The Vow (26 page)

‘
There’s no suggestion that he’s involved with her romantically?’

‘
Not that I’ve ever heard.’

‘
And she’s very beautiful?’

‘
Spectacularly so, apparently.’

‘
More beautiful than me?’ Ellen asked, pouting prettily.

‘
Now how could that be possible?’ He leaned over to kiss her and asked, ‘So, will you marry me?

~

‘Good morning, Lucy, I hope I haven’t woken you.’

If you’d been paying attent
ion to your Secret Squirrel recordings you’d know I was always up by this time she thought crossly, but replied sweetly, ‘Oh hi, Marcus, no, I was just about to leave for work actually. How’s your trip going?’

‘
Not particularly well. We’ve hit a bit of a stalemate. That’s why I’m calling. I’m coming home a day early and I thought we might have dinner together this evening.’

‘
Sorry, but I’ve made plans for this evening,’ she told him, not sounding in the least bit apologetic.

‘
Well, could you not unmake them?’

‘
No, not really. I’m meeting a friend I haven’t seen in ages and she’s only in London for a couple of days so tonight is my only chance.’

He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice.
‘As you wish. Perhaps you could fit me into your busy schedule tomorrow instead?’

‘
That would be lovely,’ she told him blithely. ‘And Marcus, could we eat Italian? I have a real fancy for it.’

‘
Of course, I’ll book at Fernando’s. I’ll pick you up at eight.’

‘
Could you make it half past? I’ve got a hair appointment after work and I’ll be a bit pushed to make eight.’

‘
Fine. I’ll see you at eight-thirty then.’

They hung up. Lucy was pleased with herself. She’d set the day, the time and the restaurant. Little victories, but very satisfying.

In his Berlin hotel Marcus smiled to himself. So she was flexing her muscles. Be careful, little Lucy.

~

The restaurant was nearly full but Marcus had made sure that their table was one set in an alcove that afforded the maximum privacy as he had a feeling their conversation was going to be of the type he wouldn’t want to be overheard.

On the drive there, he had asked casually,
‘Did you have a pleasant evening with your friend? What did you do?’

He knew full well that she had not stirred from the flat all night and was interested to see how she would handle the direct question. She had been right when she told him that she didn’t lie well. The reply had been rehearsed but the delivery was flustered and unconvincing.

He decided to waste no time in giving her the opportunity to bring up the subject of the camera, if that was what she wanted to do, and as soon as they had their aperitifs he asked, ‘So, how are you finding the flat? Are you comfortable?’

‘
I am now I’ve disconnected the hidden camera!’ The words were out before she could stop herself.

Sipping his drink Marcus met her eyes but said nothing. The silence lengthened.

It was Lucy, unpractised in negotiating skills, who broke it by demanding, ‘Why were you spying on me, Marcus? What did you think you would see? That I was bringing men home or doing drugs perhaps? Or do you just want to watch me naked?’ She was getting more and more upset. ‘And why is there a hidden camera in the flat anyway? Catherine warned me you bullied and blackmailed people and I didn’t believe her, but now I can only think that she must be right.’

‘
That’s enough now, Lucy.’ The warning in his voice was unmistakeable. She fell silent and stared down at the tablecloth. He allowed a few moments to go by before saying in a firm but even tone, ‘I can assure you that you were not being spied on. It was an oversight that the camera was left operational, but it has not been monitored.’

She looked up.
‘Really?’

‘
Really,’ he lied, and continued smoothly, ‘I do not think you bring men home with you, or that you do drugs. Neither am I a voyeur. As to why there is a camera in the flat, that is none of your business.’

She went to speak but he stopped her with a look.

His voice hardened. ‘Lucy, you have no concept of how the world of big business operates. There are times when it is necessary to make something happen, or to stop something from happening, or simply to get an edge. How I may choose to do this is no concern of yours, and neither is it something I intend to discuss with you either now or at any time in the future. I hope I make myself quite clear.’

Lucy wasn’t happy, but it was obvious that the subject was now closed. Marcus was not ready however for her next question.

‘Is it true that you have a close and long standing relationship with a high price hooker who is also a brothel keeper?’

She had the satisfaction of seeing his glass stop on the way to his mouth and he blinked in surprise.

‘You’re turning into quite the little shrew, aren’t you? Where on earth did you get that from?’

‘
Considering that we are engaged it seems a perfectly legitimate question,’ she retorted. ‘And I’m not telling you who told me.

Ellen had made her promise faithfully that she wouldn’t mention her or Simon.

Marcus seemed to be weighing up what she had said and Lucy urged him, ‘Come on, I think I’m entitled to an answer on this one.’

