Topspin (19 page)

By the time they left the Club, Ed’s mood had greatly improved, thanks to Millie’s idolatry. When he returned to the bar, a spring in his step once again, Colin made a point of seeking him out and telling him about the planned trip to Bisham Abbey. Ed told him it was a stroke of genius, relieved that the new coach still wanted to run his plans by him before going public with them. It left him feeling optimistic about salvaging something out of this mess before he had some awkward explaining to do.

Ed had no intention of giving up his plans to take over the club. Too much was at stake for that to be an option. He originally thought he’d have to allow time for tempers to cool after tonight’s fiasco before thinking of another way to pursue his ambitions. But Colin’s few days of “bonding” at Bisham Abbey might be a neat way to resolve the issue. He could bend quite a few ears if influential members were trapped in the same place for several days, put a favorable spin on his proposal, and make people realize how much they had to gain financially by siding with him.

He cast occasional severe glances at Stella, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. She hadn’t spoken one word about the disastrous EGM, nor had she apologized for her cock-up or sympathized with him for being made to look stupid. In fact, come to think of it, she hadn’t spoken directly to him at all since before the meeting started. Now she was keeping up a conversation with Leah in the back seat, which pointedly excluded him. For once Ed didn’t know what was going through her mind. She must be aware what was in store for her later but wasn’t showing the slightest sign of apprehension.

Ed frowned, briefly wondering why she wasn’t afraid. She had bloody good reason to be. His temper reasserted itself, obliterating all Millie’s diligent work. His foot hit the gas as soon as they’d passed the speed camera at the bottom of Parkhurst Hill. The sooner he got his wife home, the sooner he’d be able to reassert his authority over her.

Ed unlocked the door and Leah pushed past him to hug her mother. “Night, Mum.”

“Night, darling, sleep well.”

Flapping a hand absently in Ed’s direction, Leah took herself off to bed. She had her own room in the converted attic and wouldn’t hear what was going on in her parents’ room below. Although he was delighted to see the back of her, his daughter’s attitude still rankled. If he’d treated his own father with such patent lack of respect he wouldn’t have been able to sit down for a week. Leah’s behavior was all Stella’s fault, too. She’d poisoned their daughter’s mind against him.

He turned to speak to Stella but was surprised to find the kitchen empty. She’d obviously gone straight off to bed, still without saying a word to him, hoping to avoid a confrontation. Ed was snarling with anger as he followed her into their room, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it. Stella, still fully clothed, continued to ignore him as she collected toiletries from their bathroom.

“Well,” he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m waiting.”

“What for?” She flicked a brief gaze at him before returning her attention to the bathroom shelf.

“What
for?”
He felt color flooding his face and he balled his fists at his sides as his temper threatened to erupt. He struggled to contain it. He had to let it build up slowly until he saw the fear in her eyes. That’s what he got off on. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.” He glowered at her, expecting her to immediately back down, just like always. “It’s all thanks to you that things went pear-shaped this evening.”

“No, Ed, it
wasn’t
my fault. You asked me to see if there was a way to present an argument for the infringement of Rule Seven, which I advised you against, if you recall. But still you insisted upon calling that meeting and asked me to word the notice, which I did. You didn’t say anything about making sure it was legal.”

“I should have thought that would have been obvious, even to you,” he said, struggling to come to terms with the fact that she was still fighting her corner. Stella had never answered him back before and she ought to have the sense to realize that she was only making matters worse for herself. Ed glanced down at the erection pushing against the fabric of his trousers. Stella’s eyes followed the same direction but instead of his arousal belatedly subduing her, she merely shrugged and looked way. “You’re useless. A fucking liability. You enjoyed seeing me humiliated, didn’t you, bitch?”

“No, Ed,” she said in a weary tone, “I didn’t enjoy it, but you
did
bring it on yourself, and I won’t be your whipping post any more. Besides, I still don’t understand why taking control of the club is so important to you. It’s a thankless task, and I want no part of it.”

“I’m not asking you to understand, you moron, I just wanted your support.”

Ed had had enough of his wife’s attempts to lay the blame for her inefficiency on him. He took several steps toward her, raised a clenched fist, and aimed a vicious punch toward her stomach. She side-stepped the blow and turned to face him from a safe distance away. Astonishment rocked Ed sideways when he saw the serrated kitchen knife in her hand, held out to prevent him from closing the distance between them.

“Don’t!” she yelled. “Don’t come any nearer! I’ve had enough of being bullied and blamed for everything that goes wrong in our lives. If you so much as touch me again I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

Ed stared at her, dumbfounded. Her eyes were glistening with determination. There was no sign of fear in her expression and he almost believed she was serious. Almost.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Then just come near me with that fist and you’ll get your wish.”

She edged round the room, still holding the knife in front of her. He was disconcerted to notice that her hand was rock steady. Someone at the club tonight must have talked her into this act of rebellion. Ed thought he’d burst a blood vessel when he considered the possibility of another man influencing her against him. He recalled her laughing face as she danced with Jack.
Dear God, please don’t let it have been him!
When this was all over he’d find out who it was putting ideas into her head and set them straight on a few basic facts. This was between husband and wife, and no one else had the right to interfere.

