Betrayal (16 page)

She cried badly, her face turning red and blotchy while her nose ran and beads of sweat made their way through the caked makeup. Neal could scarcely bear to look at her but forced himself to get up from his chair and walk to the other end of the table.

'You're tired. Louise, ask Nurse Clarke to come and take your mother to bed.'

'That's right, pack me off to bed. But you won't be sharing it, will you? You'll be off to that trollop in London, rolling around in her… '

'Shut up!' he said dispassionately, and twisting her right arm, forced her from the chair and towards the door. 'Do you honestly think any man would want to share your bed these days?'

'It's your fault!' she screamed, ignoring the appearance of Nurse Clarke hurrying down the wide staircase. 'You've made me what I am. Well, don't forget I've covered myself. If anything happens to me, you'll be in so much trouble you'll be lucky not to go down for twenty years or more. I've watched you these past few years; I've seen the people who've come and gone and… '

'Get her to bed,' he ordered the nurse. 'Make sure she goes to sleep. I'm beginning to wonder if you're quite up to this job,' he added quietly, and Nurse Clarke turned away. Naomi was past help, but she wasn't going to lose her position by telling her employer that. Besides, she thought he probably knew.

When he strode back into the dining-room, Louise was crying softly into her handkerchief while Ruth sat, white-faced and straight-backed, her hands clenched into fists on her lap.

'You musn't get upset, Louise,' he said benignly. 'Your mother isn't well. She can't help herself.'

'Why?' asked Louise as rudely as she dared. 'Why's she like this? I can remember when she was quite different. She used to laugh a lot and loved playing with us.'

'She never got over Rebekah's birth. Her hormones were affected or something. I'm told it does happen.'

'Never mind Rebekah, what about Kay?' muttered Ruth. 'You were saying?' queried her father politely.

'Nothing.'

'I'm very glad to hear it.'

'What did she mean about prison?' continued Louise, her blue eyes challenging her father.

'I've no idea, she gets these delusions now and again . Alcoholics do. The worst thing I've ever done is drive at 100 m.p.h . on the M l and I don't think you get twenty years for that!'

'But… '

He sensed that Louise wasn't going to let up and went straight for her weakest point. 'The only person I know who might not want the police investigating his activities is your friend, Bishop. There's some very strange things go on in his Norfolk cottage. Yes, if the police were ever to investigate any of my companies I don't think Bishop would come out of it very well. Shall I ring for dessert?'

Ruth looked at her sister compassionately. Poor Louise loved their mother but was also besotted with Bishop. Now she wouldn't know who to believe or what to do for the best. As for herself , she didn't care about their mother any more and she loathed Bishop. All she wanted was a little peace.

In Kensington Gardens five hours earlier, Lisa had been wanting peace as well. A day that had started out well had turned into a complete nightmare, all because of Jessica.

Alone together for the weekend they'd spent the first day indoors while Lisa painted the nursery light blue, a colour that seemed to soothe the little girl. While Lisa painted, Jessica—now on her feet—had dashed around the room grabbing at every tin or metal object she could find. She had a fixation for all shiny things and in the end the room had to be stripped bare, and even then Lisa spent a lot of time protecting the paint tin.

Even so, she'd enjoyed herself. Opera played loudly as background music made Jessica considerably easier; in fact she could hum the 'Seguidilla' from Carmen with remarkable accuracy. This peculiar skill, almost a musical gift, was entirely out of keeping with the rest of her behaviour, but Dr Phillips said it was common with autistic children, which stopped Lisa from hoping Jessica was simply a difficult musical prodigy.

On the Sunday the painting was finished and after a simple lunch, Lisa decided they'd go to the park; Mike dropped them off at Kensington Gardens before disappearing on an errand for Neal. Strapped in her pushchair, which she hated, Jessica began to scream the moment they left the car. She screamed and fought against the harness keeping her in, and when people stopped and said, 'Oh dear, what's the matter with you, beautiful?' or 'A lovely little girl like you shouldn't be crying!' and other inane comments, she responded by spitting. This was a new accomplishment and one which embarrassed Lisa as much as it delighted her daughter.

When she let Jessica out of the pushchair matters improved. Because the day was so lovely there were crowds of people there, but Jessica ignored them. She ran around on the grass, occasionally bumping into another child or a seated adult and bouncing off without even a glance. They smiled and forgave her because she was young and so beautiful.

To Lisa, sitting on a bench and trying to relax, it was at times like this that Jessica's disability became more obvious. True she was on her feet early, and confident on them, but other toddlers in the park acknowledged each other, looking seriously into their contemporaries' faces and reaching out to touch.

