Until Death (3 page)

Kelly caught Christos’s voice from somewhere deep in the flat and she froze. She slipped on her black shoes and turned this way and that in front of the mirror, checking. The dress with its three-quarter-length sleeves and high neckline was a good choice. With her heavy make-up she could obliterate all traces of her former self – the person she had understood. For she had become one of those women whom no one understands unless they’ve been in the same situation – the ones who stay with brutal, controlling men because the fear of going is greater than the pain of staying.

She came out of her bedroom and closed the door, took a deep breath. She met Sylvie on the stairs coming down and was shocked to see that her nose was covered with a thick layer of bandage and gauze and there was bruising under her eyes. Despite her dislike of her rival, she needed to find out if she was all right. ‘What happened to you?’

Sylvie smiled and made light of it, waving away her concern. ‘It looks bad but it’s nothing. I’ve got nasal polyps. They have to go in and dig around, it’s disgusting. The worst thing is they cut them out but they grow back in two years. Gonna have to have it done again one day.’

‘Is it painful?’

Sylvie made a scoffing sound. ‘The bandages will come off in a couple of days.’

There was an awkward pause. Here they were, the wife and the mistress, chatting away as if they were friends. Which they weren’t. They were so, so far from friends they needed to invent a new word for enemy. But that didn’t mean Kelly didn’t act nice when the interloper was in her house. She might be fearful but she wasn’t stupid.

Sylvie’s mouth was moving and Kelly tuned back in. ‘Medea needs a pashmina. It’s freezing up in that living room.’

Kelly watched Sylvie as she turned right at the bottom of the stairs. She was doing all the running, thinking her efforts would pay off. She obviously didn’t realise that Christos would never leave his wife. A crowd of people she didn’t know pushed past, eyes on the top of the stairs. She followed them up to find about forty people in the living room. She paused, her eyes roaming over the guests. Their home was all about views, and the large, open-plan living room that ran the width of the building. They were high above the skyline here and had no curtains or blinds because there was no need. Through a series of pointed Gothic windows on the far wall, north London was revealed, the green spaces of Primrose Hill and Hampstead Heath; if she turned around, central London was exposed. The space was too large really, living quarters fashioned from a grand municipal building that didn’t have the cosy or workable proportions of a home. The room was echoey and the acoustics bad, the floor was laid with gaudy marble tiles and the furniture had been specially commissioned to be large so that it filled the space. A grand piano no one had the skill to play stood in one corner, and part of the room was divided by a large aquarium in which brightly coloured fish swam on a never-ending loop from one end to the other. She saw Christos standing with his back to her and walked through the crowd that surrounded him. She linked arms with him and kissed him on the cheek.

‘There you are!’ He stood back to appreciate her fully. ‘Doesn’t my wife look beautiful?’ He introduced her to some people who worked in his office. Kelly shook a bunch of hands and fixed on a smile. Sometimes you couldn’t get away. And then it became a question of enduring. She put her arm round Christos’s waist and pushed closer to him. We do what we must to survive, she thought. She automatically began to scan the crowd, looking for her children.

She felt a pull on her dress and turned round. ‘Mum, I need to tell you something.’ It was Florence, her pale eyes staring up at Kelly.

‘What’s the matter, Flo?’ She took her hand and bent down low so she could hear her quiet voice.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘Come with me.’ Kelly excused herself and they walked into the kitchen. The room was stacked with boxes of supplies for the caterers. They were in the end of the building here, windows facing full west where the stream of headlights on the raised motorway that sliced through London on its way to Oxford never ceased. Off the kitchen on the left were various storerooms and the service lift that stopped on the floor below at the far end of the corridor and then the ground floor. Caterers were loading canapés on to silver platters and uncorking champagne bottles. ‘Do you want some cocktail sausages?’

Florence shrugged, pulling herself up to sit on a counter and swinging her legs. ‘I don’t know.’

Kelly guessed she had used her hunger as an excuse to get her mother on her own. She opened the fridge and scanned the contents. ‘Do you want a cheese sandwich?’

She shrugged again. Kelly took that to mean yes and pulled out butter and cheese.

