The Runaway (74 page)

 

‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr Gates, the villain’s friend. I might have guessed I’d see you at some point.’

Richard ran one hand over his bald head. ‘You’re a complete prat, Madge. You’ll never change, will you?’

She snorted and then said nastily, ‘And how are you, Miss P? All right, are you? You both look like you’re doing very well. Nice cars, nice clothes. The scene has definitely changed since I’ve been away, eh? Even me daughter seems to be somebody now. Well, let me tell you this: you’re all nothings, nobodies. Outside the Smoke no one’s heard your names, or even knows you exist. You’re big fishes in a little pond.’

Susan P watched the old woman in her mirror, wondering what the hell they were going to do with her now they had her.

‘You’re to leave Cathy alone. If we thought you wanted to see her because you’re her mother and she’s your child, we’d take you to her. But you don’t, do you, Madge? You want to hurt her. As if you didn’t do enough to hurt her in the past.’ Richard’s voice was low, barely audible. The quieter his voice became, the more deadly he was. Madge knew this and kept her peace. Then suddenly she exploded.

‘Fuck you, Gates, and fuck you an’ all, you lesbian bitch. I have nothing to lose any more. Nothing at all. You don’t scare me, any of you. She owes me, the little whore, and now I’m going to collect. Her clubs and her kid and her nice husband . . . when did she ever give a shit about me, I ask you? I grafted for that little mare, I flogged my arse to keep her clothed and fed.’

Madge actually believed what she was saying, Richard and Susan P realised in shock.

‘I gave up the best years of my life for her, and now she wants to blank me out like I never even existed. Well, she can’t. I done a lot of bird for that little madam and the thought of her doing well gets right up my fireman’s.’

Richard sighed. ‘You have already broken your parole agreement. I can get you banged up again tonight. You were supposed to go and stay in the accommodation allocated to you by Social Services. Instead you did a runner. Now I’m going to take you back to the nick with me and let that be an end to it. If I recommend you have another assessment in, say, one year and go back inside
pro tem
, they’ll listen to me, Madge. I’ll say you’re a danger to your daughter and grand-daughter. I’ll tell them you threatened me, say I think you’re a danger to the public. Then, when you’re banged up once more . . .’

Susan P interrupted him then. ‘I’ll see to it that you get your just deserts in prison.’

Madge grinned. ‘Fuck you, lady.’

Susan P screeched the car to a halt by the kerb. Turning in her seat, she grabbed Madge by the hair and, dragging her face towards her own, said viciously: ‘No, Madge, it’s fuck
you
, because if I choose to, you’ll fucking die, lady. And you know I can make that happen. I looked after you in that nick. I saw to it you was left alone. Because Cathy asked me to, wanted me to. You know she couldn’t visit, she was on the run. And later, though I could have arranged it, I knew you were too vicious an old crone to let her see you. So just watch yourself, lady, because if Cathy gets so much as a fucking cold, I’ll blame you.’

Madge was shocked. ‘I’m getting all the blame as usual, am I?’ she whined. ‘You don’t know her. You’ll all learn as I did what she’s really like . . .’

Susan P pushed her back into her seat and sighed. ‘Tell her the score, Richard, I want to go home.’

‘OK. You’re going on a little journey, Madge. Fancy that, do you? Or would you rather go straight back in clink?’

He smiled at her expression. Let her sweat, it’d do her good. All he wanted was her well out of the way, somewhere he could keep an eye on her. Prison was not the place for her now. She needed help and he was going to see she got it.

 

Cathy was wary for a while but after a few months, thoughts of her mother faded from her mind. She believed that Madge had decided to leave her alone and get on with her own life. In a way, she was sad. She had wanted to see her, talk to her. But it obviously was not to be. Gradually her life hit an even keel and she began to live once more. Richard and Susan never told her anything, and nor did Desrae.

They had all decided that in this matter ignorance was bliss so far as Cathy was concerned.

BOOK SIX

‘Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning, let us solace ourselves with love. For the goodman is not home, he is gone a long journey’

-
Proverbs
, 7, xviii

‘
Liberavi animam meam
’ ‘I have freed my soul’

- St Bernard, 1090-1153

Chapter Forty-Seven

NEW YORK 1995

Cathy walked out of Saks on Fifth Avenue laden down with bags. She felt full of beans. Springtime always made her feel good as if life were beginning again and everyone had a new chance.

