Devil in Disguise (52 page)

‘For
you and me,’ he said, lowering his head and closing his eyes in silent
contemplation. When he opened them, Lilia was still studying him. ‘Hmm,’ she
said. ‘There are tears in your eyes.’

‘What a
shame you can’t mind-read,’ said Simon. ‘Come on. Let’s go back to our pew. The
priest is on his way. Lovely robes.’

They
scurried back to their seats just ahead of the procession, which consisted of
four pre-pubescent altar-boys followed by two portly, bald, stooping men, with
simple faces and pale, waxy skin. Behind them, holding aloft a large,
decorative crucifix, was a tall, beautiful youth, with full lips, a tangle of
brunette curls and broad, athletic shoulders. The priest, a fresh-faced
forty-year-old with a pleasing smile and a surprisingly smart but trendy
hairstyle, brought up the rear.

Simon
leant over and spoke softly in Lilia’s ear. ‘Get her, ‘he said.

‘It’s
like a scene from
Death in Venice,’
murmured Lilia.

When it
reached the altar, the procession fanned out to either side of the tabernacle.
Once the priest was in the central position, they took their cue from him and
turned as one, like a Busby Berkeley chorus, to face the congregation.

Simon
snorted. ‘It’s Girls Aloud,’ he said softly to Lilia, who lowered her head and
shook with companionable laughter.

In
another life, we might have been friends, Simon thought, almost wistfully, as
the rusty choir groaned into life. I must remember that she is evil incarnate.

The
singing over, Mass got under way. Father Edmund’s sermon was about the sanctity
of the family, as highlighted by the birth of the baby Jesus. ‘The family is
God’s way, the Christian way. And you and I are part of God’s family, too. The
Nativity teaches us to cherish our children. The miracle of birth is always
worthy of celebration but the miracle of God’s own birth, of God made man,
without stain on Mary’s immaculate soul, is the happiest, the most joyful of
events and we thank the Lord our God. Let us pray.’

I’ll
drink to that, thought Simon.

During
the Mass, Lilia took communion. Simon watched as she went up to receive the
Holy Sacrament while the choir sang ‘The Holly and the Ivy’. Having swallowed
the paper-thin wafer and sipped the sweet red wine, Lilia turned, head bowed,
and returned down the aisle to her seat next to Simon. When she arrived at his
side she knelt, resting her elbows on the back of the pew in front of her,
clasping her hands and pressing the knuckles to her forehead. Her eyes were
closed and her lips quivered a little, like cat’s whiskers.

Is she
confessing her sins? he wondered. Does she seek forgiveness for what she
intends to do? A line from
Hamlet
floated into his mind:’… am I then
revenged, To take him in the purging of his soul, When he is fit and season’d
for his passage?’

Considering
his plan of action, Simon felt that attending Mass was appropriate, a kindly
final gesture, in light of what was to follow — but it also delayed matters and
made the immediate future a more calculated act. Would he have the gumption to
go through with it?

I must,
he told himself, looking at Lilia’s saintly profile. It’s the only way to be
sure that Molly is safe. It’s the most sensible, foolproof course to take.

He must
think of Molly whenever his nerve faltered.
Dear Molly. The things you’ve
done for me. The debt I owe you. We are a part of each other.

Once
the Mass had finished, the procession made its stately exit down the aisle to
more carol singing.

‘That
was like a gay Moonie wedding,’ said Simon. ‘Talk about mince pies.’

‘Happy
Christmas, Simon,’ said Lilia. ‘Now, shall we go home?’

‘Merry
Christmas. Yes. Let’s.’

Outside,
it was cold, with a sharp wind and dusted with frost, but the sky was clear.
Simon, without thinking, placed a protective arm round Lilia’s back and guided
her to the passenger door. Once they were both safely strapped inside the Land
Rover, they pulled out on to the dark country lane that led back to the village.

‘It’s
Christmas Day,’ said Lilia. ‘What a lovely service. Now let’s get back. Mince
pies and port. Delicious.’

Simon
turned on Radio 2 and, without Lilia noticing, silently pressed the child-lock
button on the dashboard. Instead of turning right at the T-junction, he turned
left.

‘No,’
Lilia said at once, raising her voice above the sound of a cathedral carol
service. ‘It’s the other way.’

‘This
is just a bit of a diversion.’

‘A
diversion? But it’s one o’clock in the morning!’

