Nameless (54 page)

Ruby was silent, thinking of Cornelius alone and weakening, crying for help that never came. And Michael, watching him drag himself along through the woods. Not helping, as Cornelius’s life slipped away.

‘But there was something else,’ said Michael.

Ruby snapped back to the present. ‘What?’

‘I saw someone moving away through the woods. He turned and stared me full in the face. He wasn’t one of the beaters, he wasn’t the gamekeeper or one of the guests.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Young. Dark-haired. He looked straight at me, and then he walked away, out of the woods, and disappeared. If I saw him again, I’d recognize him.’

‘Did you tell the police that?’

Michael shrugged. ‘No. And I’m not going to.’

‘Don’t you think you should?’ asked Ruby.

Michael stared at her face. He leaned forward, kissed her lips.

‘No,’ he said against her mouth. ‘Justice has been done. That’s good enough for me.’

143

Andrew Dorley was waiting at the station in Oxford for the train back to Leicester when he saw the papers on the newsstand announcing the shocking sudden death of the celebrated Tory peer Baron Bray. With shaking hands he picked one up, dropped the coins on the counter. Found a seat and slumped down upon it. Read the front-page news.

Cornelius Bray had died of gunshot wounds on a shooting weekend. The police were making their enquiries, but at the moment the cause of death appeared to be accidental. Andrew folded up the paper and sat there, patiently waiting for his train, ignoring the crowds, the booming noise of the tannoy.

‘Oh –
Christ
,’ he muttered, then he put a hand to his mouth, stifling a sudden, almost unstoppable laugh. He thought of his little brother Sebastian, and hoped that he would one day see him again. He didn’t hold out much hope, though.

He thought of his mother, on pills for severe depression ever since Sebby left home, the awfulness of her failed suicide attempt. And his father, who had tried so hard to find Sebby. Dad had come back from London with a broken jaw and cracked ribs; black and blue all over from a savage beating administered by someone who said he wasn’t to pester Lord Bray any more. Dad had never been the same, not since the day he’d walked back through the door. His kidneys had been damaged beyond repair and finally, just a few months ago, Dad had died.

After that, Andrew had been on a mission of vengeance, tracking Bray’s movements. Sebby seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth and he
knew
that somehow Bray was involved in that. So he’d watched him, and followed him. Maybe he had Sebby locked away somewhere, who knew?

He’d followed Cornelius Bray to the shooting party in Oxfordshire. Approached him in the woods. There had been a scuffle when Andrew had demanded answers. Bray had dropped his gun.

‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with, boy,’ Bray had snapped at him when he had asked about Sebby. But he had seen the guilty panic in Bray’s eyes as he bent to retrieve his weapon.

There had been a moment when Andrew could,
should
, have snatched up the gun. But he didn’t. ‘You
bastard
,’ he burst out. ‘You know something, don’t you? Just tell me where he is. Tell me what’s happened to him.’

But Bray was back in control. He lifted the gun, pointed it at Andrew.

‘Fuck off,’ said Cornelius flatly.

Something in the imperious way Bray said that made the red rage envelop Andrew’s brain. Instead of backing away, he’d charged forward, grabbing the gun, forcing it down. Bray shouted something, but Andrew was deaf and blind with fury.

The gun went off.

Andrew stumbled back, shocked.

He heard Bray’s gurgling groan of agony and he saw . . . oh Jesus, he saw . . .

Even now his mind flinched away from the blood, the hideousness of it all. He wasn’t a violent man. He could never hurt anyone, but now . . .

He’d backed away, then he’d seen the other man coming into the woods. All that was in his mind then was escape. He’d run away, out of the woods, down the hill, out onto the road. Shaking and sick, he’d gone back to the bed and breakfast and spent a sleepless, wretched night there. In the morning, in a frenzy of panic, he’d packed up his clothes, paid his bill. Then he’d gone to the train station, bought his ticket home.

And now here it was, in the newspaper.

Bray was
dead.

Soon, his train was announced over the tannoy. Andrew stood up, stretching. Felt the weight of it all suddenly drop from his shoulders, leaving him lighter, cleaner. He dumped the paper in a waste bin, and went to catch his train home.

144

Cornelius Bray was buried on a breezy October day in the family plot beside his mother and his father, Sir Hilary. Many people attended the ceremony. His son Kit didn’t, but Daisy did, feeling it was only fair that she should be there to support Vanessa.

‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ Daisy said to Vanessa when the ceremony was finished.

‘Neither can I,’ said Vanessa, looking frail, bewildered and washed-out in funereal black.

‘Shall I come back to the house with you?’ asked Daisy. She couldn’t take it in. Her father, that huge presence, was gone, never to return.

‘No, darling,’ said Vanessa with a faint smile. She took Daisy’s hand in hers, hesitated, then said: ‘I always tried to be a good mother to you, Daisy. I tried so hard. But I just couldn’t deal with the fact that you weren’t my child. I thought I would be able to, but I couldn’t. And that was very unfair on you.’

Daisy felt horribly choked all of a sudden. ‘I know you did your best.’

‘I did. I hope I did. Even though you were never truly mine. You were Ruby’s,’ said Vanessa.

Daisy felt the tears spill over. She’d been crying buckets over her father. She
knew
he’d been a bastard. She knew he’d lied to her. But he was the only father she’d had and she’d loved him. And now, he was gone.

‘Shh, don’t cry,’ said Vanessa, and wiped a tear away from Daisy’s cheek. ‘It’s never very comfortable, is it, living a lie? Now the truth’s out, it will all get easier. Goodbye then, darling.’

Daisy kissed Vanessa’s cheek lightly.

Vanessa turned and walked away.

‘Wait,’ Daisy called after her.

Vanessa halted, turned.

‘Can I come to see you at the house sometime? Would you mind that?’

Vanessa gave a faint smile. ‘No. I’d like that very much.’

‘I’ll phone you.’

‘Yes. All right,’ said Vanessa, and walked on.

When Vanessa got home to Brayfield, she had a cup of tea and then changed out of her funeral clothes and into jeans, a T-shirt and her old Barbour. She stepped out of the boot room at the back of the house, and went out into the pale autumn sunshine to join Ivan. He was working down in the orchard, gathering up the fallen apples to try out the cider press she’d purchased back in the spring.

Ivan saw her coming, and smiled. She was such a great lady, and married to such a bastard. But not any more. Now she was free of all that, and he was glad.

‘Hello, Ivan,’ said Vanessa with a faint ghost of her usual smile. Lovely Ivan, with his bushy beard and his whip-like strength; she felt so comfortable, so happy, when she was with him in the garden.

‘How’d it go?’ he asked.

‘Awful,’ she said.

A silence fell.

Then Ivan said gently: ‘I’ve set the press up. Come and see.’

Vanessa nodded, and followed Ivan down to the barn.

145

‘The coroner’s returned a verdict of accidental death,’ said Michael. ‘I phoned Kit this morning, he told me.’

Ruby turned and stared at him. They were strolling along the wide sandy beach on St Brelade’s Bay in Jersey. Michael had a house here and they had spent the weekend together there. It was a cold, starkly bright November day, and they were wrapped up in quilted coats against the gusting wind and the salty tang of the surf.

‘Right,’ she said.

Ruby didn’t believe Cornelius’s death had been accidental, but it was a relief that the law thought it was. She’d feared that Michael might be dragged into it all. Now she could breathe again.

‘Early flight tomorrow,’ said Michael.

Ruby kissed his cheek. ‘Back to work,’ she sighed.

‘It’s been a great weekend,’ said Michael.

It had. They had made love last night, sweetly, gently; and had slept easy the whole night long.

‘I love you, Michael,’ she said.

He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Love you too, babe,’ he said, and kissed her.

The following day Michael was back at his desk behind the restaurant, sorting out paperwork, writing a few letters, phoning his old mate Reg, his former number one man, who had shown Kit the ropes when he was a wet-behind-the-ears scruffy little bugger with a big mouth and no sense. The contract he’d had in partnership with Tito on the Albert Docks was completed now, all the units sold. Thank God
that
was finished.

Ruby popped in at lunchtime. They had a light lunch together in the restaurant. Then Kit came in, and Ruby seemed to freeze in her chair.

Michael beckoned him over, but to Ruby’s dismay Kit took one look at her sitting there, turned on his heel and went out again.

‘Jesus, that boy,’ said Michael, shaking his head.

‘It’s OK,’ said Ruby, though it killed her inside. ‘He’s got every right to feel the way he does.’

