Читать книгу Never Tell - Claire Seeber, Claire Seeber - Страница 17

As we rounded the bend in the long snaking drive, the floodlit manor house finally came into view between the great oak trees.

‘Christ.’ James stopped the car and, for a moment, we simply stared in awe.

For all my doubts about the Cotswolds, my own butter-coloured house was undeniably beautiful, the stone warm and inviting, a much-loved well-lived-in home. The great mansion that stood before us was not in the least inviting; majestic maybe, but somehow unsettling. Its dark stone spoke of antique grandeur rather than home and hearth. Gargoyles screeched wordlessly from the roof as we neared, the huge front door lit by flaming torches on either side, a line of expensive-looking cars parked neatly on the right.

‘I like the flames. Nice idea for the club,’ James said, driving up to the gatehouse, where a man with a clipboard stepped from the shadows.

James had only agreed to come because he thought there might be something in it for him. He always had an eye on the main chance, my loving husband, and I’d understood in the last few days that although the record label was still doing well, and his properties in New York and Europe were still ticking over nicely, the London club had just lost a major investor, meaning its relaunch was hanging in the balance. James was on the prowl for more backing, and fast.

At the top of the huge stone stairs we were handed champagne and shown through the dark-panelled hall, hung with tapestries of archers and deer, into a great drawing room, humming with polite conversation, the décor a peculiar clash of Gothic splendour and Arabic glamour. Small tables inlaid with gold sat between a leather three-piece suite and huge marble ashtrays festooned the antique sideboards, whilst the mantelpiece groaned with expensively framed photographs of family, a few of a grinning polo team and a huge white yacht in glittering blue seas.

The walls were hung with exquisite art that looked like it would be wasted on the majority of the guests, a mixture of portly middle-aged men and impeccable women with skinny ankles and expensive hair who basked in the heat of a great log fire.

‘Fuck,’ James muttered, downing his drink in two gulps. ‘Wake me up when the party begins. I thought you said this would be fun.’

‘Shh, J,’ I warned. ‘Be nice, please.’ My heart sank as I spotted the local MP, Eddie Johnson, in the corner. Thankfully Johnson’s wife was nowhere to be seen.

Tina and her bespectacled husband approached us now and they began to discuss the last series of The Wire with James whilst I eyed the photographs behind them. I’d just picked up a heavy gold frame housing the picture of a dark-haired doe-eyed teenage girl when a low voice made me jump.

‘Mrs Miller, I presume?’

‘Yes.’ I replaced the photograph quickly and turned, composing my face as my brain caught up with fact. ‘You must be Mr Kattan?’

‘Indeed.’ The elegant dark-haired man inclined his head politely. ‘Charmed to meet you.’

Involuntarily I looked back at the picture of the girl. The waterlogged girl from the petrol station, the girl from the protest in the newspaper. Kattan followed my eyes.

‘I believe you met my daughter the other night.’

‘Ah.’ The all-seeing eye. ‘Yes, I think I did.’

‘She was having a very bad day.’

‘A bad day.’ You could say that again. ‘She seemed a little – confused.’

‘Yes. She was taken ill on her way home from London. A bad oyster, I believe.’

‘Poor thing. Is she all right now?’

‘Yes, thank God. Salmonella can make you quite delirious, her doctor tells me.’

‘Sounds horrible. Is she here?’

He sighed. ‘I was sincerely hoping that she would be, Mrs Miller, but …’ His Middle Eastern accent was almost imperceptible. ‘The party would help her, I think. Meet some local people, make some new friends. But I am afraid she has gone – how do you say it? – walkabout?’

‘I’m sorry.’ The image of her wailing face spun through my head; the contorted face in the newspaper. ‘Doesn’t she like parties?’

‘Usually. But she has had some … some trouble recently with a young man.’

‘What kind of trouble?’ I was intrigued.

‘Oh, the usual, you know.’ He inspected his fingernails briefly. ‘I think the boyfriend is what the films might term a “heart-breaker.”‘

‘Poor girl.’ I was genuinely sympathetic. ‘There’s nothing more painful than love.’

He caught my eye. He had a neat intelligent face, dark hooded eyes. Not handsome but rather noble. ‘That, my dear Mrs Miller, is undoubtedly true.’

‘I hope she feels better soon. It’s a lovely party.’ I smiled again.

‘Thank you so much for inviting us. I’m looking forward to meeting your son.’