Not so Jessica. One little boy of about three was entranced by this tiny vision and ran up to give her a hug. He was treated to an ear-splitting scream as Jessica hurled herself to the ground, burying her face in her arms and kicking her feet in terror. The mother ran up and told her son off, ignoring Lisa's assurances that he hadn't hurt her daughter, but still Jessica screamed, curling herself into a ball as she tried to shut out the world.

Eventually she stopped yelling and with a few quick glances around her, stood up. Lisa called her name and waved but Jessica ignored her. Then her eyes were caught by something bright and shiny in the distance and at once she was off. She half-ran and half-walked to the edge of the Round Pond, looking out to the middle where a replica of a liner was being sailed by remote control.

For a few seconds she stood watching, then she simply continued walking straight into the water and out towards this wonderful shiny boat that she wanted to hold. If she realised that the water was gradually reaching her face she didn't care. All she wanted was the boat, and adults and children alike watched in disbelief as she went deeper and deeper into the water.

Lisa ran towards her, calling her name even though she knew it was pointless. There was no doubt that Jessica would drown in her quest for the boat unless Lisa were to wade straight in after her, not even pausing to take off her shoes. She just caught her as the water closed over Jessica's head.

Choking and terrified, she howled hysterically. She hit and kicked at her mother, still struggling to reach the boat she would have died for, and when the boy who owned it brought it to shore, she managed to break free and hurtle into the water again, tiny hands outstretched after the vanishing toy.

Shaking with fright, Lisa picked her up for the second time, gripped her as hard as she could and waded back to the grass where they both slumped to the ground in a soggy heap. The boy walked towards them, holding out his beautiful boat. 'Would she like a look?' he asked politely.

'I don't think
…
' began Lisa, but she was too late. Jessica had got her hands firmly round the desired object and was tugging with all of her strength.

'Just look at it,' explained the boy. 'It's not for playing with.'

Jessica turned brick-red and started to scream again, pulling furiously at the expensive model. The boy looked at Lisa. 'Would you ask her to let go, please?'

'I'm afraid she's… Yes, of course. Jessica, let go!' And Lisa wrenched the small hands off so that the boy could take his model boat safely home.

'She's too young to understand,' said Lisa feebly, beginning to shiver with cold.

'My sister's little but she understands about drowning. She wouldn't just walk out of her depth like that. Your little girl's very brave.'

Lisa smiled, trying to ignore the stares of the bystanders, aware that Jessica wasn't brave, she simply hadn't understood the danger. Even worse, she was oblivious to physical pain or discomfort, apparently unaware that she was now drenched to the skin. She began to yell at the top of her voice and Lisa shook her in desperation. 'Stop it!' she shouted. 'You're a very bad girl!'

Jessica went rigid and clapped her hands over her ears. While her own shrieks didn't bother her, she was becoming highly sensitive to noises made by other people or strange objects. Trains and cars terrified her, as did the sound of the telephone ringing.

'You want to keep a better eye on her,' said a woman in her early forties as Lisa, carrying a soaking Jessica, squelched back to the bench. 'They're all over the place once they're on their feet. You won't have time for daydreaming from now on.'

'She's retarded,' said Lisa shortly. 'There's nothing I can do to control her. Excuse me, I must get her in the pushchair.' The woman walked away, obviously not believing what she'd heard. Jessica looked so very normal, and the woman's expression said clearly that she knew Lisa was at fault.

'You little horror!' she murmured, rubbing ineffectually at the wet curls with a handful of tissues from her bag. 'Come on, we're going home.'

Jessica kicked out and caught Lisa on the nose. With a cry of pain she relaxed her hold and Jessica rolled out of her arms and on to the grass, immediately dashing off once more and heading straight back for the pond, Lisa's nose was bleeding heavily, her face ached and it was only when she heard the splash of water that she realised Jessica was already back in the pond. Shouting out, she began to run but this time someone came to her assistance and a man grabbed hold of Jessica before she was more than waist deep.

'Thank you so much!' she gasped, a stitch in her side adding to her discomfort. 'I didn't think… ' She tailed off as she recognised a rather damp Bishop. Jessica was lying stiffly in his arms, her eyes staring up at the sky, the brightness of the sun entrancing her so that the boat was finally forgotten.

'I ought to take a picture of you now!' he said disagreeably.' "Ms Lisa Walker, the most beautiful young socialite on the scene at present, takes her equally beautiful daughter to one of London's parks for the day". I reckon I'd be well paid for something like that! You look like two drowned rats!'

She was too humiliated to respond, and feeling tears prick the back of her eyes she turned away. 'Can you carry her to the pushchair for me?'