He paused while the waiter set down their plates and then told her quite matter-of-factly,
‘Yes, I think you could say I have a close relationship of long standing with the lady you are referring to. I would mention that the relationship is of a purely, well I was going to say professional nature, but perhaps business would be a better word.’

‘
You pay her to have sex with men who you are trying to influence in some way,’ Lucy stated accusingly.

And not just the men, he thought as he replied calmly,
‘Not her personally. I think you would have to be a head of state or royalty to get into her bed these days. But she has a number of, let’s say, colleagues who provide a variety of services. Don’t look so po-faced Lucy, even you are not so naive as to be unaware that sex is a currency.’

‘
I am not naïve!’ she told him hotly. ‘I simply find it all rather tacky and distasteful’

‘
Then I suggest you don’t think about it as, again, it is none of your concern,’ was his curt reply.

She couldn’t resist asking,
‘Is she really so very beautiful?’

‘
Yes, she is.’

‘
And is she nice. Are you friends?’

‘
I’m not sure nice is quite the word, but she’s certainly interesting. And in a strange way yes, we are friends. We go back a long way.’

‘
How did you meet her?’

‘
It’s a long story which you…’

‘
Let me guess,’ she interrupted. ‘Which I don’t need to concern myself with!’

Already knowing the answer, but wanting to see if he would tell her, she asked,
‘What’s her name?’

‘
You really don’t need to know. Now eat your linguini before it gets cold.’

But Lucy wasn’t finished yet, and as she lifted a forkful of the pasta she asked,
‘Marcus, are you having me followed?’

He showed no surprise.

‘By whom?’

‘
Saule.’

‘
And what makes you think that?’

‘
Because over the last couple of days I’ve caught sight of him more than once as I’ve been coming and going from work. He’s hard to miss, you know. And stop answering me with questions!’ She was getting cross.

Confident that had Saule not wanted to be seen he certainly wouldn’t have been, Marcus smiled and told her,
‘I think you will find that Saule’s presence in your building has more to do with a flame-haired sculptress called Gina than with you.’

‘
Really?’ she asked, relieved to hear a believable explanation. ‘So he’s sitting for her then?’

‘
Indeed he is.’

‘
She’s really got the hots for him,’ she told him confidentially. ‘They’d make a good couple. Gina’s over six foot herself.’

‘
Yes, I caught a glimpse of her as she left the coach-house early this morning,’ said Marcus, glad to have moved the conversation to less dangerous waters.

Lucy summoned up a smile and forced herself to sound amused and interested in this new romance. Inside she was heavy-hearted, confused and felt a little sick. She needed time alone to think over all she had learned that evening.

~

That night the temperature fell a scant five degrees from the sweltering afternoon high. All across the capital its inhabitants tossed and turned restlessly in the stiflin
g city heat. People went out onto their balconies and roof gardens in an attempt to find a breath of fresh air, mothers applied cold flannels to the foreheads of fractious infants, and those lucky enough to have bought electric fans before the shops ran out were kept awake by the unfamiliar noise.

Despite the comfort of her air-
conditioned room Lucy too was unable to sleep, her mind overflowing with conflicting thoughts and worries.

In the coach-house Gina cried out in pleasure as she was introduced to age-old practices of the Tiv.

Sitting with his feet up on the desk in his study, a glass of whisky in one hand and the remote control in the other, Marcus watched again and again the images of Lucy which Saule had preferred not to see.

As she sat at her workbench Lucy could see the gathering storm clouds through the open window. Heavy rain, the first for weeks, was forecast. The sky looked uncertain and moody, as was Lucy herself. Finding it impossible to concentrate on her work she set down her tools, closed the window against the first heavy raindrops and just sat thinking.

They had spent the weekend in town; Marcus wanting to remain close to his legal team in case there was a call from Germany. After their frank discussion in the restaurant he had gone out of his way to be charming, trying to lift the slightly heavy atmosphere that had settled between them. The mood was very different from the previous weekend.

Lucy felt rather like a child who had been put firmly in its place, resentful and a little sulky. And it did not escape her notice that Marcus was treating her like one too, coming up with little treats and outings designed to take her mind off more serious matters. Always preferring to hide from unpalatable truths Lucy had decided to push them to the back of her mind for the time being. By early Sunday afternoon, when the call came from
Berlin, harmony had been restored between them and dropping her off at the flat on his way to the office Lucy had been heartened by the warmth of his parting kiss. He would be on the early flight again the next morning, returning towards the end of the week.

There were several commissioned pieces to be finished, and replacement stock items to be made for her various outlets, so she had plenty to keep herself occupied in his absence. Plenty of time to think too. She had believed him when he told her the images from the camera were not being monitored; why shouldn’t she? He had never lied to her before, and she couldn’t really imagine he was a voyeur. She wasn’t sure she could have lived with such a betrayal of trust. It was hard enough to accept the obvious truth of Catherine’s accusations. Marcus manipulated situations and people in ways as immoral as they were illegal. And he was completely unapologetic about doing so.