‘Thank you.’ He bowed again. ‘I’m afraid he is not here yet. I hope he will arrive soon.’ Dressed in a grey suit, Kattan was the epitome of elegance, with a presence that pervaded the party, that drew the guests’ eyes to him. His gestures were almost courtly, and his immaculate teeth, when he smiled, were a startling white against his olive skin. He might be renowned, but there was no doubt the man was also something of a mystery.

The heat of the room hit me and I fought a strange urge to sigh.

‘It is wonderful to see so many people in my home,’ Kattan said, beckoning a waiter. ‘I fear it is often a little empty. And I believe you are not alone tonight?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I must introduce my husband.’ I caught James’s eye across the room, he raised a hand in greeting.

‘I hope you do not mind me saying, Mrs Miller, this colour red, it compliments you well.’ His voice was like a caress, and I flushed, reminding myself I was here to do a job.

‘That’s a Stubbs, isn’t it, Mr Kattan?’ I indicated an old painting of a glossy racehorse on the wall behind him. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘It is indeed. One of my favourites for the line and realisation.’ Kattan stood beside me now. ‘I have some marvellous hunters here on the estate. I fear they do not get enough usage.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Do you ride? You could borrow one if you so desire.’

‘Thank you.’ I shuddered involuntarily. ‘But I don’t really.’ I would never ride again, I knew that much. ‘Do you?’

A flicker of something indecipherable crossed his face. ‘No. Maya does, occasionally, but it seems infrequent now.’

I had a sudden image of this man’s hand on my bare arm. It was incredibly warm in here; the drink was obviously going to my head. James finally wandered over to shake hands.

‘Great picture.’ My husband helped himself to a canapé from a tray, pointing at a Picasso next to an Emin. ‘Think I prefer his earlier stuff, though. Not sure about all those weird-shaped women, personally.’ He shoved the shiny caviar in his mouth inelegantly. ‘Bit spiky for me. I like a boob or two.’

‘James!’ I reproved softly, embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes. ‘So what exactly brought you to our neck of the woods, Mr Kattan?’

‘This property came up for rental. I liked the countryside here. It is peaceful to me.’

‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’ James agreed.

I doubted James had noticed as much as a hedgerow since the day we left London. Very occasionally he ventured into the garden to kick a ball with Freddie, but he spent most of his time in the studio or rushing back to the city.

‘Also,’ Kattan stroked his beard lightly, ‘I have some interests in the area.’

‘Really?’ I was curious. ‘What kind of interests?’

‘My son, Ash, wishes to run for Parliament in the next election, Mrs Miller.’ Hadi Kattan caught my eye and held it. ‘He is very fond of the area. He was educated nearby. This party is for him.’

Ash. The name was like a klaxon. The man from the garage, the man who dragged the girl back to the car.

I glanced around uneasily.

‘Unfortunately he has been delayed. He’s travelling back from Dubai. He has only recently returned to Britain after a few years abroad.’

‘Why did he leave?’

Hadi Kattan sighed again. ‘He became tired of people moving away from him on the underground trains, I believe.’

‘That kind of prejudice must be very hard to bear,’ I grimaced. For some reason, my internal alarm was ringing.

‘It is the world we live in now, it seems,’ Kattan said with dignity.

‘Can you tell me about your son’s political ambitions?’

‘I’m sure he will be happy to tell you himself, when he arrives.’

I smiled. Thwarted. ‘So I believe you’re also a very important person indeed in one of the big banks.’ I took a sip of champagne, relieved to look away from his intense gaze. I noticed that no alcohol had passed his lips yet.

‘Briefly,’ he acquiesced graciously. ‘I was a director of World-Trident. But it was not for me. I do not particularly enjoy dancing to the corporate tune.’

‘A man after my own heart. Impressive, though, Mr Kattan.’ James raised an eyebrow. ‘One of the big players.’

Kattan shrugged elegantly. ‘Hardly. And banks are not the place to be at the moment, I think, my friends, as we are currently learning, no? I got out at the right time. I prefer the art in my home to the numbers on the screen.’

He gestured at the pictures; my eye was drawn to a diamond-encrusted skull in a glass case behind him.

‘Damien Hirst?’

‘Indeed. Are you a fan?’

‘Not really, I’m afraid.’ I went to take a better look. ‘He pretty much stands for everything asinine about the past decade. Clever bloke, though, I guess.’ I glanced at my husband. ‘Tapping into hedonistic greed the way he did.’

