Goodnight Lady (82 page)

The young man started shouting again in his sleep. His fear of prison made his nightmares terrifying.

Tommy closed his eyes tightly and tried to sleep. He was getting too old for all this.

Briony and Mariah hugged each other tightly.

‘Oh, Briony, how are you, love?’

Briony sat down at a table in the visiting room and shrugged. She had been in Holloway a week, and this was her friend’s first visit.

‘It’s not too bad in here once you get used to it, Mariah. But I wouldn’t say no if someone asked me to leave, know what I mean?’

Mariah laughed deligh
_t
edly.

‘I knew you wouldn’t let all this get you down.’ Her face sobered as she said, ‘We tried everything to get you out for Boysie’s funeral, you know.’

Briony nodded.

‘Listen, Mariah. I want you to do something for me. I want you to pull in a few favours...’

Mariah grinned and cut her off.

‘I know what you’re going to say and I’m here to tell you it’s all in hand. Today, while we speak, more than one person is going to get a big shock. The main person being that slag Heidi! Imagine that little bitch turning out to be the fly in the ointment, eh? I can’t believe it. Well, she’s at a safe house in North London and she’s getting a little visit today that should make her change her statement quick smart. Also a few of our more illustrious customers are getting the bad news. Before I forget, Jonathan’s coming to see you tomorrow. He’s in a right state. Well, it can only look good for you. He’s still news because of his knighthood in the New Year’s honours. So don’t you worry, by hook or by crook you’ll be out of here soon.’

Briony laughed out loud.

‘I should have known you’d have it all in hand!’

Mariah grabbed her friend’s arm and said softly, ‘We go back a long way, Bri.’

Briony nodded sadly.

‘We’re the old breed, Mariah. In here, in just a week I’ve been offered more drugs than I’d know what to do with. I’m in with women me and you wouldn’t piss on if they burst into flames in front of us, and I’ve met young girls who make Ma Baker look like Little Red Riding Hood!’

‘But you’re holding your own, I take it?’ Mariah’s voice was low now, worried.

‘Oh, I’m holding me own all right, never fear about that, and I’ve you to thank for me reception commitee! Now how’s my Tommy? What’s the news? How’re the family?’

Mariah settled back in the uncomfortable chair and regaled Briony with all the news.

Both women were happier now, knowing that something was being done.

 

Peter Hockley was in a state of nervous prostration. Standing in front of him was a woman, a frightening woman, and in her hand he had photographs of him in full drag together with a young friend called Percy Parkinson.

Bernadette smiled as she spoke.

‘My sister is going to make a full statement about an event in the twenties when you and a Mr Rupert Charles were responsible for a young man losing his life during an orgy. These photographs of you and your current amour will more than lend credibility to the story. Mr Jonathan la Billière is also willing to say he was there when your father paid a vast sum of money to hush everything up. Briony says, if she goes down, everyone goes with her.’

Peter’s voice came out a low throaty croak.

‘But what can I do?’

Bernadette put the photographs on the desk and said in friendly fashion: ‘You can keep these, I have plenty of copies. Now, what do I want you to do? I want you to go and see your cousin, the Lord Chief Justice, who happens to be closely related to the Home Secretary through marriage. A brother-in-law isn’t he? What a coincidence. I want you to tell him that these photos are going in the
Daily Mirror,
and the
News of the World,
the
People.
In fact, anywhere I can get them that will do you all the most damage. Do you get my drift, Peter old chap!’

He felt the sting of tears. He was himself, nowadays, the Member of Parliament for Rochford East and Shadow Defence Secretary, yet these few photos could blight his life and bring disgrace on his family. Briony Cavanagh was willing to bring up all the old trouble that he had so conveniently forgotten after his father had bought him out of the biggest scrape of his life.

He watched the woman walk to the door. As she turned she said as an afterthought: ‘Before I forget, you’ve got forty-eight hours.’

With that parting shot, Bernadette left the room, leaving Peter with his photos and his conscience. And a clear picture of a young man bound and gagged and with his throat slit like an animal’s.

