Nameless (43 page)

Kit had left Ruby in the kitchen and was crossing the hall when he saw Michael coming downstairs, buttoning his shirt cuff. They exchanged a long look. Kit went and met his boss at the bottom of the staircase.

‘This was Tito, wasn’t it?’ said Kit with barely controlled anger. ‘Him and this Bray character are in tight together. Shag little boys together, I heard.’

Michael let out a sharp breath. ‘Kit,’ he said. ‘Drop the Tito thing.’

‘You know he did this,’ said Kit.

‘Leave it,’ said Michael, and walked past him, across the hall.

‘You know this was Tito,’ Kit called after him. ‘So what now, boss?You just going to lay down and let him walk right over Ruby?’

Michael stopped walking. He turned slightly, looking back at Kit. His face was expressionless. Then he smiled, very slightly. ‘I’m going to forget you said that, Kit, because you’re my number one man and I like you. Just don’t ever say anything like that to me, ever again. OK?’

Not waiting for a reply, Michael went into the kitchen, and closed the door firmly behind him.

But Kit didn’t think he could ever bring himself to toe the party line over Tito. At night he dreamed sometimes of Gilda, tossed aside like a broken doll, Gilda with her lucky-charm bracelet and its dark heart, the one that she’d bought to remind her of him. Awful, painful dreams. No, he didn’t think he could bring himself to drop the Tito thing – any more than Ruby could oblige Cornelius Bray by keeping out of her daughter’s life.

109

New Year’s Eve 1971

Daisy sighed and wandered from room to room in the gatehouse. She was pleased with what she’d done here. Now it looked nothing like it had when she was a child, after Nana Bray had lived here. Daisy had played sometimes in the empty rooms, marvelling at the old floral wallpapers throughout.

Now it was completely different. There was vivid orange on the walls, and huge comfy purple sofas with orange cushions, deep shag-pile purple carpets and the odd splash of lime green in the ornaments and glassware. And tonight she planned to
party.
It was the end of the old year, the start of the new. Why not?

Everyone she knew was invited, all her old pals, even the interior designer who had helped her kit out the gatehouse was coming, with his boyfriend. Of course, her parents wouldn’t come – and just as well. It would be too wild for their taste, Daisy knew. Ruby couldn’t come because she was travelling on business or something, and that had disappointed her because she liked Ruby so much.

Now Kit had pulled out. Phoned her this morning – the morning of the party – to say he was busy and couldn’t come. Just that.

‘Busy?’ She’d tried to keep it light, but she was very hurt. She
adored
Kit, and she couldn’t understand why Kit didn’t like her. He was a real man, not like those shallow trumpeting hoorays her parents kept trying to push her into going out with. She’d tried so hard with him. Short of stripping naked and lying in his bed in wait for him, she couldn’t think of a single other thing she could do to convince him that she was available for him, day or night.

‘Yeah, I’m sorting out some stuff.’

‘Stuff? What “stuff”?’ Daisy knew she shouldn’t be questioning him like this, that men hated it when females came over all heavy on them, but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Her whole mind had been focused on him coming to this party – she didn’t give a
shit
if no one else turned up, she wanted
him
to come.

‘Business stuff, Daisy.’ Now he sounded exasperated.

‘But for God’s sake! It’s New Year’s Eve.’

‘Daisy – I can’t come. I’m sorry, but there it is.’

‘Right.’ Daisy felt her mouth grow stiff. She swallowed hard, holding back tears. ‘Well, thank you. Thanks for letting me know.’

‘Daisy . . .’

‘No, that’s fine. Absolutely
fine.
Goodbye.’ She slammed down the phone. When it rang again, seconds later, she didn’t pick it up. She had the caterers coming in a couple of hours, she was going to take a long hot bath, relax, maybe smoke a joint or two. Get in the party mood. Even if there didn’t seem to be any point to that any more.

‘What do you think?’ asked Vanessa.

Cornelius stood at the drawing-room windows at Brayfield. Even with the windows closed, he could hear and almost
feel
the visceral thump-thump-thump of the sound system roaring away down at the gatehouse. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Midnight had come and gone. The New Year had been welcomed in. Now it was two in the morning, and the party was still in full swing.

