Chapter 20

Recognising the sound of the 'pips' and the metallic clunk as coins were fed into the slot, Robert waited for the caller to speak with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He had no doubt that whoever it was, contacting him from a telephone box, was not somebody he wished to speak to. Gerry and Don, that pair of money grabbing idiots or Kitch, the money grabbing weasel, he just didn't have the patience for them right now. And the other possibility, Anthony Rhodes… the thought of hearing his voice in his ear caused his heart to momentarily freeze within an icy, clenched fist of fear and panic. He wasn't coping with the build up to this… event. He needed it to be over and done with; the less contact he had with Rhodes, the less responsible he would feel. If he could have just pressed a button to take care of it, he would have. How much easier for Anthony Rhodes to be some mythical genie, there to do his bidding with just a simply put wish and then to disappear in a puff of smoke.

Would he have backed out by now if Jonathan hadn't gone after Harry? The fool had hammered the final nail into the coffin. It had enraged him more than he would have ever imagined. It shouldn't matter anymore but unfortunately for Jonathan, it did. He had denied being in love with her, had claimed to not even fancy her although he had found that pretty hard to believe seeing as she attracted male attention wherever she went. And she, with those innocent blue eyes and pouting lips had claimed the feelings she harboured for him were of those for a brother. Only how could she know anything of fraternal feelings when she was an only child herself? She had enjoyed Jonathan's longing gaze, flirted with him, teasing him with a hand on the knee here, a peck on the cheek there. Harriet was a dirty little tease when it came to men; she knew exactly how to get them under her spell with that virginal aloofness, after all, it had worked on him hadn't it?

"'ello, boss. It's me."

Immediately he felt his hackles rise. He knew it was Kitch speaking but he detested his over familiarity, as though they were more than reluctant acquaintances.

When Robert remained silent, Kitch was obliged to prompt him.

"What is it?" he asked gruffly at last.

"Dunno. Maybe somethin', maybe nothin'."

Another pause until Robert was forced to respond, "Don't waste my time."

"The blonde what gave yer brother the cash… she's yer sister ain't she?"

Robert could hear in his voice the smugness in the assumption.

"And what if she is?"

"Saw her around Covent Garden coupla hours ago. She's lookin' for 'im. Doin' the rounds, she is, 'er and 'er copper boyfriend."

There was another pause but this time it was because Robert was trying to digest what he was hearing.

"Copper boyfriend?" he repeated, instantly regretting that he had now made it clear to Kitch that he hadn't known about this man. It gave him the upper hand, forcing Robert to ask for more information.

"You don't know about 'im then?"

Robert grimaced. He could even hear that creepy little smile.

"So what?"

"So neither does anyone else. They're keepin' it a secret. Don't want any of their plod mates to know anyway."

"How do you know that?" he barked, his mind racing.

"Let's just say, I 'ad a bird's eye view and an ear to the ground. Well into each other they was, gropin' an' snoggin'."

With his head throbbing hollowly, Robert tried to make sense of it. That simply wasn't the Harriet he remembered, seeing two men at the same time, on an intimate basis. And not only that but putting on a public display of affection.

"You're quite certain it was her?"

"Course I am!" Kitch sounded insulted.

But Robert was far from convinced. "How close were you to her?"

He laughed smuttily. "I was near enough on top of 'er… same as 'im. They was sittin' outside some restaurant in the Market Building – I was looking down at 'em," he clarified. "An' before that they showed up down the flop 'ouse on Adelaide Street. It was yer sister alright."

Kitch knew he had been right about there being something really funny going on between the three of them. Tosser Makepeace sounded like he might just shit himself and he hadn't even given him the meat yet.

"And the man? What did he look like? You're sure they were together… I mean, a couple. They weren't just messing about?"

He couldn't help himself; he had to know. Jonathan shagging his ex-wife had been the icing on the cake but what if that icing had just melted? Could he still actually go through with the elimination? He needed time to think but had no idea if time had already run out for his brother.

"Bloke was a septic tank. Good lookin' sort, kind that attracts the birds by just givin' 'em the eye. An' they were together alright. Probably together right now if yer know what I mean."

Robert felt nauseous. What was going on? She was carrying on with two men? No, not her. That just wouldn't happen.

Kitch thought he might as well try his luck. "And um… somethin' the American was on about might interest you…"

"What?" he snapped, knowing he sounded desperate.

"Tell you what, why don't we meet up and we can discuss it properly."

"Just tell me!"

"I don't think so, Mister M. I'm going to need financial recompense for all my hard graft."

Robert clenched his teeth. He didn't have time to meet anywhere. He had to find out if there was any possibility that pair of goons, Gerry and Don could have been mistaken when they said they saw Jonathan with his hands all over Harriet.

"I'm too busy this evening, Kitch. If you want money, you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow. You know you'll get it."

Stern. Matter of fact with no room for manoeuvre. "Whatever it is you've got, I can find it out for myself given time but if you tell me now, you get the payment. Take it or leave it."

Kitch deliberated for only scant seconds, his reasoning being that these toffs usually prided themselves on being men of their word.

"How much are we talkin' 'ere?"

"That depends on what you've got."

"I can tell you exactly where your brother was on Saturday night and what he was up to."

Up to. The words jangled in his ears. Was it true then? Was Jonathan seeing her?

"He was in Camberwell on Saturday, at her place," he said blandly. "Now tell me something I don't know."