‘Let’s
take a drive, Lilia.’ Simon lifted his water bottle to his lips and drank
heartily.

‘What
do you want?’ Lilia cried. ‘I don’t want to go for a drive. Take me home at
once.’

‘I want
to explain a few things,’ said Simon, taking another swig. ‘I have been Molly’s
close friend since the day we met. I love her and there is nothing I wouldn’t
do for her.’ He stopped talking for a moment. He wanted his words to sink in
but also he had had a moment of revelation. The dull ache in his chest, the
source of painful misery that he had carried with him for as long as he could
remember, was gone. He inhaled deeply: before, when he’d done this, the pain
would intensify as his lungs neared capacity. But this time there was nothing.
It was as if someone had left the room. He tried a few more deep breaths to
make sure. No, it was definitely gone. He felt almost giddy, definitely
excited.

‘Are
you having a heart-attack?’ asked Lilia.

‘No, I
think not,’ he replied. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact.’

‘Can we
please turn back now? You’re making me feel most uncomfortable.’

‘That’ll
be the body of Christ glowing within you.’

‘What
was it you wanted to explain to me?’ asked Lilia, plainly. ‘Presumably you’re
not driving me around Kent at this time of night just to discuss our health.’

‘Not
exactly. But I’m ill and you’re old. I thought perhaps we could find some
common ground.’

He
turned the car on to the main road towards Folkestone and Dover. He checked the
rear-view mirror, then drank some more from his water bottle. He sent out a
psychic summons. Hurry up! We’re almost there!

The
signpost did not go unnoticed by Lilia. Before the car gained much speed, her
hand darted towards the door handle. She pulled it and pushed her shoulder
against the door but she was trapped. She turned, wide-eyed, to Simon. ‘Why are
you doing this?’

‘Why?
Come on, Lilia. I know all about you. I know everything! And I know your plans
for Molly, how you want to steal her life.’

‘So she
told you,’ spat Lilia. ‘I should never have trusted her —she was bound to tell
somebody. And you want to come to her rescue, make amends for your betrayal all
those years ago? How quaint. But it doesn’t change anything. I have proof that
she murdered that poor boy.’

‘It’s
all a bit pot and kettle, isn’t it? If you want to start talking about murder,
how about poor old Joey?’ Simon said jovially. ‘The point is, it doesn’t matter
what proof you’ve got or whether you’re willing to give it to the police. You
see — you’re not going to get the chance.’

Lilia
looked alarmed. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered.

‘Have a
guess. I was contemplating Beachy Head but I’m afraid it’s in East Sussex and I
try not to go there. I fell in love with Brighton once and we moved in
together. But it didn’t last.’

‘I’m
sorry to hear that,’ said Lilia, adopting a soft, soothing tone. ‘But at least
it wasn’t Eastbourne. Now, please stop the car and let me out.’

‘Oh
dear! I seem to be accelerating!’ said Simon, breezily. He swigged down the
last of the contents of his water bottle.

‘What’s
that you’re drinking?’ Lilia asked, suddenly suspicious. ‘That’s not water!’

‘No.’
Simon tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder into the back seat. ‘It’s
vodka, as it happens. Grey Goose, if you must know. If ever there was a need
for a special reserve, it’s now.’

‘But
you’re a recovering alcoholic — you can’t drink!’

‘I’m
having a brief relapse. Most unfortunate, yet somehow predictable.’

As they
sped through Hythe and Sandgate Lilia said nothing, just gripped the dashboard
and looked about, like a caged animal searching desperately for a way out.

As they
began to climb upwards towards Capel-le-Ferne and the famous White Cliffs,
Lilia could not contain herself. ‘You fool! Everyone knows I am with you. If
you kill me, you’ll be the obvious suspect.’

‘Do
shut up,’ interrupted Simon. ‘Of course I know that. But I don’t have to worry
about the future. My life expectancy is short enough as it is. I don’t care
what happens to me. I am getting rid of you as a final act of love and devotion
towards Molly. I am the self-appointed angel of death. It is time for you to
go. Molly told me all about your plans to get rid of her. Well, I’m afraid it’s
backfired. It’s you who are being dispatched, and in a much more thorough and
final way.’

‘Just
take me to Dover,’ said Lilia, pleading now. ‘I’ll get on a ferry to France and
never come back.’

‘But
you’ll only slither into someone else’s life. I have a public duty to dispose
of you.’