Ed saw her eyes briefly leave his as she judged the distance toward the door. He took the opportunity to lunge forward, grabbing for the knife, convinced she wouldn’t dare stab him. It didn’t take long to discover that he’d badly miscalculated. As she instinctively thrust the knife forward to keep him from reaching her, Ed felt a searing pain in his forearm. He looked down at it, his eyes widening with shock as he watched the blood bubble to the surface of a long slash.

“You fucking bitch! You cut me.”

“I told you I would. Now you know how it feels to be on the receiving end.” She was breathing heavily as she glanced briefly at his arm, her pale face now hot with color. “It’s not deep. You’ll live.” She’d reached the door and opened it, leaning across to swipe up her bag of toiletries from the bed. “More’s the pity.”

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep in the spare room.”

“There’s no need for that.” Ed forced a conciliatory note into his tone but was still inwardly seething. “You’ll have to clean up this cut or it might get infected.”

“I couldn’t get that lucky.” She leveled a chilling expression on him. “Do it yourself. I’ll be in the spare room, the door will be locked and if you try to get in, just remember that I’ll have this tucked beneath my pillow.”

She waved the knife in his direction and left the room. Ed simply stared at the door as it closed behind her, oblivious to the steady trickle of blood dripping from his arm onto the carpet. He sank onto the side of the bed, unable to get his head around Stella’s act of betrayal. He tied a handkerchief crudely around his cut, too shaken to even think about cleaning it up. His whole life was imploding and no one, especially his family, appeared to give a shit.

Full of self-pity, Ed buried his head in his hands and wept like a baby.

Jack read Cyril’s e-mail and let out a mirthless chuckle. He’d been keeping discreet tabs on Wilf and Kevin, acceding to Jack’s request that he not pick them up and deal with them on his behalf. Jack wasn’t going to hide from the thugs. The more Cyril and the Turks made them lose face, the bigger the point they would have to prove. Still, their hot-headed behavior was to Jack’s advantage. With his connections, he’d receive hours of warning before they got anywhere near him. Even so, he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating them. He picked up his phone and dialed a number from memory. It was answered on the first ring with a curt “Yes.”

“They know where I am and are currently still in Soho,” Jack said, not bothering to introduce himself.

“We’ll pick them up and keep them in our sights,” the voice said, disconnecting without saying goodbye.

Jack poured himself a drink, secure in the knowledge that he was…well…secure, for the time being at least. Cyril’s offer of protection wouldn’t have worked down here. His goons would have stood out like sore thumbs and even Wilf and Kevin would have spotted them. But the organization Jack had just spoken to was altogether a different matter. They were discreet and professional. Jack had used their services on more than one occasion since retiring, and they’d done what he required of them with efficiency, no questions asked. Their investigators weren’t the muscular types Cyril would have used. They were more like the innocuous chaps next door. The sort no one would glance at twice. Some of them looked as though they’d be blown off their feet in high winds, but Jack knew they were all hard as nails, highly trained, and very good at what they did. They’d pick Wilf and Kevin up, keep them under surveillance, and the idiots would never know they were being watched.

This organization’s services didn’t come cheap, of course, but that didn’t matter to Jack. He lived modestly, well below his means, his penthouse being his only extravagance. It fell well below the standards maintained by most of the people he knew at the club, which suited him fine. He had no wish to draw unnecessary attention to himself and spawn the inevitable questions about the source of his wealth. And so instead, his ill-gotten gains sat in high interest offshore accounts, building up nicely, in fact. Jack would dip into his nest egg to pay for the services of his fellow professionals for as long as it took. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be for long.

Confident that he was in no immediate danger from his ex-employees, Jack sat on his terrace and pondered the events of the evening. He sipped at his drink, savoring the flavor of the oaky malt as it hit the back of his throat and slid smoothly down to his stomach. It was a balmy night. The pubs had closed and most of the holiday makers had dispersed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The sound of the sea lapping against the slipways opposite was soothing, and Jack thought it would be a great night to be out at sea. Perhaps he’d move on soon, buy a boat and drift around the world for a while. The Island was starting to close in on him and he was getting itchy feet. There had to be more to life than playing tennis and drinking more than was good for him.

Jack smirked as he recalled Ed’s expression when he got his comeuppance, but didn’t take much satisfaction from it. He was more concerned about why Ed was so desperate to control the club. It must be for reasons of greater gravitas than satisfying his ego. It takes a villain to know one, he decided, his lips twisting with wry amusement. The trouble was, he couldn’t think of any material benefit to Ed in gaining control of the club.

Unless…

A germ of an idea occurred to Jack, which he pondered until his glass was empty and the night had turned cool. He went into his lounge and closed the doors to the balcony, making a mental note to check out certain aspects of the club’s constitution when he had the time. He had a nasty feeling about this one.

Still not ready to sleep, Jack refreshed his drink, put some background music on the stereo, and transferred his thoughts to Angela’s husband. He hadn’t much liked him. Angela herself seemed both fascinated by the man and almost scared of him. He wondered if she was all right. On an impulse he picked up his phone and dialed her number.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked when she took some time to answer.

“No, Jack.” She sounded surprised when she realized who was calling. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

“I wanted to make sure you got home without any problems.” He paused. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”