James drained his champagne and winked at me. ‘Another bloke after my own heart.’

As I straightened up, a silver Porsche hurtled up the drive and skidded to a halt in front of the house. I watched through the windows as a young black man flung himself out of the car and headed towards the house but he didn’t get very far before he was halted by a tall figure, hood up against the wind. Hand on his arm, he was apparently trying to calm the shorter man, who gesticulated wildly at the house. Kattan glanced at them, and then turned me gently away.

‘Anyway, I did not just mean business interests. I am more keen on the recreational type now.’ Heads had begun to turn at the commotion; both men were now getting into the car as I glanced round again. Kattan smoothed his lapel carefully with a flattened hand; he spoke a little louder. ‘I am thinking of taking up guns, actually. I have quite a selection here.’

‘Guns?’ My ears pricked up.

‘Shooting birds, you know,’ Kattan smiled benevolently. ‘Such a civilised part of your culture, I think.’

‘Yeah, well,’ James grinned and tossed an olive stone on the fire. The flames flared, ‘more civilised than shooting people, I guess.’

I glanced out of the window. The Porsche had gone.

‘Perhaps you would care to join me some time, Mr Miller. I would be honoured. We even have a hunting lodge on the estate designed specifically for lunch, I am told.’

‘Don’t mind if I do, Mr Kattan.’ James toasted Kattan with his glass. ‘Always up for a new challenge, me.’

‘I always thought I might be a good shot, actually,’ I interjected.

‘I am not sure about women with guns, I must be honest,’ Hadi Kattan bowed. ‘What do you think, Mr Miller? It is not that fitting, I feel.’

‘I don’t know,’ my husband smirked. ‘Think of Charlie’s Angels!’

I stared at James in disbelief. ‘I think we’re talking more The Shooting Party than Cameron Diaz, actually, James. Tweed and plus fours, not bikinis and bling.’

A thickset young Asian man with greased-back hair and small silver hoops in his ears entered the room now and hovered behind us, very still and straight, his hands clasped behind his back. The throb of a helicopter could be heard in the distance, above the sound of conversation.

‘Zack. Please,’ Kattan beckoned him over. The young man muttered something in his ear.

‘Please, excuse me.’ Kattan moved away from us. ‘I have a small business matter to attend to.’

‘What’s The Shooting Party then? A porno about coming?’ James muttered.

‘Don’t be so crude, darling,’ I murmured back. ‘It really doesn’t behove one so well educated.’

‘Don’t be a bitch.’ He glared at me.

‘I’m not, really.’ I felt exhausted suddenly. There was a crisscross of tension in this house; not only between me and James, but the men arguing outside – and Kattan’s own demeanour seemed rather intense. ‘I’m going to find the loo.’

Crossing the panelled hall, I caught my reflection in a great ornate mirror as the door to the party swung shut, the noise quickly fading behind it. My eyes were glittering from alcohol, which I was unused to these days, and James was right: I definitely looked more curvaceous in my old velvet dress than I should.

Hand on the loo door, my heart jumped as I heard a thud from above. I hesitated. Checking behind me, I turned back and quickly headed up the huge oak staircase.

Door after door on the first corridor revealed nothing but empty rooms, a few with furniture shrouded eerily in dust-sheets, like small children playing ghosts. I paused again. In the distance I could hear the chop of the helicopter above – and something more sinister.

Somewhere not far from me, a woman was crying.

Hastily I opened the last door to reveal an ornate bathroom, and shut it again. I hurried back to the staircase and crossed to the opposite corridor, a slight sweat breaking out on my top lip as the crying got louder. The first door was locked. I rattled the door handle.

‘Hello?’

I thought I heard a scuffle inside. Then silence.

‘Hello,’ I said more urgently. I thought of the wailing woman, although the crying had stopped. ‘Maya?’

I heard the rasp and flare of a match and spun round. The fair man I’d met so briefly at the petrol station was leaning on the wall behind me, watching me impassively. I was struck by the incredible ease with which he held himself.

‘Oh,’ I said stupidly. ‘You scared me.’

‘Lost, Mrs Miller?’ He chucked the match in the vase of roses beside him. ‘The party’s downstairs, I think you’ll find.’

I realised he’d just used my name. ‘I was just looking for the bathroom, actually,’ I stuttered. The champagne had definitely gone to my head.

