Passion Killers (4 page)

Olivia Stone was attempting to butter bread. She had promised to make banana and sandwich spread sandwiches for her thirteen-year-old daughter’s gymkhana day, and was regretting it. She flung the knife on the granite worktop, wishing she hadn’t given her daily help the day off. Her nerves were in shreds and the bread kept tearing. Since Brian Finn had been released from prison she could hardly think straight. It wasn’t that she didn’t know it was coming; he’d always said he’d be out after nineteen years with good behaviour, and now he was.

It was the blackmail note that she hadn’t expected.

It was true that the girls had got away scot free while he served the nineteen year stretch, but they had done everything they could to help him. Well, she had, courtesy of Ken’s millions, and Katie too since she started earning big money in the number one TV soap. They had supported Bernadette, the child Theresa had for him just after he went down. And surely he knew he could still rely on them now he was out. But here it was: a demand for a hundred grand, or he would send the pornographic videos from the Scarlet Pussy Club to the press.

What none of them had understood at first was why he was turning against them after serving nineteen years to help them. He had the power to destroy Kenneth’s career as a government minister, and Katie Faye’s as the nation’s favourite soap star, but none of them ever dreamed he would use it. But the note said he wouldn’t return the tapes until that cash was in his hand.

Olivia had been pregnant at the same time as Theresa, and had married fat Kenneth Stone. He was filthy rich, so she was able to make sure Theresa and Brian’s daughter had everything she needed. Poor Bernadette was born brain-damaged, and all the club girls had rallied around to help – all, that was, except Shaheen. What a cow, Olivia thought, sending another wad of butter flying across the marble surface. Bloody Shaheen had done nothing at all – except cause the problems in the first place.

She opened the nearest of the three fridges in the large kitchen and pulled out a bottle of gin. She placed it on the granite surface in front of her; it took less than a second before she gave in and poured a small measure, topping it up with slimline tonic. It was only ten-thirty in the morning, but today she needed it. She swallowed a mouthful and assured herself everything was going to be just fine. Five out of the six of had agreed that Brian should be paid; only Shaheen disagreed, and Olivia wasn’t about to let her get in their way. She and Katie had raised the hundred grand between them - well, Katie had, and Olivia was going to pay back half of it as soon as the bank draft came through. Brian deserved a new start, and they’d get all the pornographic videos back. The lid could be sealed on the whole embarrassing affair, and finally they could move on.

None of them wanted any reminder of their summer at the Scarlet Pussy Club, or of what happened on that sweltering night. In any case, it was she and Katie who had the most to lose, and they were the ones who were paying up. If those videos got into the wrong hands, her marriage would be ruined along with Kenneth’s career. And Katie, after years of struggling for a break as an actress, had just been voted the nation’s favourite soap character: the naïve, innocent staff nurse Penelope. The tabloids would have a field day.

The kitchen door suddenly opened. She hastily pushed the glass of gin behind the spaghetti jar as her eighteen-year-old son Kevin walked in the kitchen.

“We’re ready to go, Mum. Have you made Ianthe’s sandwiches?”

“Two minutes,” she snapped.

“Who rattled your cage?”

Olivia closed her eyes. No point taking it out on the kids – it would only backfire if Kevin threw one of his teenage strops and refused to drive Ianthe to the stables. “Sorry. You’re still OK for the gymkhana, aren’t you, Kev?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, Mother dearest. I’ll sit and watch the pretty horses all day, and bring her home safe. Just do the bloody sandwiches!”

He loped off into the hall, and she felt like throwing the breadknife at him, her nerves were so frazzled. But somehow she held herself together. It had taken a lot of planning to get all the girls together and the house to herself for the day, but she had managed it. Kevin would take his sister to Pony Club, Kenneth was in meetings at the House till late, and she’d given the daily woman the day off.

All that remained now was for the girls to decide which of them should meet Brian and hand over the money. At least Shaheen Hakhti wouldn’t be there. They had all told her what they thought of her half-arsed suggestion about going to the bloody police with the blackmail letter, and since then no one had heard from her. She was supposed to meet Susan in London two weeks ago; Susan had offered to talk her round. But Shaheen hadn’t turned up, and hadn’t been answering her mobile ever since. And none of them was allowed to phone her home in Leicester, so end of story. Good, Olivia thought. Shaheen hadn’t even made an embarrassing pornographic video.