The stakes were high at the level Marcus played the game, she appreciated that, but surely that could not excuse his methods which flew in the face of everything Lucy had been brought up to believe was decent and just. And then there was the infamous Cherry Red. How did a man like Marcus come to have such a close relationship with a woman who, however beautiful she was and however the facts were dressed up, was a prostitute and a madam? She had to accept there was a hidden and increasingly unacceptable side to the man who was becoming so central in her life. Although she was not in love with Marcus, she could understand how Alex had felt about Amy when she disappointed him so.

Lucy’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash which came from Zoë’s studio next door. Before she could move the crash was followed by the unmistakeable sound of breaking china. She was off her stool and out in the corridor just in time to see the retreating figure of a heavily set man dressed in jeans and tee shirt. The door to the studio was ajar and she could hear sobbing. She found Zoë in the corner, crouched on the floor and surrounded by the smashed remnants of several of her pots.

‘Zoë, are you alright?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Whatever happened?’

Covering her face with her hands Zoë continued to sob. Lucy knelt down beside her and put her arms around the tiny trembling body. It was like holding an injured sparrow; she seemed to be able to feel all the delicate bones.

‘Please tell me what’s happened,’ she urged.

Zoë lifted her tear stained face, and in a voice that was barely a whisper, said,
‘Oh Luce, he said he’d break my fingers. All of them!’

~

As far as Martin Culver was concerned Dagenham was at the end of the civilised world; the arse end. Even in the sunshine which had returned after the deluge of the previous day it struck him as a dreary and depressing hole. He’d made the long trek on the District Line only because Derek Watson, retired police person, had assured him that he remembered the night of the debacle at the Marquis de Sade Club in great detail, but was not prepared to talk about it on the phone. Doubtless because he was worried he wouldn’t be paid, Culver had thought cynically.

From the station he took a taxi to the address he had been given and was deposited outside a characterless seventies semi, complete with satellite dish as were all its neighbours. The front garden was depressingly tidy, the pathway to the front door bordered alternatively with red salvias and silvery white senecio. How Culver hated those plants, reminding him as they did of the dismal corporation flower gardens in the equally dismal New Town where he was brought up.

He had been eight when his father left home and had believed this unreliable parent when he had assured his only child that he would be in touch very soon. Neither Culver nor his mother had ever seen or heard from him since. The skinny sensitive little boy had rushed to the phone each time it rang and looked out for the postman every day for weeks before he realised his father had abandoned him. Christmas and his ninth birthday came and went, unmarked by the man who was by then living at the opposite end of the country with the plump and jolly young woman he had met whilst on a sales conference, and who was expecting his baby.

Culver’s mother was neither plump nor jolly, rather the opposite. Bone thin, fretful and given to bouts of depression, Janet Culver had driven her husband away without even knowing she was doing it. In an attempt to compensate for his father’s desertion she spoilt her son whilst he was young, and by the time he was a teenager she treated him like the man of the house deferring all decisions to him. He never blamed her for his father’s absence and their relationship was close, to some onlookers it seemed unnaturally so. She hung on his every word, cosseted him continually and indulged his every whim. He grew up believing the world was his oyster and everything he wanted would come his way. The reality of life had left him disappointed and bitter.

‘Milk and sugar?’

Derek Watson’s timid little wife had scuttled in with the tea tray and scuttled out again without looking at Culver, leaving her husband to do the honours.

‘Just milk, thanks,’ Culver replied and then, not being one for social pleasantries, ‘So what have you got for me, Derek?’

At fifty, the retired policeman was a big man who had gone to seed. He ate, drank and smoked too much and since he had given up coaching the local under fifteens football team he wasn’t getting any exercise. He worked as a security guard at the local shopping centre but would have struggled to give chase should it have been necessary. Bluff and good humour
ed he was popular with the shopkeepers and local residents alike.

Watson
smiled and said, ‘Straight down to business, eh? Well, it was November eighty-three, I remember it was blooming cold too! Me and my partner Mick were out in the patrol car when we got a call to say an ambulance was on its way to the Marquis de Sade Club and there’d been some sort of assault. We were in the area so weren’t many minutes behind the medical boys. The club’s manager had locked everyone in and there were a lot of very unhappy people. It was a young woman who was injured, mid-twenties I reckon and quite a looker. Some one had done a fair job of staunching the bleeding but she had a nasty neck wound. She was whipped off to hospital pretty quick. Little S and M joke there!’

Culver grimaced and Derek continued,
‘Suit yourself! Anyway, there were a dozen or so people in this big private meeting room wearing hooded cloaks and not much else. We called for the meat-wagon and took ’em all off to the station. All the other punters were allowed to leave as the manager said they weren’t involved in any way.’

