* * *

THE RECEPTION was to be held in the garden of Halewell Close. A large marquee had been erected on the main lawn, and, within it, thirty tables had been arranged, each of them set for ten guests. Bunting had been draped across the surrounding trees and lanterns hung from their boughs. A second, smaller marquee abutted the first and it was here that the meal was to be prepared and served. The food was to be provided by the kitchen at Claridges. The catering tent had been crazed with activity all day. There had been a generous budget for ingredients, and Ruby Ward had provided everything they could possibly have required. They peeled and diced vegetables, prepared consommés, butchered meat. Those not invited to the service parked their cars on the lower lawn, an array of sparkling metal and chrome worth many thousands of pounds. Immaculately dressed waiters and waitresses distributed glasses of champagne as the guests assembled inside the tent. Edward took a flute and drained it in a single, thirsty gulp.

“Hello,” Chiara said as he sat down next to her on the top table. “You look very handsome.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “And you look lovely. That’s a beautiful dress.”

She smiled at him, a little shyly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, of course––but it’s all a little, I don’t know––”

“Hectic?”

“Well, yes––exactly. And strange.”

“The people who aren’t here?”

“Exactly.”

They both looked out across the space: the bar was jammed tight and children scampered between the tables.

“I do wonder about my aunt sometimes,” she said with a long sigh. “This is typical––any excuse to show off. I think Joseph would have preferred something a little quieter, but he wouldn’t have had much say in the matter.”

Joseph and Eve were in the middle of the table, to Edward’s left. They were beaming with happiness, his hand resting atop hers on the table. Violet was next to Joseph. Eve’s parents had not been invited.

“No news about Billy?” she asked.

Edward hesitated, seeking earnestly for the truth. “Not that I’ve heard,” he said. “It’s very strange.”

“Joseph is convinced he’s the one who spoke to the police.”

“So it must be possible.”

“I heard him talking to Violet about it yesterday. It’s been days since anyone saw him. It doesn’t look good, does it?”

“No,” Edward allowed. “It doesn’t.” He took a gulp of his champagne, pleased with himself again. It was astonishing the difference it made. He felt more confident, more in control, and he felt that that confidence must be obvious in his posture and bearing, and on the ease with which he could put all the right expressions onto his face. All the doubt that he had felt… how foolish he had been!

“Joseph will kill him if he finds him,” Chiara confided.

Edward nodded, thinking that that wouldn’t be necessary.

The meal was pleasant. The cook had prepared a seafood starter, followed by breast of chicken. The food was excellent and the drink flowed freely. The conversation was boisterous, fuelled by the alcohol, and Edward soon forgot his anxiety.

The dishes were cleared away and, eventually, one by one, the others left the table until Edward and Chiara were left alone. Edward suddenly felt an overwhelming closeness to Joseph’s sister. The strength of feeling took him by surprise. Edward stayed at her side all evening, and after Joseph and Eve had taken their first dance he suggested they join them. She pressed herself against his body as they spun around the dancefloor, her head nestled into the space between his chin and shoulder. Her scent drifted into his nostrils, floral and sweet, and as he glanced down he saw that her eyes were closed and a smile was on her face.

He allowed his mind to wander. He would have to leave soon. He was going to kill Billy tonight. He had thought of it before as a means to end all the trouble he was causing, but there had always been another way. Now, though, there was not. All the possibilities had narrowed down into this one, unavoidable, point. He led Chiara around the floor as other couples joined them. Murder was distasteful to him but sometimes it was a necessity. Once you had accepted that it was simple enough. He felt peaceful at the prospect.

65

FIERCE APRIL RAIN WAS LASHING down outside the tent. It was a little before two and the party was still going on, the band striking up again and the sound of happy laughter followed Edward as he left the tent. Time to go. He put on his overcoat and regretted not bringing his umbrella. He had spent a couple of pounds on his hair this morning and the rain was going to make a terrible mess of it. He waited beneath the canvas awning and stared out into the empty gardens, the rain falling so hard that the driveway was running like a river.

He collected his car and set off back to London. The drive was easy, with no traffic to delay him. He allowed himself to think. Billy wasn’t what you’d consider clever, but he was cunning. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that, if he could, Billy would use the advantage he had over him for as long as he stayed in Soho. He was full of hate and jealousy, and he had been given a dreadful weapon to use against him. He would hold it over him for as long as he needed, using the prospect of it to have him do whatever he wanted. The money? That was just the start. Edward knew he had no other choice but he reminded himself that it was all Billy’s fault. It could all have ended up very differently.

Edward collected Jimmy and then set off for Southend. They reached the garage at the edge of the town just before three. There was a Humber parked next to the closed café. Detective inspector Charlie Murphy was smoking out of the open window. Edward slowed and parked alongside. Rain ran off the brim of his trilby as he left the shelter of the car and skipped around the deeper puddles. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Jimmy got into the back.

“Evening, inspector.”

“He’s in the boot,” Murphy said. “We’ve had him in a cell for a week. Fair to say he’s not happy.”

“Thank you.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Probably best you don’t know.”

“Yes,” he said, sucking down on the cigarette. “Probably.” He flicked the dog-end out of the window.

“What’s going to happen to the men you arrested?”

“They’ll be weighed off. I’m guessing they’ll get a two-stretch. With good behaviour, they’ll be away for eighteen months.” He looked across the car at him shrewdly for a moment. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? George and his thugs out of the way for a bit.”

“It’s like you said––things have been running away with themselves. It was all unnecessary, all that aggravation. Something had to be done.”

“And you’re going to do it?”

“Someone has to.” Edward smiled at him. “It’s for the best.”

“What about Spot? You said––”

“That’s in hand.”

Murphy indicated the back of the car with a jerk of his head. “What did he do?”

“Made a very serious misjudgement.”

Murphy took another cigarette from the packet and lit it. His face looked jaundiced as the lights of a passing lorry raked through the car. “You and me are square, then,” he said.

Edward gave him the keys to his car. “We are.”

Murphy opened the door but paused. He turned back to face him. “Just so we understand each other,” he said, “this was a one-time thing. We’re not friends and we’re not allies. You do what you do and I do what I’ve got to do. I’m still going to clear up Soho.”

“I understand.”

“You know what happens if you get in my way? There won’t be any more favours, Fabian. You’ll be nicked just as quickly as the next man.”

Edward nodded. He felt a jolt of irritation: he was powerful now, and he wanted Murphy to acknowledge it. “There’s another side to that coin, inspector. If you put me in a spot where it’s you on the one hand and my liberty on the other, if you’ve got me boxed in and out of choices, let’s be clear about one thing: you will not get in my way. We’ve done business together now and I can’t say that I’d feel good about it, but you’ve got to know: I won’t hesitate.”