She opened her packet of menthol cigarettes and lit one up, and sliced a banana on to a hunk of badly buttered bread. The vinegary smell of the sandwich spread made her gag; how could Ianthe eat this stuff? She emptied half the jar over the banana and pressed a second thick slice of white bread over it. That was enough, she decided; her feet were aching and she needed to sit down and calm herself before the girls arrived. She threw the sandwich in a paper bag, opened her purse and took out a twenty pound note; let them buy burgers, she thought, slipping it into the bag with the sandwich.

The video played through her mind as it seemed to a hundred times a day: Katie lying across a wooden chair, not a stitch on and legs in the air; Olivia standing astride her, bending to suck her nipples. How could she have been that naïve? Her face burned; what would the prime minister say if he saw them? Or Katie Faye’s television producer? A hundred thousand pounds was a small price to avoid embarrassment of that order.

The children were clattering around in the hall, gathering Ianthe’s riding things together. She called to Kevin and threw him the sandwich bag. “There’s money in there,” she said. “Buy McDonald’s for lunch and keep the change for petrol.”

“Cheers, Mum.”

“Just look after your sister.”

“Will do.”

“And Kevin? I could really do with a day to myself.”

“Toy boy on his way over, is he?”

She could never tell how serious he was. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Chill, Mum. Just kidding.”

Ianthe hugged her goodbye, and Kevin took the car keys off the hook. They left, squabbling good-naturedly, and Olivia sighed with relief. She massaged her temple points with her fingers, promising herself that after today she too could make a new start. It wasn’t as if it would be hard to decide which of them would take the money to Brian; it had to be Susan. Both she and Katie had to protect their public profiles; Kim’s other half was a copper; Theresa was too angry with Brian. Susan was the only one left.

Susan had visited him often in prison, and she still worked in the sex industry. Olivia had visited too, but more out of duty than friendship; she had married Kenneth shortly after that fateful night, as soon as she found out she was pregnant, and when he became an MP she had to be careful. Then, when poor Theresa’s baby was born, just a month after Kevin, and they learned she was brain-damaged, the guilt kicked in. As if letting Brian serve a life sentence for their crime wasn’t bad enough, they had deprived that little girl of a father when she needed one so badly.

So she, Katie and Susan had done everything they could to help; they kept in close touch with Theresa and supported little Bernadette financially, and even kept Theresa’s mother in gin, one thing guaranteed to make life easier for Theresa. Not that bitch Shaheen, though. She had moved back home to Leicester, married a plumber and had three healthy children. The only contact they had with her was birthday cards. Yet she thought she had the right to tell them they should go to the police with Brian’s demand for money. Not that anyone listened. It was her fault in the first place, and they had been clearing up her mess for the last nineteen years.

Suddenly Olivia wanted to cry. That video kept playing through her mind: standing naked, stroking Katie’s nipples, then the agonising pain as Ahmed unexpectedly shoved that dildo into her. And all for a demeaning job in a filthy strip club, to make quick money to pay her way through college.

Instead of crying, she burst out laughing. After all that she hadn’t even gone to law school. She’d got pregnant and married Kenneth instead. Not that she regretted it – well, not much. She had everything money could buy: a lovely house, designer clothes, an eighteen-year-old-son and a beautiful thirteen-year-old daughter, both healthy, if a bit unruly. Ken had a terrible temper and sometimes took it out on her, but she knew she annoyed him. He’d taught her the difference between politician’s wife and footballer’s wife and worked hard to give her the polish a junior minister’s wife needed; she did her best not to let him down, but the other wives’ posh style didn’t come naturally to her.

All the same, whatever his faults, Ken had never been mean with money. Just as well, since she had none of her own, and without his she wouldn’t have been able to help Theresa.

But when Brian had told them he was being released, and she had asked for one final lump sum, Kenneth had drawn the line. Enough was enough, he’d said; Theresa and her brat had had thousands out of him already. Why he should have to cough up yet another large sum just to give a pair of losers a new start?