‘Really? All the way up here?’

‘Yes, really. Like you said,’ I attempted a winning smile, ‘I got a bit lost.’

He stepped closer to me, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body as he reached down and circled my wrist with his fingers; I pulled back. I could smell lemon again. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated me. He didn’t let go.

‘What happened to your face?’

‘It – it’s just a graze.’ I touched my cheek instinctively. I’d forgotten about James’s scratch.

His expression was impossible to read, but his fingers round my wrist tightened and he pulled me along the corridor to the first door so I stumbled in my heels.

‘What are you doing?’ I mumbled. He didn’t answer. He just leaned over me and opened the door, then turned me round.

‘I’m showing you what you were looking for.’

His hand was in the small of my back now as he pushed me forward. I tried to turn back, anxious not to be shoved into this dark room by him – but he blocked the way with his shoulder so I couldn’t pass.

‘I hope …’ my voice felt thick, ‘I hope …’

‘You hope what?’

‘I do hope you’re not threatening me.’

‘Don’t be so stupid.’ He looked at me with those blue blue eyes. ‘Why would I do that?’

We stared at each other. His eyes were blue as untroubled sky. Then slowly, very slowly, I backed into the bathroom and shut the door between us, leaning my cheek for a minute against the cool wood. The idea that he was there on the other side disturbed me intensely. I sat on the side of the bath and put my head between my knees for a while.

When I came out, he’d gone. I crept across the corridor and tried the locked door again. This time, it swung open. Behind it lay a pretty yellow bedroom, all sprigged wallpaper and a four-poster bed; in the corner, a Louis XIV chair with a woman’s silk robe thrown carelessly across it. There was a silver hairbrush set on the dressing table and a bottle of Dior perfume, but not much else – apart from another door in the corner, behind which I thought I could hear movement. Taking a deep breath, I headed towards it.

‘Hello?’ I said again, and then I put my hand out and wrenched it open. A hiss and a squeal, and a ball of white fur launched itself between my feet and disappeared under the bed. A bloody Persian cat! I laughed tremulously at my own stupidity.

As I went to close the bedroom door behind me, I glanced at a portrait hanging on the wall. The sleepy brown eyes of a young woman gazed down on me and I froze on the spot. I felt the same icy sensation I’d felt in the office the other day.

I stared and stared up at her, almost expecting her to blink back – but of course she didn’t.

I hurried down the stairs, back to the party, her eyes boring through the door into my back the whole way.

Downstairs, the party was beginning to thin out. Kattan’s young henchman was gone; the MP, Eddie Johnson, was so drunk he was in danger of toppling over like a giant Weeble. Over by the fireplace my husband was deep in conversation with Kattan, both talking in low voices, Kattan smoking a cigar. The smell reminded me of my childhood.

‘All right, my petal?’ James kissed my head as I arrived at his side. I smiled weakly. My every instinct screamed that something was terribly wrong in this house, that the veneer of wealth and respectability covered up a darkness I couldn’t yet fathom; that so far it was impossible to put my finger on it. I felt the strongest desire to run away – but a stronger instinct to know the truth.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I murmured, smiling at James, who looked like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire cat.

‘I was just telling Mr Kattan about Revolver,’ James said, pocketing something. My heart sank.

‘Indeed.’ Hadi Kattan, smiling pleasantly, exhaled a plume of blue smoke. ‘Every man should have the chance to own a nightclub. Life would be so boring without a little fun, no?’

‘I guess it’s always good to let your hair down.’ I took James’s arm like the loyal wife I was.

‘Here’s my card,’ James said. ‘Let me know what you think.’

‘I’m so sorry to drag him away, Mr Kattan, but I think – babysitters and all – you know … ‘ I wanted to be home with my children right now.

‘It’s been fantastic to meet you, sir.’ My fickle husband, so easily turned. ‘Guess we’re going to have to call a cab.’ James looked ruefully at his empty glass. I bit my lip. He had promised he would drive.

‘Please,’ Hadi Kattan took my hand, ‘Danny Callendar can take you home. I am sorry you did not get to meet Ash. Next time, perhaps.’

‘Oh no, that’s fine, honestly,’ I said quickly. ‘Thank you, but a cab’s fine.’

‘Please, Mrs Miller,’ Kattan’s voice was silky, ‘I insist.’ He pressed his warm lips to my cold hand.

Waiting on the front steps, I shivered: the sudden drop in temperature pervading my bones.