He turned away from the window and saw his wife’s anxious face peering into his. This was an annoyance – he didn’t often bother to come home any more, but this time Vanessa had insisted. It was New Year’s Eve, she didn’t want to spend it alone. And she wanted him on hand in case there was any ‘disorderly behaviour’, as she put it.

Christ – other people had daughters they could be proud of, fine girls who got married and behaved themselves. From what he was hearing now from Vanessa, Daisy was a complete liability and had been so for quite a while. He suspected that the worst of Daisy’s behaviour had been concealed from him for some years, by Vanessa, and by his sister too.

‘Think I’ll go up to bed,’ he said.

‘
What?
’ Vanessa’s mouth dropped open. ‘But, Cornelius, what if—’

‘What?’ he snapped, annoyed because this
wasn’t
how he’d planned to spend his evening. He had wanted to go to the club with Tito, see a little action. Not be stuck here with Vanessa bending his ear over Daisy.

‘What if something happens?’ she asked.

‘Nothing’s going to happen. They’re just young people enjoying themselves.’ He opened the door and was halfway across the hall when the phone started ringing on the console table. ‘Get that, will you, darling?’ he said, and started climbing the stairs.

Agitatedly, Vanessa snatched up the phone. ‘Hello?’

She heard a garbled female voice, pounding music. Vanessa glanced towards the drawing-room windows, in the direction of the gatehouse. The music – if you could call it that – was in perfect rhythm with the noise coming from out there.

She couldn’t hear what was being said. Cornelius paused on the stairs.

‘Who is it, at this hour?’ he asked.

‘I can’t hear what they’re saying,’ said Vanessa. She gripped the phone tighter. ‘Hello! Hello?’

She looked up at Cornelius and her eyes were frightened. ‘I think it’s someone calling from the gatehouse. A girl, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. It could be Daisy.’

110

By the time they had walked to the bottom of the driveway, Vanessa was in a state of high anxiety and Cornelius was seriously annoyed. There were more than twenty cars parked outside the gatehouse – and there was Mandy, Daisy’s friend, running towards them as they rounded the corner of the drive.

‘What is it?’ asked Cornelius, grabbing her.

‘Daisy! It’s Daisy, I can’t get her to wake up . . .’

‘What? Is she drunk?’They were all hurrying towards the gatehouse, which seemed to be throbbing, there was so much light and noise spilling out of it.

The front door was open, and they hurried into the hall. There was no point in speaking any more, you couldn’t hear a word above the din. Cornelius dived straight into the sitting room. There were people lying about on sofas, smoking joints. There were empty bottles of booze, there was a table strewn with remnants of food.

Vanessa followed him and stood there and stared in horror. There were drink stains all over the newly laid carpets; someone had been throwing food at the wall. The place was a mess and it stank to high heaven of strange substances, spilled booze and sweaty bodies. She grabbed hold of Mandy, shook her and shouted: ‘
Where is Daisy?
’

Mandy took hold of Vanessa’s hand and hurried up the stairs with her. There, in the master bedroom, was Daisy, sprawled out on the floor beside the hideous purple-covered bed, two young men watching her uneasily.

Vanessa drew in a horrified breath. Daisy was white as uncooked dough, her face sheened with perspiration. There was a ligature of some sort around her upper arm, and there was a puncture mark on the inner bend of her elbow.

‘Oh my
God
,’ said Vanessa, throwing herself to her knees beside Daisy and grabbing her wrist, feeling frantically for a pulse. She looked up furiously at Mandy and the two young men, who were edging towards the door. ‘Who did this? What has she been injected with?
Who did this?
’

Cornelius was snatching up the phone, dialling 999.

‘Ambulance, please. Yes.’ He gave the address. ‘It looks like an overdose. I’ve no idea of what.’

He put down the phone and turned towards Mandy. ‘You. Get out.’

‘But I . . .’

‘Didn’t you hear me? Crawl off into whatever hole you came from,’ barked Cornelius.

That said, he followed Mandy down the stairs.

Vanessa knelt beside Daisy and smoothed her feverish brow, hoping she wasn’t going to die. But – oh God – she looked so ill. And Mandy was right. She was unconscious.

Seconds later she heard car engines start. Abruptly, the music died. There were many footsteps in the hall, mutterings, the odd sheepish laugh. More cars started. Then after a while there was silence downstairs.