Michael gazed at her. ‘D’you think he’ll forgive you? Someday?’

Ruby gave a wan smile. ‘Honestly? No. I don’t.’

That afternoon, Michael paid a long-overdue visit to Tito. His younger brothers were there too, Fabio and Vittore – handsome thugs with dead eyes and big attitudes.

‘My friend,’ gushed Tito, throwing his arms wide.

‘You’re not my friend, Tito,’ said Michael with a cool smile. ‘And I’m not yours. We’ve done business together, but that’s at an end now.’

Tito’s arms fell to his side. His ice-blue eyes were watchful. ‘And now . . . ?’ he prompted.

‘Now I have to tell you that I know you’ve been hounding Ruby Darke as a favour to that shit Cornelius Bray.’

‘Oh yes?’ Tito didn’t deny it. ‘But then . . . my poor old friend Cornelius is dead now. So sad.’ It
was
sad for Tito. He’d cultivated Cornelius for so many years, holding those incriminating photos over his head like an axe to ensure his cooperation. Lord Bray had been
so
useful. So influential. Such a pity he was gone.

‘That’s true.’ Michael’s eyes were hard. ‘You’ve been pushing your luck over this, abusing my good nature because of our connection. But it stops now. If you or any of your boys go near her ever again, then you’ll force me to do what I really don’t want to and I’ll have to slit your fucking throat
personally
, do you understand?’

Tito held up his hands. ‘Michael, believe me . . .’

‘That’s the point, right there: I
don’t
believe you. But you’d better believe me. I mean it. All bets are off now. Clear?’

Tito nodded, very slowly.

Michael left, leaving Tito staring at the closed door.

Tito knew that Michael Ward was a man of honour. That he’d been forced to hold back out of respect, putting old values before personal gratification. But Tito wasn’t a man of honour. He was a man of
action.

Fabio stirred. ‘He’s got some fucking front, talking to you like that.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tito. He glanced at Fabio. At Vittore. His younger brothers were watching him, hungry as jackals. They weren’t honourable men, either. One sign of weakness, and they would go for the jugular, to hell with family. Push him aside, take over.

‘So what are you gonna do about it?’ demanded Vittore.

Tito said nothing. His tilted his head towards the door, and slowly drew his hand across his throat.

His brothers smiled.

Then they followed Michael.

Ruby went back to work after lunch. There was always stuff to attend to. Jane had scheduled meetings for her with catering consultants this afternoon. The plan was to open coffee bars in five of the stores as a test; if it was successful, then the bars would be run out all through the chain.

‘You have a nice weekend with that man of yours?’ asked Jane, handing Ruby letters to sign.

‘Just wonderful,’ said Ruby.

She didn’t hear the devastating news until the next day.

146

It was Rob who had broken the news to her. He’d got a call from Kit.

She would never forget it.

She had sat there, frozen in shock, while Rob with tears in his eyes said that Michael had been found dead in an alley with a bullet through his brain.

‘No,’ Ruby had shaken her head. ‘
No
.’

But it was true. Michael was dead.

‘My God, all I seem to do lately is attend funerals,’ said Vi with a shudder. ‘My poor Ruby. How terrible this is. Still got the gorilla in tow, I see.’

Ruby glanced back at Rob, who was standing close by.

They were huddling out of the sleety rain in the shelter of the lychgate at the church. There were huge crowds here today – bigger than those who had attended the burial of Cornelius, Ruby noticed. Not that she cared. Not that she cared about
anything
, any more.

Michael’s funeral was over. It had been a simple affair, with the coffin covered in white hothouse roses. All his boys had attended. Rob. Kit. All the rest of them. Even Reg, who had retired from the game long ago. And all Michael’s business contacts and friends.

Vi was hugging Ruby, enveloping her in a cloud of Devon Violets.

‘Ruby?’ It was Daisy, rushing up. Vi stepped aside. Daisy hugged Ruby hard. ‘It’s just so terrible. I loved Michael,’ she said, sobbing, smudging her mascara.

Kit had been one of the pall-bearers. Ruby watched him throughout; her beautiful son. He looked awful, almost grey with strain. Her heart had gone out to him. But his eyes had passed over her like she was not there.

‘I’m glad I left the twins at home with Jody,’ Daisy was saying. ‘I couldn’t bring them to this, it’s too sad.’