Remix (2010) (21 page)

“What about face paint?”

“Nah. We’d have to get it off once we were out.”

“Gloves? I’ve got some thin vinyl ones. So we don’t leave fingerprints.”

“Doesn’t matter if we do. I’ll run you to Maplin’s.”

He waited outside the shop in Tottenham Court Road, the Harley’s engine throbbing, attracting attention, while I went in and bought two tiny, super bright aluminium torches. Back at the flat I added them to the collection and checked it over.

“I think that’s everything…”

“Yup - with that lot any right-thinking policeman would take us in for
going equipped
…happy now?”

“Not really…”

Getting the things on the list had distracted me from thinking about using them on Sunday night. My stomach lurched and my hands felt cold at the very idea of sneaking around illicitly in the dark, inside the house of a man I believed to be a murderer. I said pleadingly,

“Can’t we just go to the police?”

“We will,” he said soothingly. “As soon as we’ve checked out Phil’s safe.”

After tea I put our planned break-in from my mind, and concentrated on transforming myself, outwardly at least, into the sort of girl Rosemary considered ‘nice’.

A calf-length floral dress I’d bought in a sale and never worn, teamed with a lilac shrug and natural tights seemed just the job. Inoffensive. I applied minimum make-up, found a pink lipstick at the back of the drawer, and spent ages putting my hair up in a bun. There was a pair of shoes I’d only worn on Speech Days at the school where I used to teach; I slipped into them, then added a string of pearls and matching earstuds. I surveyed myself in the long mirror. I was correctly dressed for the occasion; Rosemary would approve. She’d never think me Suitable, but she’d pass the outfit. I imagined her scanning glance, her small satisfied nod.

I took it all off again. I let down my hair, framed my eyes with khol and put on my favourite dress, blue/grey like an Ayres, fullish skirt that came to mid-thigh, off the shoulder wide straps that sometimes slipped down becomingly. Not too low-cut; you don’t need it with all that leg showing - one doesn’t want to look like a hooker. I laced on high black boots, and found a silver necklace and bracelet. Much more me.

Would I be letting James down? No. Men are simple souls. He’d think a lot of leg on view was good. Anyway, I was perfectly respectable - just not what Rosemary meant by ‘respectable’. Ric stopped watching television long enough to approve.

“When will you be back?”

“It’ll finish around eleven, then about two hours’ drive home.” The bell went. “See you, Ric.”

I kissed the top of his head, and ran down the stairs so as not to keep James waiting. He stood at the door, having already turned his car in the limited space.

“Mmm, you look lovely. Will you be warm enough later on?”

“Hang on.”

I raced back upstairs to my bedroom and grabbed an oversized black jumper. The television was off, Ric on his feet. He caught me at the foot of the mezzanine stairs, said, “Good, I want to kiss you goodbye,” and did, at some length.

Bright evening light shone in our eyes as we set off in the BMW. The bridge of James’s nose had caught the sun - being so fair he burns easily. He told me he’d been tackling the overgrown garden that belongs to his flat. It’s not a terribly convenient garden, as you have to go out of the front door and round the side of the house to get to it, and James tends to neglect it. He’s not a gardener.

“It looks tidier now, but a bit bare.” He glanced at me. “I should put some plants in, but I don’t know what to get.”

“I can give you a list if you like.”

“I’ll have to go to a garden centre. You wouldn’t consider coming with me, would you? Pick out some stuff and tell me where to put it.”

“Okay. Tomorrow week?”

“Thank you, Caz, that’ll be great. We can have Sunday lunch at The Dragon.”

“I’ll bring the van. More space.”

James smiled. Silence fell, the relaxed kind you get between old friends. I had no intention of telling him about Ric’s criminal plans for the next night, particularly since they involved me. He would only try to persuade me out of it whenever we were alone; he’d have three or four hours in the car to itemize his apprehensions, plus snatched opportunities over dinner. I’d be crazy to tell him. But I had a brilliant idea - I’d print out the
Private Investigations
file, containing the information I’d collected about Phil Sharott - all too little - plus suspects’ addresses and my conclusions, and somehow leave it where James would find it first thing Monday morning. Just in case Ric and I didn’t return.