Vanessa got to her feet and went over to the door. She looked down into the hall. There was no movement now. The door was standing open.

‘Cornelius?’ she called shakily.

There was no answer.

Of course. He couldn’t be found here, not with his daughter drugged-up and unconscious. He had gone, back up to the house. She returned to Daisy and fell to her knees beside her. Alone – as so often she was – she waited for the ambulance to arrive.

111

‘It was heroin,’ said Berenson, the consultant at the hospital. ‘A large dose. She’s very lucky to be alive.’

Vanessa was almost too shocked by this to speak. But she had spent so many years as the wife of a prominent politician that she rallied – always – with phenomenal speed.

Heroin.

‘This mustn’t go any further,’ she told the man, an old friend who played golf with Cornelius. ‘No police. No press. You understand?’

The consultant nodded. ‘Of course.’

He left her then, sitting alone at Daisy’s bedside. Vanessa hardly knew what day it was. She had travelled in the ambulance with Daisy and then waited hour upon endless hour, and now it was daylight, dawn was creeping over the horizon and she was thinking,
Where did we go so wrong?

She sat there and gazed at Daisy’s pale, unconscious face. All right, Daisy was not her natural child. But she had tried her best with the girl; she believed that she had loved her as much as she possibly could, given her everything she could want. Maybe too much?

But they had tried never to spoil Daisy. It wasn’t their fault. Daisy was just . . . wild. And she seemed to have this notion that she was unloved, when that wasn’t true. They weren’t demonstrative parents, they didn’t hug or kiss very much, but surely the fact that she was loved by them went without saying? She was
their child.

Only . . . she wasn’t. She was Cornelius’s child, yes, but got on that whore Ruby, not on his wife. Vanessa had hoped never to have to see or hear from that slut ever again, but it seemed she was everywhere, in the business section of the papers, in magazine articles, even showing up in Vanessa’s home, with Daisy.

But then . . . Vanessa had been unable to have children. Daisy had been her one chance to achieve the impossible. And Daisy was her father’s child; Vanessa had loved her, if only for that. While always – she could admit this to herself, but to no one else – there was always that feeling that Daisy was never truly hers, that she was very much
Ruby’s
child.

Vanessa had never felt so alone, so completely frightened and bewildered by the world around her. She understood her garden, the soil, the plants, all that; but this . . . She couldn’t even begin to comprehend why Daisy could have allowed some fool to inject her with that ghastly stuff. Or – horrible thought – had she done it to herself? Was she so unhappy? Had they – her parents –
made
her unhappy?

‘She needs to rest now, that’s all,’ said the consultant, returning to Daisy’s bedside in the morning. ‘By this afternoon she’ll be awake and she’ll be able to talk to you. Until then, you should go home. Get some rest too.’

Vanessa went home, to find Cornelius waiting for her in the drawing room.

‘How is she?’ he asked, standing up.

Vanessa stared at him.

‘Vanessa? Is she all right?’

Vanessa’s mouth twisted. ‘Oh – you mean your daughter?’

‘Come on . . .’

‘What, Cornelius? Are you going to tell me I’m overtired?’ Vanessa slapped her bag down in a chair and let out a harsh laugh. ‘Funnily enough, I am. I’ve been sitting and waiting to hear whether or not our daughter – no, let’s get this right:
your
daughter – was going to die. I was there at the hospital for
six hours
.’

Cornelius let out a sigh and reached for her. ‘Now, darling, you know I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t be implicated in anything like that. You saw Berenson? I called him. Did he sort things out . . . ?’

‘Of course I did. And he covered for you, don’t worry. There’ll be no questions asked. That was the first thing you thought of, wasn’t it? Your precious reputation. Well, maybe you ought to think about that a bit more when you’re up in town having . . .’Vanessa paused, groping for the words, her face twisting in disgust ‘. . .
relations
with young women. And young men.’

Cornelius grew very still. ‘What have you been hearing?’

‘What, aren’t you going to deny it?’

He let out a breath. ‘Of
course
I deny it.’

But Vanessa had heard him in his role as a politician deny things that five minutes later he had coolly implemented. Cornelius was the suavest, the smoothest of liars. She knew that.