 

Heidi, scrubbed now from head to foot and wearing a tweed skirt and a scratchy sweater, looked in shock at the woman before her. Mariah looked so out of place in this little room with its electric fire and nylon curtains. She looked too big and far too outrageous to be in a place so conservative.

Mariah spoke again.

‘So what you’re telling me is you came for a bit of trouble like, is that it? You thought you’d quickly make a couple of bob and fuck off? But you didn’t have what Limmington wanted so he made a point of doctoring your statement to suit him?’

Heidi nodded fearfully.

‘That’s about the strength of it, yeah. I was so hard up, Mariah. I had nothing...’

She put up her hand for silence.

‘Don’t give me all your old fanny. You could have come to me or Briony, we’d have seen you all right, we always see our old girls all right. Well, you’re going to tell a lot of people about Limmington’s skulduggery, and you’re going to be well paid for doing it.’

Heidi’s eyebrows shot up with interest.

‘Yeah, that’s right. You’re going to get a good drink. Enough to keep you pissed for the rest of your natural. But one stipulation. You disappear once it’s all over.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I will. All this is getting on my tits now.’

Mariah looked down at her own ample breasts, straining to escape from a lurex dress, and grinned.

‘Not half as much as it’s getting on mine!’

 

Sir Geoffrey Dance, the old man of the House, and a very respectable businessman, was biting his perfectly manicured nails, a habit he had given up in the throes of adolescence. His six daughters and his wife stared out from a photograph on his desk. In his hand he held another photograph. It had been taken three Christmases ago at Berwick Manor at a Christmas theme party, with all the men dressed up as Santa’s gnomes. But even with the long false beard, no one could doubt it was indeed Geoffrey. On his lap sat a young girl of about seventeen, in a Santa Claus costume. On her long slim legs, which were wrapped around his waist, she wore fishnet stockings. The photograph had been taken from the side, and as he had nothing on the bottom half of his body, anyone could make anything they wanted from the photo. It was clear, from the pink buttocks on his lap, that the girl was devoid of briefs.

He felt a sinking sensation in his chest. The Manor had always been so private. They had never had a moment’s worry about anything being leaked. The upstairs function room had always been a place where men like himself could go and indulge themselves in anything that took their fancy without the slightest fear of its ever coming back to haunt them. That was what the large amounts of money guaranteed, and he had paid huge sums over the years. Now with Briony Cavanagh and Tommy Lane about to be brought to court, many secrets would be spilt. Not just his, but an awful lot of other people’s too.

The last thought cheered him.

He looked at the photograph again and saw in the background, as plain as day, the current Chancellor of the Exchequer. This made him smile as he picked up the receiver.

He was in the shit all right, but then so were a lot of other people.

 

Fenella Dumas went into the den, as Benedict called the office he used when working from home. Placing a cup of coffee on his desk, she said: ‘I think you should be ashamed of yourself, Ben, I do really.’

Benedict wiped a dry hand over his face and sighed heavily. ‘Give it a rest now, Fen.’

Fenella sniffed through her Roman nose. ‘She is your mother, whether you like it or not. I can’t understand why you’re so set against her. Think about it. She was a girl, just a little girl. Every time I think about your father...’ her voice trailed off. ‘I know now why your mother never left him on his own with Natalie. Your father was a twisted, perverted man, yet you’re allowing yourself to be taken over by his petty mindedness. I’ll tell you something for nothing: I’d rather be related to Briony Cavanagh than Henry Dumas. There, I’ve said it now.

‘She needs you, Benedict. That woman really needs you. You don’t have to visit her in public, but you can talk to a few of our friends, try and make it a bit easier for her...’

He shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Oh for crying out loud, Fen, leave it!’

Fenella bit on her bottom lip to stop the tears. She had lived with and loved this man for many years. they had brought up two children and she had thought she knew him, really knew him. But since the revelation about his real mother, he had gradually died inside, been eaten up with the knowledge. Now she had a man on her hands whose innate kindness and gentleness were gradually draining away, and she didn’t like it, couldn’t cope with it.

