‘All what?’ she queried. ‘I’ve only got half the story, Ben. You have to talk to me. Don’t cut me out.’
‘Talk to you?’ he said simply. ‘Jesus! That’s the last thing I’d do. Francis is dead because I involved him. I can’t risk you. You have to go back to France—’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Don’t do that,’ he said anxiously, touching her face. ‘Please, don’t do that.’
Pulling her to him, he rested his lips against her hair, breathing in the scent of her. He knew that in rejecting her he was exiling his last ally, but he had no choice. From the moment Leon had been given the Goya skull all their lives had changed. A malignancy had begun which was now spreading hourly. Knowing that his own safety was in question, Ben was aware that he might not be able to stop its progress, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice anyone else.
‘Go back to France,’ he repeated, kissing her cheek. Then he drew back, touching her skin and feeling the slight swelling underneath. ‘Abi, what’s this?’
She smiled lightly. ‘Nothing. I’m having it checked out.’
‘Let me look,’ he replied, turning her to the light and staring at her face. The doctor again. ‘You’ve got to have that seen to. It might be nothing, but—’
‘Stop worrying,’ she said, hurrying to reassure him. ‘It’s all organised. I’m having a biopsy. I’m going into the Whitechapel tomorrow.’
‘Without telling me?’
‘Ben, stop it! I was going to tell you, but other things have happened before I could. Don’t look at me like that – it’s nothing to worry about. You’re not my doctor any more – Mr North is doing it. He was going to talk to you about it this afternoon.’ Her voice softened. ‘Relax, darling. This is me, Abigail. I’ll be fine and everything will work out in the end.’ She led him to the sofa, sitting down beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘You have to get some rest.’
‘Malcolm North’s a good doctor,’ Ben said, preoccupied. ‘He knows his stuff. You’ll be in safe hands.’
‘And what about you? Whose safe hands are you in?’
‘Not yours, Abi.’
She smiled, almost regretfully. ‘I know you’re trying to protect me – and I love you for it – but you have to trust someone.’
‘Not you. I won’t put you in danger.’
‘What danger?’ she pressed him, sitting up and looking into his drawn face. ‘Is there a connection between the deaths of Leon and Francis Asturias?’
‘Let it rest—’
‘I’m not a fool, Ben!’ she snapped. ‘I know about Leon and the skull. And I know you gave it to Francis to authenticate—’
He gripped her hands so tightly she winced. ‘You’re hurting me!’
‘Forget everything I told you, Abi. Please, leave it alone.’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know who killed Leon or Francis, so how can I do anything?’
‘You need to sleep—’
‘I can’t sleep!’ he snapped back. ‘I have to go to Madrid tomorrow, to Leon’s funeral—’
‘Then let me come with you.’
‘No!’ Turning away, he shook his head. ‘I wish my brother had never got hold of that bloody skull. I wish he’d never seen it. The moment Leon touched it, his life fell apart. It tipped him over the edge.’
‘He was always near the edge—’
‘And they pushed him over.’
‘For a skull? Abigail asked incredulously.
‘We’re talking about Goya’s skull – what wouldn’t a collector do to own that? Dreams are made on lesser stuff. Leon used to talk about the competitiveness of the business. How a dealer or historian was desperate to find something valuable, or prove a theory. Poor bastard,’ Ben said gently. ‘Poor, sorry bastard …’
She took his hands in her own.
‘… Leon thought that the skull would make his name. And if he solved the Black Paintings, he’d be set for life. But he was competing with the likes of Bartolomé Ortega, and God knows who else.’
‘You don’t have the skull any more, do you?’
He was desperate to confide – to tell her about Francis’s confession and about being threatened – but he held back, giving her the partial truth.
‘I don’t have the skull.’
‘Thank God,’ she said with feeling. ‘But surely whoever has it will have to explain how they came by it?’
He smiled bitterly. ‘No one will ever know that it was stolen from me. People would deny knowing how it came into their hands. The provenance would be blurred. Leon used to tell me all about it – the fudged backgrounds, the made-up histories. There would just be vague stories of the skull being found—’
‘That was Leon’s story.’
‘That wasn’t his story, it was the truth. The skull was found and passed over to my brother—’
‘But now it could be anywhere,’ Abi said, her head on one side. ‘Why don’t you let it be?’
‘What?’
‘What can you do, Ben? Leave it to the police. Let them handle it. If there’s anything to find, let them find it.’
She was afraid for him, and for herself. Afraid of losing the man who had given her back her life. Afraid to lose the protector she had fallen in love with. To her shame Abigail realised that despite her sympathy for Ben, she was angry with Leon. Angry with the dead man who was threatening her security and the life she prized.
‘Just back off—’
‘My brother was murdered!’
‘You’ve no proof of that. The Spanish coroner ruled it suicide. You’ve no evidence, and with Leon’s background of mental instability no one would believe you.’ She leaned towards Ben, her mouth dry. ‘Leave it alone. Whoever wanted the skull has got it back. Forget about it, then you’ll be safe. They have no reason to come after you unless you give them a reason.’
Incredulous, Ben stared at her. ‘So I let my brother’s killer get away with it?’
‘What else can you do?’
‘Jesus! You just don’t get it, do you? I can’t walk away,’ Ben replied. To her amazement he seemed close to tears. ‘I was supposed to look after Leon. Everyone knew he was unstable, that he needed protection. I had a duty of care to him—’
‘He was not your patient.’
‘No, he was my brother!’ Ben snapped back. ‘He was my home, my family. He was my sibling. For years there were only the two of us – the Golding brothers. I was meant to look out for him. He needed me.’
‘You did what you could—’
‘I wasn’t there!’ Ben shouted, almost beside himself. ‘I didn’t save him. I failed him … And I can’t live with that.’
Desperate, she pleaded with him. ‘Leave it alone, Ben, please. I love you—’
‘I know. And I love you.’
‘I don’t want to lose you—’
‘And I don’t want to lose you.’ And then he lied. ‘It’ll be all right, Abi. It’s just all been such a shock. It’ll take some time to come to terms with.’
His thoughts were running on and he realised that having Abigail admitted into the Whitechapel Hospital was the perfect solution. At the Whitechapel, he could keep an eye on her. As a patient, she would be surrounded day and night, with nurses to keep watch over her when he wasn’t there. What better place to be protected than a hospital? It was, he thought with relief, even better than her returning to France.
Then he remembered what else Abi had said: They have no reason to come after you unless you give them a reason.
And that was exactly what he was going to do. He wasn’t going to be warned off. He wasn’t going to give in to threats. He was going to do the opposite and draw attention to himself. Ben Golding might not know who had killed his brother and his friend, but he knew how to find out.
He wasn’t going to run or hide. Instead he was going to make himself visible. And then they would come after him.