – so he intended to clean up this place too. These girls were dirty whores, flaunting themselves. They disgusted him and they would have to go.

‘Let’s discuss this upstairs,’ said Vittore, and led the way up to the office.

Jay followed and closed the door behind him, deadening the noise. Vittore sat down behind the desk. Jay sat, too.

‘So?’ asked Vittore, looking at his henchman’s ugly face, at the long scar running down his left cheek, disfiguring the mouth on that side. Jay wasn’t pretty, but he was loyal and straight.

‘You asked me to keep an eye on Fabio,’ said Jay.

‘Yeah?’ Vittore spread his hands.
So?

‘It’s bad, Vittore.’

Vittore stared at Jay. This man had worked for him for a lot of years. He trusted him.

‘Tell me,’ said Vittore, and Jay did.

For days Bianca mooched around at Mama Bella’s, feeling miserable, rejected, ready to slit her throat. Then finally she thought, fuck him. He was just a man, just another fucking man, and she was tougher than this. She still had her life, her job, her family, and there were plenty of other men in the world. The last bit she told herself, over and over, but she didn’t believe it.

Tony Mobley had
become
her world.

But not any more. He’d dumped her; that much was completely clear. So she had to get back on the horse, get back in the saddle, carry on.

‘I’m going out,’ she told Mama Bella, and she did, touching base with old friends and getting legless at Global Village, going on a reckless round of high-end shopping for designer gear that she threw in the wardrobe, didn’t even bother to take the labels off, then off to Goldie’s with her mates for a night of dancing – until dawn and a raging hangover stopped the fun.

‘This is no way to behave,’ Mama Bella scolded her next morning, as she lay groaning in her bed. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Leave me alone,’ said Bianca, pulling the covers over her head. She thought of Tony, the rotten bastard, and the mixture of self-pity and hideous headache made her dissolve into tears. Whoever said love hurt? They were right. It did.

53

‘Hi,’ said the man, stepping out of the shadows.

Daisy was coming out of the back of Ruby’s flagship store near Marble Arch and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Ruby had asked her to come over and collect a couple of files from Joan, and she’d happily obliged. Anything to keep busy, to stop mulling it all over, thinking of how much she missed the twins, how she felt literally sick and empty and
ached
to hold them. It had been nearly a fortnight since Simon’s death, she still had his funeral to get through. And her nerves hadn’t stopped jangling since that horrible experience on the road with the Danieri bastards.

On top of everything else, she was devastated at the distance Rob had suddenly placed between them. He practically ignored her now. Obviously he’d made some sort of decision, and their almost-romance was clearly off. That broke her heart. She adored him. Loved him. This wasn’t just a crush, this was
serious.

She was thinking of all this and coming out of the back of the store when suddenly there was this scruffy, sour-smelling man standing in front of her.

‘Oh!’ she said, startled.

He was smiling. The light wasn’t too good out here, but she could see he was somewhere in his thirties and very skinny, almost gaunt.
Junkie
, she thought. He had puckish features with heavy-lidded eyes under arched brows. But there were big dark shadows all around his eye sockets. His grey-flecked hair was cut very short, there was a deep cleft in his chin and his mouth was thin.

As Daisy flinched away, he held up his hands in a
Hey! I’m harmless!
gesture, smiling at the same time.

‘Whoa!’ The smile widened to a grin. ‘It’s OK. I’m not a hooligan.’

People were flooding past them, coming out of the store to head home.

‘Oh hello, Daisy. ’Night,’ said Doris Blanchard, walking past in a group of chattering girls. Among them Daisy saw her tormentors, Tessa and Julie. They gave her hate-filled looks. She gave them back a look of blank uninterest. Fuck them.

‘Good night, Doris,’ said Daisy, then her eyes returned to the man standing in front of her. ‘You startled me.’

‘Sorry. My fault. Are you Daisy Darke?’

‘How . . . ?’

He gave a smile. Daisy thought it had a flaky, mad edge to it. ‘That woman just called you Daisy and it’s an unusual name. Actually, I’m looking for
Ruby
Darke.’

‘She’s not in today.’

Daisy had done what she came for and now all she wanted was to hurry home. She felt jittery and exposed and miserable. It broke her heart that she couldn’t go to the safe house to see the twins; Kit said it was too risky, that she might be spotted and that would place her babies in danger. But she had been allowed to speak to Jody very briefly from a phone box, only to be told that Matthew had been irritable for the past few days, feverish, coming down with a cold or something. And Luke would catch it. They did everything in tandem. And here she was, their mother, unable to see them, feed them, touch them, comfort them in any way. She hated all this, and was furious at the Danieri mob for causing this excruciating separation.