‘I’m telling you, Benedict, this is 1969, not the bloody Dark Ages. Legally you’re Henry’s and Isabel’s, no one can take anything away from you. Not your title or your money. But you’d have had none of that if that poor little girl who gave birth to you had decided to keep you. Think about it. Maybe she did what she did to make sure you had the best that life could give. She never came knocking on our door for anything, did she? She never tried to get money from you... Oh, you’re making me so cross!’

Benedict had rarely heard his wife this upset. It was as if she had already taken Briony Cavanagh into her heart and home. No matter what was written about her in the papers, Fenella just ignored it. Blood meant a lot to Fen, and as far as she was concerned, Briony Cavanagh’s blood ran through her children’s veins so she couldn’t be all bad.

He tried to smile.

‘I can remember her, you know, Fen. She used to come to Regents Park where I went with my nanny every day. I can remember her hair. She still has got the same hair, crackling and so red. It was like looking in the mirror, only I couldn’t see it then. But now, when I look at Nat and young Henry, I can see her in them. I can see her in me every time I look in the mirror. I can’t believe she’s my mother. She looks my age, for Christ’s sake! She looks just like my bloody sister!’

Fenella put a slim hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

‘She is your mother, no matter how she looks. Try and see it from her point of view. Try and understand.’

Benedict laughed softly.

‘I’ve been trying to do that since the day I found it all out. I think the worst thing of all is the fact my so-called father could have waited all that time to hurt me and Isabel. It’s sick.’

Fenella sniffed loudly.

‘He was a sick man. I thought we’d already established that much. He was rotten with his own hatred. Don’t you go and make the same mistake.’

Benedict sat forward in his chair. ‘I don’t hate her, Fen, that’s the trouble.’

Fenella sighed and said gently, ‘Drink your coffee, Ben, before it gets cold.’

 

Briony lay in her bunk listening to the chatting of her cell mates. Marla was speaking in a low voice and Briony felt a deep sadness as the women spoke.

‘My daughter’s still in care now. I was homeless, see, so they took her off me. I was lodging with this right spiv in Canning Town. Well, he took me rent and done a moonlight, only he don’t really own the drum, see. Some other geezer does, a Pakistani called Pardel. Well, he had me removed, bag and baggage. So the Welfare came and took her off me. That was nine years ago. I was picked up the next night at King’s Cross for soliciting, so when we got to court, they’d made her a ward of court, saying she was in moral danger with me! I was only soliciting to get the money for a meal and a bed like. I was hardly an old hand at the game. I mean at my age, I ask you? Anyway, I just give up after that. This is about my seventh time in here. I’m hoping to get a result and go to an open to finish me sentence. They’ll bring me girl if I get an open, see.’

Briony asked softly, ‘How old is your daughter now?’

Marla sighed in the darkness.

‘Just on twelve. She’s lovely, beautiful, like her father. He was a West Indian. She’s half-caste.’

‘I bet she is beautiful and all. My niece Liselle is very attractive.’

‘That’s your sister’s daughter, isn’t it? The singer. You’re a very famous family really, aren’t you? What with Jonathan la Billière being close and your sister being a famous singer. The twins...’

Briony heard the jolt in Marla’s voice and said, ‘My boys, and they were my boys, weren’t really bad. They were just...’

Marla’s voice came out of the gloom. ‘Go on?’

Briony cleared her throat and said, ‘Never mind. Forget it.’

But the twins stayed with her for the rest of the night. She saw them at every age, with their ready smiles and their constant demands.

Harry Limmington was at home eating a ham sandwich and having a cup of tea while he watched ‘Z Cars’. He heard a deep voice and dragged his eyes from the screen to look towards the hall of his council house.

‘What did you say?’ He heard his wife cry out.

A uniformed police officer pushed past her and came into the room.

‘Mr Harry Limmington, I am arresting you for tampering with a witness’s statement and attempting to pervert the course of justice.’

Limmington stood up in shock, his sandwich and plate falling to the floor.

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ His voice was incredulous.