Never Tell (15 page)

‘Late night?’

‘He’s been shagging that bird all night,’ James teased, who in comparison actually looked rested for once.

‘Which bird? The lovely Star?’

‘Who else?’ James said, a flicker of something passing over his face. Jealousy? I wondered, eyeing him.

‘Yeah,’ Liam flushed. ‘But not all night. Only till about four.’

‘Oh, only four? You slacker. God, those were the days, eh?’ I looked at my husband, but he didn’t meet my eye. Our sex life was non-existent since the twins.

‘He’s got it bad,’ James said, turning the music off. ‘You know, I’m not sure about that last track, Liam. It hasn’t got the – I dunno – the verve of the first few. What did Noel have to say?’

‘He quite likes it. Don’t love it, though.’ Liam looked rueful. ‘I think we all know it’s not quite there yet.’

‘Let’s take it in the studio and have a tinker.’

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you today,’ I said to Liam as he picked up his rucksack.

‘Just come up to sign some paperwork before my trip.’ James was nonchalant. ‘Come and have a listen if you fancy it.’

‘I’d hate nothing more, my darling,’ I joked. ‘Give me Fleetwood Mac any day.’

No one laughed.

When I took them coffee ten minutes later, the tension between them appeared to have diffused; they were happily hunched over the computer together, fiddling with the bass line.

‘I dunno,’ I said, ‘I thought when you got this successful, I’d stop being a studio widow.’

Only Liam looked up. ‘You know us, Rosie. Boys and their toys.’ He was joking with me, but he still seemed remarkably uneasy.

‘By the way, James—’

He didn’t look at me as I passed him the sugar. ‘Yeah?’

‘Your phone. It was dropped off by Kattan’s driver, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh.’ Now he did look up. ‘Yeah.’

‘So you
were
up there?’ I was truly puzzled.

‘Yeah. Sorry. It totally slipped my mind. I went to talk to Kattan about the club.’

‘And?’

I saw Liam shoot James a look.

‘And there’s a chance he might invest. You knew that. A chance. Quite slim, though. He’s got some funny ideas, that guy.’

‘Oh?’ I was curious. ‘Like what?’

‘Rosie,’ James widened his eyes at me, ‘please. We’ve got to get on. Talk about it later, yeah?’

The bass kicked in again, and I shut the door firmly behind me before I was deafened. But as I drove to collect Alicia, I couldn’t free my mind of the feeling they’d been arguing about something serious. I hoped Liam hadn’t messed up financially again; it had happened in the past when the label nearly went bust. At least it might explain James’s recent stress. But I still didn’t know why he’d lied about being up at the manor. A worm of discomfort curled into my gut.

At 5 a.m. the phone woke me.

‘Yes?’ I mumbled into the receiver, suddenly terrified. Despite all my years as a reporter, early morning and late night calls always boded badly for me. Since the implosion of Society X it only made me think of fatal news; more recently, of my father’s heart attack.

‘Morning, Rose.’

‘Who’s that?’ My brain slowly cranked into life.

‘It’s Louise at the PA. Sorry to wake you,’ she sounded impatient, ‘but you did say to call you if I got any information.’

‘Yes, of course.’ I fumbled for my watch to check the time. ‘What is it?’

‘Just came through. There’s been a death up at that house you were so interested in.’

‘Albion Manor?’ I sat up in bed.

‘You got it. Sounds like something out of Agatha Christie, doesn’t it? Body in the library and all that kind of thing.’

‘Fuck.’ Blearily I tried to compute what she was saying. I heard her keyboard rattle as apprehension crept up my spine. ‘Who …’ I cleared my throat, ‘who’s dead?’

‘Young male. No name.’ There was the rattle of the computer again. ‘Early-to-mid thirties, no other details yet.’

‘Right …’ Fingers of fear clutched my neck. ‘God. Foul play, presumably?’

‘Definitely sounds dodgy. Not sure what the coup is yet. If I hear more, I’ll let you know. Just wanted to give you the heads-up.’

‘Cheers, Louise. I really appreciate it.’

I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest, easing myself over sleeping children, pulling my cardigan on to go to find James. He was snoring on the studio sofa, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the floor, headphones beside it and an ashtray overflowing with spliff ends. No wonder he was having the nightmares again.

‘James.’ I shook him. ‘James, I need to pop out.’

‘What?’ He was groggy, hardly awake, his eyes closing again immediately.