I shivered, in spite of the sunshine, and resolved not to think about Sunday night.

It was seven twenty when James parked in the quiet Victorian terrace beside his mother’s house and checked his watch. The last time I’d been there was the Christmas after my mother died; James had insisted I went with him when he found out I’d be spending it alone. A dark and sleety day. Now the street was bright and sunny: to a London eye it was remarkably well-kept and litter-free, no recycling bins or bags of rubbish on view; something you only get in the most exclusive parts of Kensington and Chelsea. Window box flowers glowed against white-painted stucco. As I got out of the car and stretched, I heard the cathedral’s bells ringing.

James reached into the back seat and picked up a bunch of cream roses in bud. They looked a little tired after their journey. I wondered if I should have brought Rosemary something. He pressed the brass bell push. Moments later the door swung open to reveal his mother, elegantly dressed in taupe.

“James!” She reached up, kissed his cheek and took the roses. “Are these for me?” She inspected them. “They look thirsty, I’d better give them a good soak.” Her attention turned my way. “Caz, what a lovely surprise. I was expecting Posy.”

Her pearls rattled as we air-kissed; I smelled Chanel No. 5. She drew back and her eyes flickered over me. No approving nod; slightly raised eyebrows and a pause. “Do come in. You’re not the first.”

Rosemary led us into the drawing room at the back of the house. A man and woman were looking out of the open windows at the garden; flower beds, and a path through lush grass leading to trees and what I imagined must be a gazebo, new since my last visit. The couple turned and came to be introduced.

“This is Cassandra Tallis. She’s very artistic and has her own little business in London restoring rocking horses. Caz, this is Anne Hamilton and Brigadier David Hamilton. He retired recently - not that you’d know it, he’s busier than ever. We’re lucky he could make it tonight.”

We shook hands. The Brigadier’s eyes twinkled. “I only see young James once or twice a year, and each time his new girlfriend’s prettier than the last one.”

I smiled, and was about to disabuse him of the notion that James and I were an item, but Rosemary got in first. “Caz and James have been great friends since they were toddlers,” she said dismissively. “Didn’t you meet Posy at Easter? Oh no, I remember now, you were away. She’s a lovely girl, I’m hoping we’ll be seeing a lot more of her.”

I looked at James, but he chickened out of breaking the bad news.

“Lovelier than this one? That’s hard to believe,” said the Brigadier, with old-fashioned gallantry.

“Are you going out with anyone nice, Caz?” Rosemary asked, just to make it absolutely clear it wasn’t me James was going out with.

“Ah…I’m between boyfriends right now,” I lied.

Rosemary asked us what we wanted to drink, and went to summon it, while a girl appeared holding a tray of canapes. I snaffled a tiny smoked salmon sandwich - delicious. James’s mother often used caterers, so she could spend more time with her guests, and the food was always first class.

The Brigadier cross-questioned me about rocking horses, his wife looking amiable but saying little, until Rosemary hauled them off to meet new arrivals. I felt something brush my shoulder. James had replaced my errant shoulder strap.

“I wouldn’t bother, it does that, you’ll be putting it back all evening.”

“I don’t mind,” he said softly, “I’m happy to volunteer as your personal strap replacer.”

I looked at James with wild surmise. I had the nasty feeling he wanted to move our comfortable friendship on a stage. Bad timing. I hoped I was mistaken.

“James,” Rosemary called from across the room, “come and say hallo to Isobel and Mark.”

James joined his mother, and I detoured towards the canapes before following dutifully.

Once dinner was over, people mingled in the drawing room. James had been disconcertingly attentive all evening, but he’d left my side for once, so I thought I’d nip to the upstairs bathroom. Give myself a break from polite conversation; check my nose for shine and my teeth for spinach. On the way I passed the half-open door to the smaller living room, and heard Rosemary’s ringing tones.