That morning she had walked through Central Park alone, watching the rollerbladers, enjoying a cigarette and coffee from a street vendor, and watching the world go by. Everywhere was budding, becoming beautiful. The grass was greener than ever, the trees being slowly dressed for the summer with leaves, and the sun was strong, making even the Atlantic wind bearable.

She had come to love New York, to love America. In the eight years she had visited regularly she had become a New Yorker in as far as she knew the city well. It was now a second home to her. So much so that a year before she had bought herself a loft apartment off Bleccker Street. It reminded her of London’s Soho, and the artists and trendy young men and women who thronged the streets made her feel at home.

She ate in Chinatown, a light lunch of Chow Mein and prawns washed down with herbal tea, then walked with her purchases toward Little Italy where she was to meet Eamonn at 2.30. As she strolled through the crowded streets she smiled at people and the usually abrupt New Yorkers smiled back. Maybe it was her sunny countenance, or maybe the coming of spring had affected them too.

As Cathy walked into The Baker’s Bar she spotted Anthony Baggato. ‘No Eamonn then?’

Anthony loved her. He loved her face, her hair and her British accent. ‘He’ll be here soon, princess, let me get you a drink.’

He snapped his fingers and a waitress came over to them. She was dressed in a brief black dress and impossibly high heels. Cathy smiled at her.

‘I’ll have a glass of white wine, please.’

The girl took the order and both Cathy and Anthony watched as she sashayed back to the counter.

Cathy laughed out loud. ‘You’re terrible, Anthony.’

He held up his arms in a gesture of resignation. ‘I look, I wish, I enjoy. At my age it’s the only excitement I get, for Christ’s sake.’

He was now huge. In his early sixties, he weighed over eighteen stone. As he spoke he still watched the girl. She was all of twenty with a hard, petulant expression about her lovely face.

‘I don’t know, Cathy, how much shopping can a woman do? Every time I see you, you’re laden down with packages. I hope you make that Irish putz pay for it all?’

‘I’m an independent woman. I earn my own money and spend my own money.’

Anthony played the Sicilian then. Jokingly he raised his shoulders and said loudly: ‘Why couldn’t I have found someone like you? My wife shops constantly and all she buys is crap. My home, a million-dollar apartment, is full of crap. That’s why I never go there.’ Anthony had traded in the last but one wife five years before. His new wife was twenty-eight, a chorus-girl type with full red lips, collagen enhanced, and a pair of breasts that defied the laws of gravity.

Eamonn came into the bar, and as he saw Cathy his spirits soared. She looked, as usual, good enough to eat. Dressed in a tight white suit, showing off her legs and well-turned ankles, she was as gorgeous as any movie star.

He was still entranced by her eight years on in their relationship. Today, despite all his worries - and they were legion - she still gave him a boost.

‘So, I catch you together again. What is it with you two, eh? You seeing Anthony behind my back or what?’

They all laughed as Cathy replied, ‘Well, I’m just glad we’ve been found out. It’s been such a strain keeping a secret.’ She sipped her wine as the men talked business.

Anthony said, ‘What’s the rub with Igor?’

Eamonn shrugged. ‘He’s the same as usual. Same shit as usual.’

Anthony laughed. ‘So what you’re telling me is, the red shit has not yet hit the fan?’

‘The emphasis being on
yet
,’ Eamonn said gloomily.

Both men looked worried for a moment and then Eamonn brightened. ‘We’ve still got plenty of time, and if push comes to shove I’ll sort it out myself. It’s not as if I haven’t done it before.’

‘What’s all this then?’ Cathy enquired. ‘You always seem to talk in riddles.’

The two men looked at her, and Cathy saw the tension around their eyes as they smiled at her.

‘Never mind about it, honey, it’s all crap.’ Anthony stood up with difficulty. ‘I’d better be off, I have to meet Jack soon.’

He kissed Cathy’s hand in a gentlemanly gesture. ‘Until we meet again. And don’t forget, baby, when you’re sick of this schmuck, give me a call. What time’s your flight tomorrow?’

‘Eight-fifteen - in the morning that is.’ She grimaced. ‘I really don’t want to go, Anthony, but duty and business call. As you know yourself.’