‘Can you come into the house, please, James?’ I shook him gently. ‘I need you to listen out for the children. I’ve got to go out. Breaking news.’

I wanted to go before I had to explain, and dashed from the room as he started to sit up properly. ‘The kids won’t wake yet, I’m sure. I’ll be back,’ I called, as I heard him grumbling behind me. ‘Freddie’s milk is in the fridge if he does, though. You’ll have to warm it up in the microwave. Twenty-five seconds. Don’t nuke it.’

I pulled on my boots and fleece and ran to the car. I wasn’t sure how I would explain my presence; I wasn’t even sure why I was going, but going I was. At this moment my main concern was who the hell was dead.

Dawn was breaking over the empty brown fields as I drove through the lanes, suffusing the sky with an unearthly light. A small brown rabbit froze between hedgerows as I braked just in time. Rounding the bend in the drive, I saw two police cars and an ambulance parked at the foot of the front steps. The front door was ajar, a uniformed PC standing in the porch. I parked my car by the stable block and pulled on my woolly hat and gloves.

‘No press, love.’ The policeman stepped down a few stairs and blocked my path, his breath crystallising in the dawn air. It was absolutely freezing.

‘I’m not press, I’m a friend of the family. Who’s dead?’

‘I’m sure I recognise you.’ He cocked a sandy eyebrow at me. His nose was red and dripping from the cold.

‘I think my daughter goes to school with your son.’ I smiled as becomingly as was possible at 5.30 a.m. ‘Alicia Miller?’

‘St Erth’s? That might be it,’ he said comfortably. ‘Good school, that.’

‘So …’ I took a hopeful step round him.

‘You still can’t go in.’ He held an arm out. ‘The pathologist is doing his stuff.’

‘Who’s dead?’ I repeated urgently. A cockerel was crowing somewhere insistently, over and over again.

‘Not for me to say. No official identification as yet.’ He was implacable.

I was about to start wheedling when the front door was flung wide. A young woman stood silhouetted on the top step.

Maya Kattan, at last.

She was wearing what looked like black silk pyjamas and was once again wild-eyed and dishevelled. Her face was as tear-streaked as the first time I’d seen her, and she staggered where she stood, as if it was too much effort to keep upright. And then she moved down the stairs in her bare feet, and she began to run. She ran straight past me, near enough for me to smell her musky perfume. I called her name but she didn’t even hesitate, just kept going right past me towards the side of the house, across the gravel, despite her lack of shoes.

As I wavered there, two paramedics emerged from the house, stretchering a body, totally covered, down the stairs.

The wind sighed through the blossom trees as a human voice raised to join it in a chilling scream. I turned to see Maya falling, sprawling on the gravel, and I began to run towards her myself, driven by instinct, by her obvious pain – but someone else had materialised beside her. He was there, leaning down to pick her up, and I slowed, unsure what to do, filled with a sudden emotion I couldn’t place.

The stretcher was down the stairs now, being lifted into the ambulance. I glanced back to Maya and I was halted by the look on Danny’s face; the hairs went up on my arms as I read the expression of tenderness. I watched the way she placed her hand in his, rather like a child would. She let him pull her up, and he leaned down and said something to her, pushing the glossy black curtain of hair behind her ear very gently. I noticed that her hands were intricately tattooed with henna as she stood alone now and shook her head at something Danny said, and began to walk away, round the back of the house.

I stepped in her direction but this time it was Danny who blocked my way.

‘I don’t know why I’m not surprised to see you here,’ he said, the Scottish drawl weary. He looked like he hadn’t slept, his sun-bleached hair dishevelled, his black windbreaker zipped up to his unshaven chin. ‘You’re like a bad penny.’

‘I got a call,’ I said lamely. ‘I thought perhaps I could help.’

Maya Kattan had vanished as the doors of the ambulance slammed shut behind us.

‘It’s a bit late for help, I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

From somewhere came an almighty revving of a powerful engine. Danny glanced round and then back at me. ‘I think you should go, doll. Go back to where you stay. Now. Before there’s any more trouble.’

We locked eyes.

‘This, Rose Miller, this is not a happy family to be around.’

‘Who is that?’ I gestured to the ambulance. ‘Who’s dead?’

‘Maya’s boyfriend, Nadif.’

‘Oh God,’ I said, but felt a surge of inexplicable relief. ‘Boyfriend? The one her father called a “heart-breaker”?’