Culver was getting impatient. S
o far he hadn’t heard anything he didn’t know already.

‘
What had the girl been injured with?’

‘
We weren’t sure, and no one was saying, so we took all the stuff from the room with us. And a right old collection it was too, whips, chains, handcuffs, masks, all that sort of thing.’

‘
So what happened at the station?’

‘
Very little to start with. Not one of them would say a bloody thing! Gave their names and that was it, shtum! They all knew their rights and used their one call to get their solicitors in. And I can tell you they had some heavyweight legal representation. Smart arse young buggers from some of the top law firms who announced that their clients had seen nothing, heard nothing and had absolutely nothing to say! Stuck together like glue they did.’

‘
What sort of people were they?’ asked Culver.

‘
Six men and five women, all between twenty-five and thirty-five I should think. Well spoken, educated types. Not that we got to hear ’em say much! The club manager told us they were City types who met at his place once a fortnight and did what ever it was they liked to do behind closed doors. He said they paid good money and had never been any trouble before.’

‘
So what happened next?’

Derek refilled the teacups and went on,
‘They might not have been prepared to talk, but the manager became very cooperative when we suggested he may encounter problems when his licence came up for renewal. When he’d first gone in to see what the trouble was a couple of the blokes were holding back another who had blood on his hands. He must have washed it off before we got there. Anyway, he identified him so we at least had a suspect. We leant on the bloke a bit but he wouldn’t say a word. He seemed a bit strange, not really with it, could have been drugs I suppose or perhaps just in shock. We checked with the hospital, the girl had lost a lot of claret and was weak, but expected to survive. We let ’em all go for the time being, except the one the manager had fingered. We hoped a night in the cells would unnerve him a bit and we’d get something to work with from the girl in the morning. But that didn’t happen.’

‘
How do you mean?’ Culver asked.

‘
When we got to the hospital the next morning she wasn’t there. A woman had turned up at sparrow’s fart saying she was her mother and insisting on talking to her. After she had, she announced she had a private ambulance outside and was moving her to some posh clinic a few miles away. The doctors weren’t very happy about it but there wasn’t much they could do. The girl signed her discharge form and off they went. She’d managed to give them her name the night before but nothing else, and it was the woman who filled in all the other details. When we checked the address and phone number were both false, and then we called the clinic and they knew nothing about it all. By the time we got back to the station we had no victim, no witnesses and very quickly no suspect. A message came down from on high saying he was to be released and the matter taken no further.’

‘
Nice little cover-up,’ commented the reporter.

‘
Not so much a cover-up as a closing of ranks if you ask me. Someone was well connected enough to know just the right people to clean up their mess.’

Culver was losing interest. Something closed down so effectively over twenty years ago was going to be almost impossible to break open now, and in the end what were the chances of it involving anyone worthwhile? He asked, without much enthusiasm,
‘Do you have any names?’

‘
Not for the deaf, dumb and blind crew no, but the girl’s sticks in my mind, Jennifer Wren. Jenny Wren. The club manager is Paul Lake, I saw him only the other week, he’s still in the same business but a bit more upmarket. He runs a bar up west these days.

‘
And the man with blood on his hands?’

Derek frowned in concentration.
‘I’ve been thinking about that since you rang the other day, but it won’t come to me. He’d got one of those posh Christian names that sort always seem to have, you know, like Piers or Rupert. And his surname was definitely foreign, he wasn’t but his name was. French, maybe.’

Culver’s interest suddenly increased dramatically.

~

‘
You don’t seem quite your usual self this evening, Lucy. Are you feeling unwell?’

It was Thursday night, Marcus had returned from
Berlin that morning, and they were in the car on the way home from a business dinner. The food and the company had been good and Lucy thought she had behaved normally, but obviously not. She forced a smile. ‘No, I’m fine. I’ve just got something on my mind that’s all.’

Expecting fresh accusations of wrongdoing on his part Marcus sighed and said,
‘Come on then, out with it.’

Lucy hesitated, but she knew he was her only chance of being able to help Zoë.

‘Marcus, will you lend me fifteen thousand pounds?’

He raised one eyebrow, something Lucy had always wanted to be able to do but had never mastered, and told her,
‘No, Lucy, I will not lend you fifteen thousand pounds. I will of course give it to you, but why do you need it?’

‘
I can’t tell you.’

‘
Come now, Lucy, that won’t do. Are you in trouble? I’ve told you before I am happy to settle your debts.’

Lucy looked uncomfortable.
‘It’s not for me. It’s for a friend and yes, she’s in trouble.’

‘
Who is the friend, and what is the nature of her trouble?’ he asked.