‘Something’s not right here,’ I muttered to James. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s not right.’

‘Rubbish.’ My husband shrugged himself into his leather coat and switched on his phone. ‘He’s a charming bastard, I’ll give him that.’

I thought of Kattan’s lips on my hand and shuddered. ‘All that stuff about women and guns, for Christ’s sake. It’s like the bloody dark ages. It’s like the bloody Taliban.’

‘For Christ sake, Rose,’ James’s cheerful demeanour dissolved, ‘you sound like that BNP bloke on the news the other day.’

‘I don’t.’ I was appalled. ‘I just – I don’t trust men like Kattan, and I’ve met a few. All smiles on the surface and bigotry beneath.’

‘You sound rather bigoted yourself, petal. You’re always looking for the worst in people.’

‘I’m not. I just look for the truth.’ I thought of the painting in the bedroom; I remembered James’s recent terrible nightmare. All these events were conspiring to bring back memories I’d suppressed for so long. I wondered whether I dare say it. ‘James—’

‘What?’ He was more interested in his phone.

‘It’s very odd. I just saw a picture, a painting upstairs.’

‘So? The whole house is full of bloody paintings.’

‘It really looked like Huriyyah,’ I whispered.

I definitely had his attention now.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ His dark eyes were furious. ‘I actually had a good evening for once. Don’t ruin it now with your stupid imaginings.’

‘I don’t think I was imagining it,’ I protested quietly. ‘It really gave me a jolt.’

‘Just shut up, OK.’ He rounded on me. ‘OK?’

‘OK.’ I was taken aback by the force of his anger as the Range Rover pulled up beside us.

Grit and cut grass stung my eyes, and my hair lashed my face painfully as the helicopter finally landed, great blades chopping the air. James shoved me into the car and swung in beside me. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he yelled over the din. ‘This definitely saves us a wait.’

My heart sinking, I caught the fair man’s eye in the mirror and looked away as he raised an eyebrow, a very faint grin playing on his face.

‘Shame we can’t jump in the chopper.’ James stretched out his legs. ‘Best way to travel.’

‘It belongs to Ash Kattan,’ Callendar said, pulling away smoothly. The helicopter blades were slowing as I turned to take a final look at the house.

I saw a face at an upstairs window; I figured it was about where the bedroom I’d been in was. Just in time, I suppressed the urge to shout ‘Stop’.

‘Where is Maya Kattan at the moment?’ I leaned forward. ‘Do you know?’

‘For fuck’s sake, Rose,’ James hissed. ‘Just leave it.’

‘It’s just that Mr Kattan said he wanted her to meet us,’ I pressed on regardless. ‘It was a shame she couldn’t make the party.’

James took my hand and squeezed it so hard I winced. I glanced into the driver’s mirror as I sat back. Danny Callendar looked at me inscrutably.

‘I’m not quite sure where she is, Mrs Miller,’ he answered easily. ‘Perhaps she’s gone up to London for a few days. She often does.’

‘Why?’ I wondered who the man driving her silver Porsche had been. I wondered if I dared ask.

‘I wouldn’t know.’ His tone told me I would get no further tonight. He offered us a paper bag over his shoulder. ‘Lemon sherbet?’

We both declined.

Silence fell across the car. One thing was certain: I knew for sure I couldn’t do Xav’s story now. However much my appetite was whetted, I had to stay home with the children. I’d sworn for their sake I’d never do anything risky again; motherhood had to come first now, and the atmosphere in the manor didn’t bode well at all.

Leaning my head against the glass, I watched the tall hedgerows slide by in the dark, listening to the hiss of the tyres on the road. I was sitting beside my husband, but I was lonelier than I ever remembered being before I was married. I felt a strange longing for something I could not describe.

As we pulled into our drive, James’s mobile rang. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he thanked Danny Callendar as he picked up the call, sliding out of his side. ‘Good news, Liam. New backer in the offing, I do believe.’ My husband disappeared through the studio gate.

Before I could open it, Danny was already at the door.

‘I’m fine, really,’ I insisted quietly, but he held out a hand. Eventually I took it and looked up at him as I jumped down. I found I couldn’t smile.

‘Thank you very much,’ I said. My skin felt like it was burning where his hand touched me. For a split second his hand seemed to linger on mine, and then he was back in the car. I saw a flame through the dark window as he lit his roll-up, and then he was gone.