‘When was that?’ Danny Callendar looked down at me.

‘The other night,’ I said. ‘He said she’d gone walkabout because she was miserable.’

‘I see.’ He was harder to read than Proust, this man. ‘Like I said, not a happy family.’

‘Was he –’ I touched the welts on my neck unconsciously –’Was it the man from the other day? The black guy?’

‘Yeah, the Somalian. I wouldn’t be too sad,’ Danny said coldly, and fear licked me again. ‘He was bad news all round.’

‘How did he die?’ I began to ask, and then Maya’s car tore round the corner, skidding on the gravel, heading towards the fountain in the middle of the circular lawn.

‘Christ, she’s going to hit it!’ I gasped, but Maya righted the wheel just in time, the back end of her Porsche swinging across the grass, tyres churning up the immaculate turf before she accelerated down the drive. A sleek black vehicle rounded the bend now, a Mercedes, heading straight towards her.

The cars were going to meet head-on.

I closed my eyes and waited for the crash – but it never came. The Porsche was almost in the hedge as Maya threw herself out of the vehicle.

‘You murderer,’ she screamed. ‘You fucking murderer. You will stop at nothing, will you?’ She kicked the tyre of the now stationary Mercedes with a bare foot, over and over again. She kicked it like a woman possessed.

Hadi Kattan stepped out of the car. ‘Maya,’ he said, extending his arms towards her. ‘Please, Maya. I’m so sorry.’

‘Get the fuck away from me,’ she screamed. Blood was streaming down her foot. ‘I never want to see you again,’ and she stood very close to her father and stared at him. ‘You just couldn’t let me have my happiness, could you?’

‘Maya lal,’ he implored. ‘Don’t.’

He said something in Arabic. She considered him for a short moment and then she spat right in his face.

For a moment I thought he might hit her, but his arms remained by his side. Maya glared at him and then she turned and ran back to the Porsche. The gravel spun and flicked behind her, making the horses in the stable whinny in terror, and then she was gone.

‘Callendar,’ Kattan called. His tone was flat and hard as steel as he wiped the spittle off with a white handkerchief. ‘Take the car up to the house. Now.’

Deftly Danny caught the key Kattan threw at him and then he went to obey.

I felt a surge of nervous energy as Hadi Kattan walked towards me. He crossed the small lawn that housed the fountain, flattening the tiny white crocuses scattered throughout the grass. For the first time I saw something in his face that scared me.

‘What are you doing here, Mrs Miller?’ he asked. He looked older than he had the other night, less noble, his face hawk-like in the early light.

I should have made good my escape while I could. I heard the cock crow a final time.

‘Oh, Mr Kattan. I – I heard the bad news and—’

‘I don’t think you have been totally honest with me,’ he interrupted quietly. ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me, perhaps?’

My stomach lurched. ‘Like what?’ I smiled shakily. ‘I don’t have any secrets, Mr Kattan. Not proper ones.’

He stared at me until I wanted to hide my face like my children did when they thought I couldn’t see them.

‘But your husband told me, my dear.’

Betrayed by my own husband? My mind scrabbled like a rat in a trap.

‘You are a writer, aren’t you?’ he persisted.

In the background, the ambulance started up.

‘A writer?’ I stalled. ‘I write a few shopping lists, I know that much.’

‘Oh, come on, Rose,’ Kattan’s voice was like a blade coated in honey. ‘You write for that local rag, the
Chronicle.’

Relief swept through my body until my knees actually felt like cotton wool.

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, and I actually laughed. ‘I do. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. That’s not a secret.’

‘But you do have one, don’t you, my dear Rose? A secret you have kept hidden as best you can.’

‘What?’ My legs still felt wobbly.

‘I don’t want you up here again, you understand?’ Kattan took my arm and walked me towards my car. ‘You have disappointed me.’

‘Really?’ I was confused, and his grip was firm. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter.’

‘But why?’ I protested.

‘Listen to me, Mrs Rose Miller,’ his face was grim, ‘I know all about your sordid past. And let me tell you, not everyone thinks that blasphemy is a joke.’

‘Blasphemy?’ My skin was prickling. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You are an intelligent woman, I’m sure you can work it out. Some even call it a sin, you know. Whatever god you follow. Don’t come here again, and please, don’t cross me.’ His hooded eyes were absolutely unreadable. He looked suddenly reptilian to me. ‘It really would not be wise.’

UNIVERSITY, FEBRUARY 1992