Be Careful What You Wish For: The Clifton Chronicles 4 (27 page)

Clive took her in his arms and tried to calm her, but she was inconsolable. ‘Leave this to me,’ he said, letting go of her and pulling on his dressing gown. ‘I’m going to
tell my mother I don’t give a damn what Lady Virginia thinks, because nothing is going to stop me marrying you.’ He held her in his arms once again, before walking out of the bedroom
and marching downstairs straight into the drawing room.

‘What’s this pack of lies you’ve been spreading about my fiancée?’ he demanded, looking directly at Lady Virginia.

‘It’s nothing more than the truth,’ replied Virginia calmly. ‘I thought it was better that your mother found out before you were married, rather than after, when it would
be too late.’

‘But to suggest that Jessica’s mother was a murderer . . .’

‘Not that difficult to check up on.’

‘And her grandmother was a prostitute?’

‘I’m afraid that’s common knowledge in Bristol.’

‘Well, I don’t give a damn,’ said Clive. ‘I adore Jess, and to hell with the consequences, because I can tell you, Lady Virginia, you won’t stop me marrying
her.’

‘Clive, darling,’ said his mother calmly, ‘I would think about it for a moment before you make such a rash decision.’

‘I don’t need to think about marrying the most perfect creature on earth.’

‘But if you were to marry this woman, what would you expect to live on?’

‘Fourteen hundred a year will be more than enough.’

‘But a thousand pounds of that is an allowance from your father, and when he hears . . .’

‘Then we’ll have to get by on my salary. Other people seem to manage it.’

‘Has it never crossed your mind, Clive, where that four hundred pounds comes from?’

‘Yes, Curtis Bell and Getty, and I earn every penny of it.’

‘Do you really believe that particular agency would employ you if it didn’t have the Bingham’s Fish Paste account?’

Clive was silenced for a moment. ‘Then I’ll have to get another job,’ he eventually managed.

‘And where do you think you’d live?’

‘In my flat, of course.’

‘But for how long? You must be aware that the lease on Glebe Place expires in September. I know it was your father’s intention to renew it, but given the circumstances . .
.’

‘You can keep the damned flat, Mother. You won’t come between Jess and me.’ He turned his back on them both, walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him. He
then ran upstairs, hoping to reassure Jessica that nothing had changed, and to suggest that they drive back to London immediately. He looked in both bedrooms, but she was nowhere to be seen. On her
bed were two dresses, a small evening bag, a pair of shoes, an engagement ring and a drawing of his father. He ran back downstairs to find his father standing in the hall, unable to hide his
anger.

‘Have you seen Jess?’

‘I have. But I’m afraid nothing I could say was going to stop her leaving. She told me what that dreadful woman said, and who can blame the poor girl for not wanting to spend another
night under this roof. I asked Burrows to drive her to the station. Get dressed and go after her, Clive. Don’t lose her, because you’ll never find anyone like that again.’

Clive sprinted back upstairs as his father headed towards the drawing room.

‘Have you heard Virginia’s news, Robert?’ Priscilla asked as he entered the room.

‘I most certainly have,’ he said, turning to face Virginia. ‘Now listen to me carefully, Virginia. You will leave this house immediately.’

‘But, Robert, I was only trying to help my dear friend.’

‘You were doing nothing of the sort, and you know it. You came here with the sole purpose of ruining that young girl’s life.’

‘But, Robert darling, Virginia is my oldest friend . . .’

‘Only when it suits her. Don’t even think about defending the woman, otherwise you can go with her, and then you’ll soon find out just how much of a friend she is.’

Virginia rose from her place and walked slowly towards the door. ‘I’m so sorry to have to say, Priscilla, I won’t be visiting you again.’

‘Then at least something good has come out of this,’ said Robert.

‘No one has ever spoken to me like that before,’ Virginia said, turning back to face her adversary.

‘Then I suggest you reread Elizabeth Barrington’s will, because she certainly had the measure of you. Now get out, before I throw you out.’

The butler only just managed to open the front door in time to allow Lady Virginia to continue on her way.