'I can, but will I?'

'Don't be so damned pedantic. Will you carry… ?'

'My pleasure. They'd put a dog down if it was as mad as her, you know. I once had a collie-cross that used to lie on the bars of the electric fire. It didn't have any sense or feeling either. They put that down without a murmur.'

'I'm surprised you didn't kill it yourself.'

He smiled. 'That's better, far more your usual style! Right, Jessica, in you go.' He bent down to put her in her pushchair and she went completely limp, lolling in the chair like a wet rag doll, staring at a point over his shoulder, lost once again in her own world.

'I'll take her home,' said Lisa, checking the straps. 'I'll walk with you.'

'No thanks. Mike's meeting us at the park gate;'

'Then I'll walk with you to the car. Mr Gueras wouldn't expect me to leave you alone dripping blood and pond water everywhere. People might talk, and he doesn't like people talking about him or his friends.'

Jessica started to make grunting noises as she wriggled her fingers in front of her face. She kept that up for hours some days, as though the movement hypnotised her.

'Is that speech?' he asked in amusement. 'She's only fifteen months old.'

'Doesn't she coo or blow raspberries?'

'She's very good at spitting!' snapped Lisa, wishing Jessica had done it to Bishop when he'd bent over the pushchair.

'Probably inherited that from you.'

'This wretched nose!' she exclaimed, ignoring the remark.

He handed her a large handkerchief. 'Use that and pinch the bridge. I'd put ice cubes down your back but it doesn't actually achieve anything except added discomfort! Incidentally, I've ruined my shoes wading in that damned pond.'

'What were you doing in the park?'

'Just taking a stroll. Relaxing in the sun.' 'You weren't by any chance watching me?'

'Of course I was. Everyone was watching you and Jessica. It was better than listening to the band!' 'That's not what I meant.'

'I didn't really think it was! You enjoyed Ascot?' he added casually.

'It was lovely. All those hats!' 'Horses, too, I hear.'

'I was more interested in the clothes.'

'You do have some normal feminine traits then?'

'Look,' she said wearily, her skirt dripping water on the pavement, 'I'm grateful for your help but I can manage now. I'll tell Neal what you did for me.'

Bishop glanced at Mike hurrying towards them and then looked back at the limp, bedraggled child.

'The sooner you resign yourself to having her put away the better,' he said softly. 'You won't be able to keep them both, you know.'

'Go away!' she shouted, and Jessica began to scream once more. As Mike coped with the pushchair and her daughter, Lisa climbed into the passenger seat, buried her head in her hands and wept. Some times she wondered if she was ever going to have any peace again, but she'd never part with Jessica. Never.

Chapter Twelve

The two men met at Brown's over afternoon tea. Neal thought that Renato Bellini might be fascinated by the ritual, and Renato accepted because he knew that at Brown's he was unlikely to be seen by anyone he knew and he wanted this meeting to be secret.

'So your father's worried about the bank?' queried Neal, eating his tiny toasted teacake .

'Not perhaps worried, but suspicious. I'm here to watch the director. As an observer only, you understand.'

'You've found somewhere to live?'

Renato nodded but didn't give any details.

Looking at the younger man with his mass of dark hair, deep set oval eyes and typical roman nose, Neal wondered about women. Might it be possible for them to trap a Bellini by using one of their agency girls? They were all first class, most of them from titled but impoverished families, and all more than willing to do anything they were asked if the price was right. With this man they probably wouldn't mind if they weren't paid, but would he do anything with them that could be useful? It was difficult to say.

'Your business prospers?' Bellini asked, knowing full well that it did, and a great deal of that at the expense of P2's coffers.

'It fluctuates but on the whole I'm satisfied. Another sandwich?' The minute triangle looked ridiculous in Renato's enormous hand. He was certainly big, thought Neal in surprise, remembering the size of Paulo Bellini. It wasn't just the height, he was big-boned as well, and heavily muscled without an inch of fat. A fit man. He looked at the mouth, its full lower lip at odds with the thinner top one. A very mobile mouth, and definitely that of a sensualist—but a pervert? Disappointingly, he thought not. Certainly there'd never been any hint of the Italian vice, as Neal always considered it. No, boys wouldn't interest Bellini.

'You must come to Berkshire and have a weekend with us,' he said casually. 'I'm sure you'd like a break from London.'

'My young son is with me. He is only four.'

'My youngest daughter's only six. He'll be fine. It will make a change to have a boy around the place.'

Renato smiled, revealing a small cleft in his chin. 'Still no son? You must keep trying. A son is so important.'

