She walked on. As he raised the window once more he heard her call out, loudly, ‘Bonzo! Bonzo! Come along! Bonzo!’
Angry at himself for being so careless, for not noticing her approaching and allowing himself to be startled like that, Tooth started the car and drove for several minutes before stopping again, this time in a lay-by on the main seafront road. He was angry that he’d fucked up.
He didn’t do fuck-ups.
107
Friday 13 March
A few minutes after the time they had agreed, 12.30 p.m., Jodie Carmichael stepped out of her taxi in front of the Grand Hotel into the bright sunshine and strong breeze.
She had been back home for less than an hour. It had given her time to shower and dress appropriately for a tour of Brighton with, potentially, her next victim, and she was in a good mood. Her hang-over was gone after the workout in the gym, shopping for dinner tonight was complete and her worries about Silas were temporarily parked. Her hair had been done exactly as she liked it, her fingernails and toenails were manicured and varnished, and she was dressed elegantly in a leopard-skin coat over a grey sweater, leggings and high-heeled ankle boots. She looked great, she knew. She’d decided not to drive as she had a feeling that lunch and the afternoon with J. Paul Cornel might well involve more alcohol.
‘Wow!’ he said, striding along the lobby towards her. ‘Wow!’
She smiled and stared into his eyes. ‘And right back at you!’
He was dressed in a mandarin-collared black shirt, buttoned up to the neck, a beautifully tailored charcoal suit and expensive-looking black loafers.
‘I think I just won the lottery!’ he said.
She grinned. ‘Me too.’
‘I thought we’d have a light lunch here — I’ve a bottle of Moët on ice and two lobster salads up in my suite. How does that sound?’
‘That sounds rather lovely,’ she replied with a warm smile. ‘You wouldn’t be planning to seduce me by any chance, would you?’
‘If my old wedding tackle was up to it, absolutely I would be doing just that, my dear. But I’m afraid my days of seduction are long behind me. So you are in safe hands!’
‘Isn’t that just too bad?’ She grinned. ‘But I’m sure there are other ways.’
An hour and a half later the silver Bentley threaded its way through the network of hilly, narrow residential streets. Brighton’s Whitehawk Estate, on the north-east of the city, lined with post-war semis and bungalows, had some fine views to the south and east.
Jodie and Paul lounged back in the rear seats, her right arm linked inside his.
‘So this is where you grew up?’ she asked.
‘Yep, it was pretty rough back then,’ he drawled. ‘There were plenty of good, decent folk living here, like my mother. But it was a haven for villains in those days, too, in the fifties. Cops wouldn’t leave a car unattended here, because if they did, they’d find it jacked up on blocks with its wheels stolen!’
‘But it looks nice now,’ she said.
‘Uh-huh.’ He was peering intently through the window. ‘Make a right here, please, driver,’ he said. Then a few moments later he said, ‘If I’m right — and it was a long time back — make a second left.’
‘How does it feel being back here?’ she asked.
‘Strange. Like — like nothing’s changed and yet so much has — there weren’t so many cars back then. Or satellite dishes.’ He gave a wistful smile and turned to her. ‘I keep seeing familiar things and it’s like...’ He shrugged and fell silent.
‘Like what?’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here. Maybe this is not the person I ought to be showing you.’
‘Of course it is. I find you fascinating. I want to know everything about you. I think what you’ve achieved in your life is incredible.’
He reached forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Here! Stop! Stop!’ he said, excitedly. Then he turned to Jodie and pointed through her window at a small, semi-detached house perched on a rise above them. The garden was a complete junkyard, stacked with busted furniture, rotted doors, a supermarket trolley, a rusted car engine, several tyres, slabs of concrete and old bricks, all lying amid a tangle of weeds.
‘Interesting art,’ she said.
‘That house! That was where I grew up! My mum looked after that garden.’ He shook his head. ‘How — how does someone let it get like that?’ He looked balefully at the neat lawns and flower beds of the neighbouring houses. ‘Jeeez, I’m sorry, I guess I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you showed me. Nothing stays the same in life, don’t you think? It’s good to be sentimental sometimes.’
He continued to stare, fixated. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened. My mum was so proud of it.’ He shook his head.
‘The past is another country, they do things differently there.’
‘Yep, it sure is. You know, I left here when I was eighteen. I wonder who lives here now.’
‘Want me to go and knock on the door and find out?’
He smiled at her. ‘I’m not sure it’s gonna be anyone that you or I would want to have a conversation with. So why don’t you tell me more about yourself?’ he asked. ‘You said last night you were from Brighton — where was your family home?’
Instantly he saw she looked uncomfortable.
‘Oh, yes, originally, but we moved a lot because of my dad’s work.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He worked for a bank and they moved him around the country. We were constantly uprooted — you know — it was tough as a kid, always changing schools. You just make a new set of friends, then you have to say goodbye to them and move on again.’
‘Where in the city were you born?’
‘In some maternity unit, I don’t honestly remember where it was.’
‘And what about your parents? Are they still alive?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He told the driver to move on, to take them to the Dorothy Stringer School, where he was educated. All the while, as they drove, he kept up a running commentary about the places of his youth. And all the while he fed Jodie subtle questions, trying to get her to talk more about herself. But she fielded each question either with a lie or by telling him that it was too painful to delve into her past.
By the time the limousine turned into the drive of her Roedean Crescent house, just after 6 p.m., he had gleaned virtually no more about her than he knew when they had started out.
But he did know his handler would now see from the GPS tracker their exact location.
‘Nice home you have,’ he said, as the car pulled up by the front door. ‘I like the style. How would you define it — Tudor Revival?’
She laughed. ‘Have you really been away from England for that long you’ve forgotten? The style is mock Tudor.’
‘Ah, right, sure, I get that. But your home seems more than just mock. Maybe that’s your natural beauty enhancing it,’ he said with a twinkle.
‘Flattery will get you everywhere. If you have time, I’ll give you the five-dollar tour.’
‘I’ll make the time! Hell, we have all evening.’
‘Cup of tea and some of my homemade cake when we get in?’ she asked.
‘It would be rude to refuse.’
‘It would be. Very rude. And you haven’t changed your mind about staying for dinner, have you?’
‘Well, I guess it would also be very rude to do that.’
She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I like you,’ she said. ‘I like you a lot.’
The driver opened the boot of the car and Cornel removed a heavy Butler’s Wine Cellar bag. Handing it to her, he said, ‘I got some champagne, red wine and white wine from this local wine store the concierge recommended earlier.’