They’re going to forget I’m their mother,
she thought frantically.
They’re going to start calling Jody ‘Mum’, their first words to her will be ‘Mama’!

‘Gabe,’ said the man blocking her path. He stuck out a hand. ‘I’m Gabriel Ward. But everyone calls me Gabe.’

Daisy stared at him blankly. She was worried, distracted, and she most certainly didn’t know or even
want
to know any Gabriel Ward.

Despite her misgivings, she shook his hand. It felt sweaty and unpleasant. He definitely had the look of a cokehead or a heroin addict. She wondered at the wisdom of abandoning the safety of Ruby’s house and coming here today; maybe she should have got Reg to drive her. But she had been trying to overcome her own fears, to prove she could do it; and now look.

Everyone was leaving the store, the crowds of shop workers were thinning out, the place where they were standing, behind the big loading bays, was almost empty of life.

‘Look, I have to go . . .’ she said uneasily.

‘Sure! Of course,’ he said, and stepped aside. ‘Only, I don’t have an address for her, and I wanted to talk to her. She and my dad were close, I believe.’

Ward?
thought Daisy.

She stopped, studied his face. ‘You’re not
related
to Michael? Michael Ward?’

He gave that mocking half-grin again. There was something about his eyes that she really didn’t like. ‘He was my dad.’

Daisy stared at him, thunderstruck. ‘I didn’t know Michael had any children.’

‘I’ve been away for a while. Working.’

‘Well, I’m sure Ruby would want to meet you,’ she said politely. Actually she didn’t think Ruby would like to meet this twitchy, wild-eyed person at all.

‘So if you could give me her address . . .’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘What?’ He gave her a look of blinding innocence. ‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t, that’s all. Sorry.’

‘But surely she wouldn’t
mind
,’ he said. ‘I’m Michael’s boy.’

‘I told you: I can’t.’

Gabe moved in closer. His smile had slipped. He let out a laugh, but it sounded harsh, forced. ‘Oh, come on. This is silly.’

‘No . . .’ Daisy felt a shiver of alarm. She glanced down at her bag. ‘Oh . . . oh for God’s sake, I’ve left some files in the store. I’m sorry, I really have to go.’

Daisy hurried back inside, her heart beating hard. She half-expected him to follow her, to see through the thinness of her excuse to get away. The security guard was in his office and she went to the glass panel and leaned in close. Her eyes kept flicking toward the rear exit. At any moment, she expected Gabe to come in.

Henry looked up. He was portly and avuncular, and he smiled when he saw Daisy standing there.

‘Help you, Miss Darke?’ he asked, coming over.

‘If anyone comes in asking for me, I’ve gone out the side entrance, OK?’ said Daisy quickly.

‘Sure. You all right?’ he asked.

‘Fine. Just got some things Mum wants me to do up in the office. Don’t need any interruptions.’

‘OK.’ He was looking at her dubiously.

Daisy went back along the labyrinthine, echoing corridors and up to Ruby’s den on the top floor, passing through Joan’s empty office. The store was almost deserted now, and suddenly she didn’t like the feeling at all. She opened the inner door with her spare key, locked it behind her, and then went over to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialled.

He was there within half an hour, tapping at the locked office door.

‘Daise? You in there?’

Daisy unlocked the door. Rob was standing in the hallway.

‘What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Daisy composed herself. She was Lord Bray’s daughter, she was the fabulous Ruby Darke’s daughter, she absolutely
was not
going to fall to pieces. But she was getting so tired of feeling under threat all the time. The Danieri mob outside Simon’s house – she’d nearly
died
of fright that day. And now this junkie stopping her at the back of the store, at first smiling, charming, then turning suddenly hostile.

‘Do you know a Gabriel Ward?’ she managed to get out.

Rob’s attention sharpened. ‘Kit’s Uncle Joe was telling us about him. He’s Michael’s son. Got out of the big house not long ago.’

‘Big house?’ echoed Daisy.

‘Prison, Daise.’

Not
working then. ‘He was here earlier. Waiting for me outside.’

Rob stared at her. ‘Did he speak to you? What did he want?’

‘He wanted Ruby’s address. And when I wouldn’t give it, he sort of . . . well, got aggressive in a pushy, smiley, spooky way. I think he may have been on something. You know, drugs. He looked spaced out.’ Daisy took a breath. ‘What was he in prison for?’