Neal knew that the Bellinis were aware of Naomi's condition and had to be confident that there never would be a son but he nodded pleasantly 'I never give up,' he said smoothly, and remembering the new girlfriend, Renato realised that he hadn't, although an illegitimate son was scarcely the same, should the girlfriend ever allow him near enough to father one. The thought amused him and his smile widened, showing the white, uneven teeth that could turn any woman's stomach upside down with longing.

'How long will you be staying?' asked Neal, reaching out for a cake even as Renato declined, indicating his waistline and making Neal feel gluttonous.

He gave a typically Continental shrug. 'Who knows? However long it takes to assess what is going on here.'

'At the bank?'

The smile vanished and the face tightened. 'But of course! Where else? Are there other things that I should know of?'

'I doubt it,' said Neal, rising to his feet. 'I'm sorry but I'm already late for an appointment. I'll get my secretary to ring you about a weekend in Berkshire, and do give my regards to your father when you next speak to him.'

'We talk only of pleasant things at the moment.' There was a sudden silence.

'And I won't be included in pleasant matters?'

Renato smiled again, his eyes mocking. 'Why ever not? I meant that naturally I would pass on your message, along with other pleasant matters of the day. Perhaps my English is not yet sufficiently accomplished for me to make myself clear?'

'Your English is extremely good. It's nice to have you here in London, even if it is only for a short time.'

They shook hands and parted but it was Neal who left in a temper. Renato Bellini felt very satisfied with the way things had gone. Now he must return to his apartment, play with Luciano, shower, change, and meet Bishop at the Ritz for dinner. He would be more careful with Bishop. Psychopaths should not be mocked.

It was 8 a.m. on the Tuesday morning. Neal had risen at six, spent an hour at the gymnasium, had a working breakfast with two members of Scotland Yard's Flying Squad and then decided that he'd like to pay Lisa a surprise visit.

He succeeded. She didn't hear him ring the doorbell because of Jessica's screams and it was only by tapping on the front window that he managed to attract her attention. She opened the door and dashed away again, back to the kitchen and her hysterical daughter.

Slightly piqued by this lack of welcome he followed her, but stopped in the doorway in disbelief as a bowl of runny cereal was hurled across the room, coming to land only a few inches from his perfectly polished shoes. He stared around him. There was food everywhere; on the table, the floor and on the walls, while a plastic bowl of food was upside down on Jessica's head.

Lisa, wearing an old toweling robe and slippers, bore no resemblance to the fashionable young woman he was used to escorting round London, and her harassed expression aged her several years. He felt his dislike for the child mount but kept his voice calm. 'What's going on here?'

Lisa wasn't deceived; she could hear the edge to his voice and snapped back in a mixture of shame and temper. 'She's not hungry, and if you don't like watching, go away. I didn't ask you to come.'

'I wanted to surprise you.'

'I imagine you're the one who's surprised. What did you think it was like here in the mornings? Did you imagine me lying in bed all sleepy and tousled, anxious for company as I stretched languorously beneath the duvet?'

'Something like that, I suppose. Does she always throw her food around?'

'Yes. The trouble is that unless I keep on she simply won't eat. She'd probably starve to death, because she hasn't got any sense of survival.'

'I gathered that from Bishop.'

She turned just in time to catch one of Jessica's flying fists in her face. 'Ouch! He told you about the park?'

'He certainly did.'

'Oh, Jessica, that hurt! I'm going to put you down, we're not getting anywhere at the moment. Let me unstrap you.'

But Jessica started to spit and scream until Lisa was nearly in tears. Neal watched impassively, wondering how much longer it would be before she agreed that Jessica needed to go into a home.

Eventually the child was on the floor and at once fell silent. She glanced obliquely at the visitor and then grabbed hold of one of the spoons that had gone flying in the struggle and began to hit herself over the head with it with intense concentration, totally oblivious of the pain, while rocking gently all the time.

'When does she go back to hospital?' asked Neal. 'This afternoon.'

'What do you think he'll say?'

'Nothing much, except an assurance that she's showing more and more signs of autism, as though he expects that to give me some kind of pleasure.'

'Has he talked about her future?'

'She hasn't got one, has she! She's so isolated I could cry, and yet occasionally I catch a look in her eyes that makes me feel she knows and that if only I could find the key to unlock the door, she'd be free. I don't believe she can't be helped. All I know is that Dr Phillips doesn't know the way.'

'Do you want a second opinion?'

She looked at her daughter, her beautiful raven-black curls full of Ready-Brek, her huge eyes ringed with dried egg yolk, and wondered if she could stand hearing the same depressing prognosis from another specialist. But she had to try; she owed it to Jessica.

'I suppose so, but this time I want to see someone who specialises solely in autistic children.'