Olivia hadn’t lived with him for nineteen years without learning a thing or two; she’d be able to lay her hands on her share of the hundred grand and by the time he found out it would be too late. It would just take a couple of weeks.

He wouldn’t be pleased, but the alternative was unthinkable. She sipped her drink and tried not to imagine what he’d do to her if those videos got in the wrong hands. He’d probably kill her, even though it was his own fault for not parting willingly with the money and driving Brian to desperate measures.

So she was sorting it. For all their sakes.

Katie Faye fed coins into the studio coffee machine, and absentmindedly pressed the button marked Coffee Black No Sugar. Her figure was still reed-slim and her face was still line-free; no one would guess she was thirty-seven and counting. She had to work at it, watching what she ate and getting a full quota of sleep at night – which, with early morning calls when they were filming on location, sometimes meant going to bed at eight o’clock. But she was the nation’s pin-up, the much-loved Staff Nurse Penelope Diamond, in the hospital soap
Screened
. She had climbed to the top of the ladder, and was determined to stay there.

She took her coffee from the machine and took a welcome mouthful. She had been up since five filming, and had lain awake most of the night. But today everything would be sorted.

She was more than happy to pay the hundred thousand pounds Brian was demanding. If Olivia wasn’t able to come up with her half, she certainly wouldn’t hold it against her; poor Liv hadn’t said why it was going to take a while, but then she never did say a word against Kenneth. They all knew what went on, though, and Katie was pretty sure it was fat Ken who had pulled the plug.

Olivia had already done her share. At first it had been mostly her money – well, Kenneth’s – which supported Bernadette; it wasn’t until the last five years Katie had been able to help out. Her life had completely changed when, after struggling for eleven years as a bit part actress, she had landed the role of Penelope.

Since she had been in
Screened
she had never been happier. Penelope’s popularity had grown, and everywhere she went people flocked around her for autographs. When she drove along in her newly acquired BMW, other drivers shouted, “Hello, Penelope.” Fans came up to her in the street, requesting plasters, or asking her to diagnose their aches and pains. She loved it; the job was everything she had worked for, everything she had ever dared dream of. Her world had come up roses.

But how she regretted the weeks in that seedy Soho strip club -and what had happened on that fateful Saturday night. Katie had never stopped feeling guilty about letting Brian go to prison – all the more so because Theresa had had to bring up a disabled child alone. No amount of money could make up for that. There was no question but that Brian should have the money; it was just sad that it had to be like this. Still, she had to have those videos back no matter what the cost.

It was the guilt that had kept them together, the girls from the Scarlet Pussy Club. They’d remained friends ever since that dreadful night, supporting each other through all their ups and downs. All except Shaheen Hakhti. She was the only one of them that had a decent start in life, yet she had done nothing to help either Theresa or Kim.

Poor Kim had gone into a depression and become addicted to tranquillisers; one thing led to another, and she finished up injecting heroin. It took three attempts at rehab to get her off the drug, and she was still fragile and in poor health.

Not only did Shaheen ignore Kim’s plight as well as Theresa’s; she didn’t even write to Brian in prison. She just got on with her life and behaved as if the whole appalling business was nothing to do with her. And now she had the cheek to suggest they should go to the police. It wasn’t as if the selfish cow had anything to lose; she had made sure there was no video of her. She had really shown her true colours over this.

Katie eyed the chocolate biscuits beside the coffee machine and debated allowing herself something sweet to keep her energy up. But she really had no appetite.

Her thoughts ranged back over the past few years. After the drug phase, when Kim met her girlfriend Judy and made a supreme effort to stay clean, she had started a dancing school. It soon became successful – unsurprising, as Kim was a great dancer and knew how to motivate youngsters – and as soon as she had money to spare she started to contribute to Bernadette’s upkeep.

Susan, too, had done her bit. She hadn’t changed one iota; she had put some weight on, but she was still the same cockney girl with a heart of gold. She had even carried on stripping right up until six months ago, when she was offered a job managing a sex shop in Soho, with a flat above it for her and her cat Tara. Not only had Susan visited Brian regularly; she also helped Theresa and Bernadette financially, and babysat so Theresa could have something of a life. Katie had a lot of time for Susan.