‘That’s one hell of a club you have there. I enjoyed it when I came over. Eight-fifteen, you say?’ He looked at Eamonn, a hard penetrating stare. ‘So you’re off to London tomorrow? Well, then, goodbye. Until the next time.’

As he left the bar Cathy and Eamonn watched him go. He lumbered these days, but still had his old commanding presence.

‘What was all that about? The meaningful stare and everything else?’ Cathy wondered.

Eamonn shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Now then, what do you want to do?’

She smiled flirtatiously. ‘What do you think I want to do? I leave tomorrow. I got in some steaks, some wine and some salad. Dinner, bath, bed. In that order.’

Eamonn grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’ But even as he spoke, Cathy could see he was worried about something.

Eamonn kissed her on the nose. ‘Listen, I’ll put you in a cab. I have to go home, sort out a few things. I’ll get to you about six, is that OK?’

Cathy nodded, secretly upset that he was leaving her again so soon. ‘That’s fine by me,’ she said brightly.

 

Deirdra smiled unpleasantly at her husband as he walked into the Long Island house. ‘And to what do we owe this pleasure? ’

He ignored her sarcasm. ‘Was anything delivered today?’ ‘Some suitcases - I put them in the garage. They’re very heavy. What’s in them, for Christ’s sake?’

Eamonn turned and walked from the room, leaving his wife fuming. Since the birth of Hattie, their youngest daughter, seven years before, he had not touched her. They lived as man and wife, attended functions together, even made chit-chat at the breakfast table - that was when he stayed home, of course - but other than that there was little contact between them.

One thing she knew: he wasn’t out chasing skirt. Most of the time he was in the house with her and the children. Only a couple of times a month was he on the missing list. For Deirdra, that was enough. This was how her life was going to be and she accepted it.

 

Eamonn went out to the garage and looked at the two cases. They were the same as usual, nondescript, but carried more inside their lining than ever before. It was this fact that was so scary.

His usual mule had been taken out by a young black mugger on East 110th Street and Lexington. Eamonn was now left with the merchandise, and no way of getting it to London short of taking it himself. But he was due in Washington tomorrow afternoon. It was a Mafia connection meet and he had to be there.

As he stared at the cases he thought of Anthony’s idea and tried to push it from his mind. He couldn’t do this to Cathy, not her. But he knew in his heart that he didn’t really have a choice. Also, she would never know what he had done. The merchandise was undetectable. In all the years they had been muling for the Russians, they had never once had a capture, either this end or in London.

It was foolproof.

The merchandise was worth millions, and was always paid for up front. In the 1990s, the need for it had grown and they were dealing with contacts all over the world now.

He closed his eyes and wondered what Cathy’s reaction would be if she knew what he was involved in this time. It didn’t bear thinking about.

 

Cathy was dressed in a little white number, purchased that morning from Saks. It showed off her tan perfectly and the cut was such that it enhanced her breasts and made her waist look even smaller. As she opened the door she was surprised to see Eamonn standing there with two suitcases.

‘Surely you haven’t left home?’

Her voice was so shocked that he forced a laugh. ‘They’re a present. A gift for my transatlantic lover.’

Cathy looked at the two huge Samsonite cases. ‘You’re joking?’

‘No, these are for you. I know my gifts usually run to Cartier, and in fact I have a bauble in my breast pocket from that very establishment. But I saw these and I thought: Just the thing for my Cathy. Strong, lockable and safe.’

He put them down in the bedroom. She was still bemused.

‘Suitcases? Now I’ve seen everything. You never cease to amaze me, Eamonn Docherty.’

He smiled at her. She had accepted his ‘gift’ as he’d known she would. As he poured himself a drink she began to cook the steaks. She cooked them the English way, with plenty of salt and pepper and Eamonn’s favourite Worcestershire sauce.

They sat and ate, chatting as lovers do about their lives and dreams. As they finished the wine and smoked cigarettes, Cathy said: ‘You know, Eamonn, it’s funny. When I saw you with the cases, for a second I really thought you had left home. I know I’ve always said that I didn’t want us to live together, but that’s because you are now a New Yorker and London is my town. But I really hoped in that split second you were going to tell me we’d always be together.