“Oh James, you
haven’t
. Posy is such a
nice
girl, so suitable, and you always seemed to get on so well together. I really thought she was the one. I do hope you’re not thinking of Caz.” James said something I couldn’t hear. “Of course I like her, I’m very fond of her, she’s simply not your type…how did it happen, I thought you were just friends?”

I heard James’s next remark, because he came towards the door as he made it. “Caz and I
are
just friends…unfortunately. I haven’t told her how I feel yet.”

My eyes widened and I sprang quickly and quietly up the stairs, grateful for the thick carpet.

Eleven fifteen seemed, by common consent, to be the end of the evening. The guests thanked Rosemary, made jovial parting comments that went on for five minutes, and headed for their cars. A half moon, and the sky was full of stars. It was cooler outside on the doorstep, and I snuggled into my big jumper.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said. Rosemary gave me her dazzling hostess smile. James kissed his mother’s cheek. Maybe I imagined it because of what I’d overheard, but I thought she seemed a little put out with him, a little terse.

“Now drive carefully, James. Remember there’s absolutely no rush.”

I waved as the BMW drew away from the kerb. Rosemary didn’t wave back. I settled into the comfort of the leather upholstery. The quiet and darkness of the car was welcome after an evening of chatter, though I’d enjoyed myself. With a jolt, I realized that in twenty-four hours’ time, I’d be setting off to break into Phil Sharott’s house. Apprehension shot through me. As an antidote I thought hard about Ric; his eyes, his smile, his strong muscular body…

James switched on the radio. Romantic violins from a film half a century ago came over the car’s excellent stereo system; a man with a heavy Italian accent broke into song.
Some Enchanted Evening
. One moment I was thinking, that dates from before my mother was born - it’s so corny - then its raw longing and passion gripped me and brought tears to my eyes. I leaned back and let it wash over me.

The song ended. I glanced at James as he turned off the radio, then at the dark countryside as we sped past in the powerful car. Neither of us said anything, but I got the worrying idea he might declare his feelings at any moment; that he was working up to doing just that. I didn’t have the necessary reserves of tact to deal with it right then. I shut my eyes and pretended to go to sleep.

I must have nodded off. The silence as the engine stopped woke me. We were in Fox Hollow Yard, James leaning forwards.

“Have I been asleep all the way? Sorry - you should have woken me.”

He smiled. “I hadn’t the heart. You were sleeping like a baby.”

I ducked my head down to see the flat’s windows. The lights were on; Ric had waited up for me. I turned to thank James, and his arm came round me. His lips met mine. No time to think up unhurtful ways of letting him down gently; we were in mid-kiss before I’d gathered my wits. Of course, there was nothing to stop me clenching my teeth and freezing. That would have got the message over. The trouble was, James kissed very nicely…and there was the inhibition-reducing effect of several glasses of wine thrown into the mix. I was in no way drunk, but I did have that cheerful what-the-hell-why-not feeling alcohol induces. I’d always thought I’d known James too long to fancy him; that kissing him would be like kissing one’s brother. Now I found that was not so. Kissing James was…terrific. But wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. I broke away as soon as I could.

He ran his hand up and down my arm. “Thank you for coming tonight, Caz.”

“It was fun.” I felt for the car door handle.

“Can I come up for coffee? You know, I think I’m getting used to your horrible coffee. Getting a taste for it, even.”

No! Ric would be in the flat. Possibly in bed. It’d be grotesquely embarrassing.
“I’m a bit tired. D’you mind if I don’t ask you up? Some other time.”

He smiled again. “Okay.”

I got out of the car. James did too. He waited while I found my keys and opened the door, then held me and kissed me on the doorstep. I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been disapproving of my own behaviour so much. There was no excuse for not moving away briskly and telling him I was involved with someone else - okay, he’d know instantly it was Ric, but he’d have to find out some time. So why didn’t I? Partly because of a reluctance to discuss my love life with James, and partly because I’d already kissed him in the car. At length he released me.