‘There are lots of people here I don’t know.’

‘Same with me,’ replied Kelly. ‘Why don’t you play with Yannis? Where is he?’

A squeal from the living room provided the answer. Yannis was being swung between Christos’s legs, guests laughing indulgently as they scattered to avoid his whirling limbs. Florence shook her head. ‘Can I watch a film?’

Kelly laid the pieces of cheese on a slice of bread, put another slice on top and cut through the sandwich. ‘Your dad wants you here, you know.’ She saw a look close to panic cross her daughter’s face and she relented. Hopefully Christos wouldn’t miss her. ‘Come on then.’ She put the sandwich on a plate and moved to the service lift, glad of an excuse to be away from the party herself. They came out of the lift on the floor below and walked past her studio and a spare bedroom where Medea sometimes took it upon herself to stay over. On her right was the door to the TV room. ‘What do you want to watch?’

‘
The Princess Bride
?’

‘OK.’

Kelly handed the plate to Florence and her daughter flopped on the sofa, crossing her legs. Kelly was struck anew by how much her daughter looked like Michael, her late father, with the same upturned nose and pale skin. Florence’s younger sister Amber had had the same profile, but she had been darker, taking more after herself. She hovered for a moment in the doorway, the noise of the party pulling her out. All I have left of Michael and Amber is in her, Kelly thought.

‘Mum, Sylvie says you’re going away.’

‘What do you mean?’

Florence shrugged. ‘She said you were going away at the end of the month.’

‘Away where?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did she say for how long?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’m not going anywhere, Flo. Not without you and Yannis. Don’t worry.’ She managed a smile, though she was perturbed. ‘Enjoy the film.’ She shut the door, her mind a swirl of unpleasant conjectures.

She walked back up the stairs to find the numbers had swelled. She recognised almost no one, so exchanged pleasantries with a marooned-looking wife of a shipping broker. ‘Have you met Christos before?’ Kelly enquired.

‘Just once,’ she replied. ‘At a dinner where he was the main speaker. He had the room enthralled. I can’t quite remember what he was talking about, but he was very passionate.’ She leaned over a crowd of heads. ‘But goodness, do you know what’s happened to his wife? She looks like she’s been in a car crash.’

It took Kelly a few seconds to realise the woman meant Sylvie. She looked across the room to see Christos and his mistress side by side, meeting and greeting people, shaking hands. ‘I’m Mrs Malamatos. That’s Christos’s PA,’ she began and the woman’s apologies at her mistake tumbled out one after the other. An easy error to make, thought Kelly. She could almost think the same herself the way Sylvie tried to insert herself into their lives; buying gifts for the kids, telling them their mother was leaving …

Yannis began to weave in and around the guests, a Lego model of a pirate ship in his hand. Christos bent down and pulled him up into his arms, pinching his cheek with affection. Kelly watched him hand his champagne glass to a passing waiter. ‘Now listen.’ When Christos talked people did indeed listen. He had a naturally loud voice and it commanded authority. Christos turned to a shelving unit behind him that jutted out into the room at ninety degrees. It contained the fish tank and a selection of large designer squares in which models of ships and tankers sat in glass cases. ‘Yannis, which is your favourite ship?’ Christos pointed at the five models and put Yannis back down on the floor. Yannis approached the cabinet and Christos beckoned the surrounding guests in closer.

Yannis squirmed with delight at being the centre of attention. He was so different from Florence, he thrived in the limelight. Kelly watched as the group around Christos and her son fell quiet, waiting for Yannis to answer. He pointed at one of the ships. ‘I like that one.’

Christos beamed. ‘And why’s that, Yannis?’

‘Because it’s the biggest.’

Christos laughed. ‘Yes, it’s the biggest. Do you know what it’s called?’

Yannis pointed his finger at the ship again. ‘This is the
Saracen
. One of the biggest ships in the world.’

‘And what’s this type of ship called?’

‘It’s a container ship.’

Christos looked like he could burst with pride. Kelly heard some of the women sigh. Yannis put his finger on the glass showcase that held the
Saracen
inside it. The model was more than a metre long and every radar post, porthole and anchor chain was crafted in great detail. Every container of the many that sat piled high on the deck had the brand name of the shipping company etched on it.