‘Why
spend your last months in prison? I swear I’ll disappear into thin air as
surely as if you threw me over a cliff.’ Saying the words caused Lilia to break
down in tearless cries. She reached out to him, clawing at his arm and neck as
she moaned and sobbed.

Simon
flicked her away with his arm as if she were an annoying fly. ‘I’m driving,
stop it,’ he said, as he turned right at Abbots Cliff House on to the Old Dover
Road, a narrow sandy track named Saxon Shore Way. It was pitch dark, and Lilia
took on the look of a queen on the way to her execution. She was the picture of
terrified dignity, quivering with fear but sitting bolt upright, shoulders
back. Simon knew not to trust her. If she sensed the vaguest glimmer of an
escape route she would attack.

After a
bumpy mile, Simon took a right fork in the direction of the fierce wind,
towards the big, dark sky and the gaping expanse that led towards the cliff’s
edge.

‘North
Downs Way. Here we are,’ he said, before letting the car slow down and stop.
‘There,’ he said, nodding out of the driver’s window towards the rough,
wind-flattened grass illuminated by the broad beam of the headlights. There was
about thirty yards of this before the sudden, terrifying drop. He turned to
look at his victim.

Lilia
was crouched over, her arms clasped at the back of her neck, rocking slowly
backwards and forwards. ‘No, no, no. Please, no. I don’t deserve this. It is
too cruel. Let me out and I will run to my death. Give me a fighting chance.
I’m begging you. Just drive off and leave and I promise — I swear — neither you
nor Molly will ever hear from me again.’

‘Oh, I
see. Do you hear the wolf’s howl of obscurity calling you?’

‘Yes,
yes, I do!’

‘You
never were a famous cabaret star, ever, were you?’

She
stared him, panting with fear. ‘All right, all right, you win. I wasn’t.’

‘You’ve
never been bosom pals with the rich and famous either, have you?’

Lilia
struggled to speak, as though her desire to maintain her pretence, even now,
was overpowering. Then she stuttered, ‘I once sat next to Jan Leeming on the
bus.’

‘That’s
the sum total of it? No chinwags with Grace Kelly? No Tupperware nights with
Barbra Streisand? You disappoint me. And did you ever actually sing anywhere to
anyone at all?’

Lilia
shot him a look of pure hatred. ‘Let me out!’ She banged her fists on the
window, trying to smash the glass and escape.

‘I see.
A phoney from beginning to end. No wonder you needed Molly and her genuine
talent to get anywhere. Now we’re on a roll, you’d better confess
all
your
sins. Did you kill your husband?’

She
growled with distaste at being forced to admit it. ‘Yes! I had to! There was
nowt else for it.’ Her German accent seemed to be veering further and further
off course, flying up the British Isles towards the north.

‘Admirably
frank. It’s too late for honesty now, unfortunately. You see, I have some bad
news and some good news.’ He felt the fluttering inside his chest grow and
grow, ballooning inside him until it possessed him utterly. He knew that
feeling, and welcomed it. His back straightened, his eyes brightened and he
turned his head to look at Lilia. Then he opened his mouth to speak.

‘I am
the patron saint of homosexuals,’ said Genita. ‘And you’re the fucking bitch
that’s going to die. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I’m coming with
you. I’ll hold your hand as we drive over the edge. Fair play, don’t you think?
Any last words? In a minute, I shall release the handbrake, turn the
steering-wheel hard right and accelerate at full speed towards the abyss. I
don’t know about you, but I feel a strange mixture of excitement and calm. This
is like crystal meth without the scabby nose.’ Genita smiled happily. ‘The
terrain is rough and we must expect a bumpy ride for the few seconds that we’re
crossing from here to… there. I’m not sure how much speed we can build up
from this distance. Don’t expect too much James Bond nonsense. Once we drop
over the edge, that’s the fun part. A sudden smoothness, probably a somersault,
but it will be fast, like a fairground ride. Then, I imagine, a crunch, a
millisecond of pain and that will be more or less that. We’ll be a smouldering
wreck, visible on a night like tonight from Calais, I’ll be bound. I’m sure
we’ll make the local papers but I’m very hopeful that the nationals will pick
it up, too. I was a minor celebrity once, after all. Ready?’ Genita moved her
foot from the brake to the accelerator and pressed her foot to the floor. The
Land Rover leapt forward with a roar.