Clive abandoned his car outside the station and ran across the bridge to platform three. He could hear a guard’s whistle, and by the time he reached the bottom step, the
train was already pulling out. He sprinted after it as if he was in a hundred yard final, and was beginning to make up ground, but the train gathered speed just as Clive ran out of platform. He
bent down, placed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. As the last carriage disappeared, he turned and began to walk back along the platform. By the time he reached his car,
he’d made a decision.

He climbed in, switched on the ignition and drove to the end of the road. If he turned right, it would take him back to Mablethorpe Hall. He turned left, accelerated, and followed the signs to
the A1. He knew that the milk train stopped at almost every station between Louth and London, so with a bit of luck, he would be back at the flat before she arrived.

Slipping the front door lock didn’t present a problem for the intruder, and although it was a fashionable block of flats, it wasn’t grand enough to employ a night
porter. He climbed the stairs cautiously, making the occasional creak, but nothing that would wake anyone at two thirty in the morning.

When he reached the second-floor landing, he quickly located flat number 4. He checked up and down the corridor; nothing. This time it took a little longer to slip the two locks. Once he was
inside, he quietly closed the door behind him and switched on the light, as he had no fear of being disturbed. After all, he knew where she was spending the weekend.

He walked around the small flat, taking his time to identify all the paintings he was looking for: seven in the front room, three in the bedroom, one in the kitchen, and a bonus, a large oil
propped up against the wall by the door with a sticker on it marked
Smog Two, To be delivered to the RA by Thursday.
Once he’d moved them all into the living room, he lined them up
in a row. They weren’t bad. He hesitated for a moment before taking a flick knife out of his pocket and carrying out his father’s instructions.

The train pulled into St Pancras just after 2.40 a.m., by which time Jessica had decided exactly what she was going to do. She would take a taxi back to Clive’s flat, pack
her belongings and phone Seb to ask if she could stay with him for a couple of days while she looked for somewhere to live.

‘Are you all right, luv?’ asked the driver as she sank into the back of the cab.

‘I’m fine. Number twelve Glebe Place, Chelsea,’ was all she could manage. There were no more tears left to shed.

When the taxi drew up outside the block of flats, Jessica handed the cabbie a ten-bob note, which was all she had, and said, ‘Would you be kind enough to wait? I’ll be as quick as I
can.’

‘Sure thing, luv’

He’d almost completed the job, which he was enjoying, when he thought he heard a car pulling up in the street outside.

He placed the knife on a side table, went across to the window and pulled the curtain back a few inches. He watched as she climbed out of the back of the taxi and had a word with the cabbie. He
moved swiftly back across the room, switched off the light and opened the door; another quick check up and down the corridor, again nothing.

He jogged down the stairs and, as he opened the front door, he saw Jessica coming up the path towards him. She was taking a key out of her handbag when he brushed past her. She glanced round,
but didn’t recognize him, which surprised her, because she thought she knew everyone who lived in the building.

She let herself in and began to climb the stairs. She felt quite exhausted by the time she reached the second floor and opened the door to flat number four. The first thing she must do was phone
Seb and let him know what had happened. She switched on the light and headed towards the phone on the far side of the room. That was when she first saw her paintings.

Clive turned into Glebe Place twenty minutes later, still hoping he might have got back before her. He looked up, and saw that the bedroom light was on. She must be there, he
thought, with overwhelming relief.

He parked his car behind a cab that still had its engine running. Was it waiting for her? He hoped not. He opened the front door and ran up the stairs to find the entrance to the flat wide open
and all the lights on. He walked in, and the moment he saw them he fell to his knees and was violently sick. He stared at the wreckage strewn around him. All of Jessica’s drawings,
water-colours and oils looked as if they’d been stabbed again and again, with the exception of
Smog Two,
in which a large, jagged hole had been cut from the centre of the canvas.
What could have driven her to do something so irrational?

‘Jess!’ he screamed, but there was no reply. He pushed himself up and walked slowly into the bedroom, but there was no sign of her. That was when he heard the sound of a running tap,
and swung round to see a trickle of water seeping under the bathroom door. He rushed across, pulled the door open and stared in disbelief at his beloved Jess. Her head was floating above the water,
but her wrist, with two deep incisions no longer shedding blood, hung limply over the side of the bath. And then he saw the flick knife on the floor beside her.