'I'll find out who's best. Can she be left for a moment?'

Jessica had now picked up a small metal car and was spinning the wheels round and round in silent fascination. 'Yes, she'll do that for hours.'

'Hours?'

'Yes, literally hours. It seems as though while she's spinning the wheels her mind goes off on some journey of its own. She's really quite happy at times like this.'

He was tempted to ask Lisa what mind she was talking about, but didn't. The specialist must be the one to open her eyes to the finality of Jessica's condition. 'Come on then,' he urged . 'I wanted to talk to you about Wimbledon.'

Lisa ran her fingers through her hair and wished she'd washed and dressed before getting Jessica up but there hadn't seemed any point. At the moment all meal times ended up with her needing a bath and an old dressing gown was sensible, except when someone came visiting.

'I'm sorry I'm such a mess!'

'My fault for arriving unannounced. Besides, you look enchanting just as you are.'

'What was this about Wimbledon? '

'I've got tickets for Men's Finals Day. Would you like to come?

I've seats in the Royal Box—near the back, but it's still pleasant.' 'I like tennis. When is it?'

'A week next Sunday.' 'What about Jessica?'

'Nurse Clarke can look after her.'

'She doesn't like changes to her routine,' protested Lisa half-heartedly. 'I've noticed that although to outsiders we don't seem to have a routine, she gets very distressed if things are done differently. You know, silly things like washing her hands before her face or… ' 'What kind of a routine do you call that?' he asked, pointing at the kitchen.

'Because she throws her food around, it doesn't mean she's unhappy. At the moment she enjoys throwing food about, it's just a phase. She's very good in some ways, she… '

'Yes?' She looked away from him. 'In what ways?' he persisted. 'All right, there aren't any,' she admitted, twisting her hands in her lap. 'But she honestly does like a routine.'

'I'm sure the nurse can follow any routine if you write it down. You can't let that child ruin your entire life. I've only suggested a day at Wimbledon, not a month in New York.'

'I've been out a lot lately and it's making her worse. She was dreadful after Ascot. It took me three days to get her back to normal.'

'What's normal?'

'Stop it!' she shouted, jumping to her feet. 'Don't keep on about her. Do you think I'm enjoying all this? Do I look as though I've had a lot of fun this morning?'

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, standing up and letting her lean against him. 'I know it's difficult and I understand how much she means to you, but that's because you won't let anyone else into your life. You're putting all your love and emotion into a tiny child who's never going to be able to appreciate it if she lives to be a hundred. Why won't you open yourself up? Surely you know how I feel about you? If you'd give me one-tenth of the affection you lavish on Jessica, I'd be a happy man.'

She sighed. She was so exhausted that it was wonderful to rest against him, let him put his arms round her and hold her. Life with Jessica was becoming a nightmare. Day after day it was a constant battle to keep her looking half-human as she sat hitting her head against the wall or uttered strange guttural sounds punctuated with screams and meaningless giggles. And all the time, every moment of their life together, Lisa was trying to get through to her daughter. But her belief that love alone would be enough was beginning to fade and she didn't know what to do next.

'It isn't just Jessica that makes me cautious about you,' she confessed as they sat side by side on the sofa. 'I can't get Toby out of my mind. When you kiss me I like it at first, then I freeze inside and just want to escape. I don't have normal feelings any more.'

'Of course you do, but under your present conditions they're not likely to show themselves. I had no idea what life was like here when you were alone. If you've no objection, I'm going to try and get you some full-time help. You'll wear yourself out otherwise, particularly with all the late nights we have.'

'I was wondering if I ought to stop seeing you,' she admitted. 'I enjoy it but I have to get up at 5 a.m. and I don't get any free time until we're off the following night. I'm burning myself out.'

'Right, first of all I fix you up with an appointment with a specialist then I get you some daily help, even if it's only with the cleaning. If I do all that, can you manage Wimbledon?'

'I should think so.'

'Wonderful! Also, I hate to remind you but there is a dinner party at my Chelsea house tomorrow night.'

'I know. I've arranged for Schaverien to do the catering; Pulbrook & Gould will do the flower arrangements and I was just going to check the wine list with you before ringing Grant's. Everything's covered, except I don't know what to wear!'

'I shan't suggest anything,' he said with a smile. 'You'll only say I'm being dogmatic again!'

'You won't forget the perfume in a hurry, will you? If you like a particular dress then tell me. I'm too tired to make any decisions right now.'

'How about the strapless jade taffeta. You know, the one with the straight skirt and matching jacket.'

'Fine. By the way, Bishop told me your wife wasn't well. Is she any better yet?'