‘And what’s so special about this ship?’

‘It’s got an engine that makes it go fast.’

‘Yes it has, Yannis.’

‘And it’s unsinkable.’ He jumped up and down on his short legs.

Christos turned to his guests. ‘This ship is the triumph of man over his environment. In the past, when man crossed the oceans he had to wait and he had to pray. His livelihood, his very life, were at the mercy of the wind, the currents and the ocean. There were so many hurdles on his voyage. Time and tide used to wait for no man – we used to say that you couldn’t swim against the tide. But that’s not true any more. We have tamed nature, beaten it into submission with technology. We control it, not the other way round. The
Saracen
is powerful enough to ride out a hurricane – it is unsinkable. I would like to propose a toast, to the
Saracen
, to Malamatos Shipping, to our power to face down our competitors, and to the future of this company – to Yannis here!’

The room roared its approval, glasses rising towards the lights in the ceiling. Kelly dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself under control. Her eyes had come to rest not on the ships in their glass cases, but the fish tank, with its little stream of air bubbles that rose to the surface and disappeared. Amber and Michael had not had the air they needed. They hadn’t been able to swim against the tide …

She retreated downstairs to the ensuite bathroom and splashed water on her face, concentrating on calming herself till the panic attack faded. She needed a pill for the anxiety that was beginning to dance up her spine, that threatened to burst through the top of her skull. She wasn’t proud but sometimes those pills were the crutch that got her through the days, that made it all seem better. They were also the threat that Christos held so effectively over her head. The reason why she was still here suffering the indignities thrown her way by his mistress. Why she lived in fear of the man she had once loved.

Why had Sylvie said to Florence that Kelly was going away? Where was she supposed to be going? She redid the mask of her make-up and dragged herself back to the party. As she climbed the stairs she met Sylvie coming down again. ‘Did you miss Yannis and Christos’s speech? It was a blast. Your son holds a room just like his father.’

Christos will never leave me for you, she thought. How she hated this woman spouting her superficial platitudes. Christos doted on the children, that much was clear. They had tried for children of their own for eighteen months with no success until they had discovered his low sperm count. They had adopted Yannis soon after and the subject was never mentioned again but she had always been made to feel that the fertility failure was hers rather than his. Even Medea had once alluded to it as her problem.

She went back into the room, walked towards Christos. ‘Hey there.’ She turned and was blinded by a camera flash. She grabbed the man’s arm with so much force he actually winced.

‘No photos. There are to be no photos. Delete it now.’ She couldn’t even manage a smile. ‘Please.’

K
elly was dragged from sleep the next morning at six thirty by the drilling of the doorbell. She staggered from bed, confused at who could be calling so early. Christos was in the shower so Kelly answered the door. A woman stared up at her through the video camera. ‘This is Customs and Excise at the Port of London. We have a warrant to search your property. Can we come in please?’

Kelly typed in the code to work the lift and ran into the bathroom to tell Christos. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a top and came back out into the corridor and stood staring at the lift doors, straining to hear the faint clanking as it rose towards her. Two seconds and they would be here. The shower fell silent. Kelly swallowed, mentally checking where the children were: Yannis was pulling on socks in his bedroom opposite her, Florence was upstairs, probably slurping milk from a cereal bowl. Before she had time to process what this visit might mean, the lift doors opened. Four people were suddenly in the foyer as Christos emerged from the bedroom in a towelling robe, his hair glossy with water.

A young woman who wasn’t yet thirty stepped forward. ‘Mr Malamatos, my name’s Georgie Bell. I’m a criminal investigation officer at Customs and Excise. We have a warrant to search your property for evidence of suspected customs fraud.’ She handed Christos a piece of paper. ‘Your offices are also being searched—’

‘What fraud?’

‘A shipment of Brazilian rosewood was found when your ship the SS
Sea Shuttle
docked at Silvertown on the 3rd of October. Your company is listed as the shipper and owner of the goods. We had a tip-off the wood was on a banned list and the accompanying paperwork forged. This has now been confirmed—’