That knocked the wind out of Kitch's sails. He'd thought that piece of information from the horse's mouth as it were would win him a handsome reward.

"I know other stuff too," he blustered. "I 'eard everythin' they said, near enough when they was in that restaurant."

But it was now paramount in Robert's mind that he speak to those so-called eye witnesses.

There was a huge difference between paying a few hundred to have your brother seriously frightened and twelve grand to have him murdered.

"You okay?" Dempsey asked as they made their way back down to reception.

Harry was quiet but then, it wasn't surprising.

"Fine. Just a bit of a shock to see him like that, that's all. He was always such a strong minded person."

"It's a shame alright."

Harry enquired into the last time Jonathan had been in and discovered it had been six weeks which the receptionist admitted was strange as prior to this, he had been a frequent visitor, seeing his father at least once a week. Robert, on the other hand, had shown his face just once during that time.

"He has no compassion, that man!" Harry said of her ex-husband. "Looking back, I honestly think there was something lacking in his make-up. Patrick saw it. I used to think he was quite hard on him sometimes but he'd obviously seen Robert's dark side from the beginning."

They were walking back round to where their cars were parked side by side at the rear of the manor house.

"You know," said Dempsey, "the more I hear about this guy, the more I wanna smash his teeth down his throat."

"I wouldn't bother," Harry grated, "he's a lawyer don't forget; they're all slimy bastards and I'm sure him more than most."

"Yeah, well for him I'd be happy to accept the consequences."

Their pace slowed as they neared the Mercedes and Dempsey took his key from his pocket.

"There's a slim possibility that Robert might know where he'd be," she said hesitantly. "An even slimmer chance he knows where he is…"

"No!" Dempsey stated emphatically. "Put that idea right outa your head, Makepeace."

He'd been half expecting it; the notion that she might consider asking Robert gnawing at him like a dirty black rat.

Harry hadn't been wholly serious about asking for Robert's help and it really would be a last resort so she was a little bit shocked by the intensity of Dempsey's response.

"Well I realise there are plenty of other avenues to explore first," she told him defensively. "And even if he does know where Jonathan is, he probably wouldn't tell me out of sheer bloody-mindedness."

"Don't go getting' in contact with him again is all I'm sayin'."

He instantly regretted his words. He of all people should know that like himself, Makepeace usually viewed opposition as a challenge.

Her silence bothered him.

"Came out wrong, didn't it? What I really meant was, in my humble opinion, goin' there would be a mistake so I'm askin' you to think long an' hard before you open up any kind of a dialogue with him."

A tiny gust of wind blew a weft of hair across Harry's face and Dempsey brushed it away with his left hand, feeling that sickening twinge in his shoulder as he did so.

"Pretty please?" he cajoled.

"Well I must admit to being fascinated by this 'humble opinion' of yours," she said snootily. "I wasn't aware there was anything remotely humble about you."

He grinned. "What can I say? You bring out the proletarian in me."

"If only that were true, it would make my life so much easier," she said and as she walked around to her own car, "I was going to say 'I'll follow you' but now I'm wondering if the proletarian should be following me!"

"Hey, I like following you – always a great view."

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixing on her beautifully rounded rear to emphasize his point.

Ignoring the blatant 'appreciation', Harry got in her car, popped on her oversized sunglasses and sat facing front as she waited for him to do the same.

She was relatively sure she appeared calm on the outside even though she had been quite rattled by Patrick Makepeace's condition and now, she had the unsettling prospect of an overnight stay at Dempsey's flat. She realised then just how adept she was at papering over the cracks. She had it down to a fine art, didn't she?

She heard the clunk of his car door shutting followed by the firing up of the engine.

She needed to get past this… this 'distaste that made her stomach clench whenever she thought of the parade of girls who had sashayed like beauty queens through his front door and fallen like dominoes into his bed. It didn't matter, it was in the past and with the greatest will in the world, that couldn't be changed. But part of the trouble was that she could put faces to a few of them, names even. A particular favourite she used to taunt herself with was Annabelle, her old school friend although maybe 'friend' was a bit strong. Young Harriet had always looked down her nose somewhat at the other girl's flighty antics so she hadn't really been too surprised when she'd thrown herself at Dempsey that time. Even back then it had bothered her; just a little and in a way she really couldn't account for, producing feelings she couldn't put names against. Maybe it had just been annoyance that they had tumbled into bed together so readily. Annabelle hadn't been shy about telling Harry they had slept together on their first date…and the subsequent two and that sort of hedonistic behaviour always had a tendency to poke at her moralistic sweet spot.

She actually jumped in her seat when Dempsey leant on the horn and she looked up to find he was waiting for her at the end of the broad driveway between the gateposts, indicator flashing to turn out.

Gathering her thoughts, she turned the key in the ignition and followed him out.

Checking in the rear view mirror, Dempsey dropped an inch or so lower in his seat and adjusted his shades, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Right behind him.

Half an hour and they'd be home.

He'd prepped the meatballs last night so now all he had to do was cook the pasta and chop up a little side salad. Everything else was ready.

He'd probably never needed the apartment to look as good as it did now.

Last night he had cleaned up, vacuumed and made sure it was all just so, exactly how Harry would want it to be. Short of renting a new apartment, there was nothing else he could've done.

He was kind of nervous; not the same nervous as Saturday but he had the feeling tonight was nearly as big a deal for Harry and he had to get things right.

Almost without thinking about it, he reached over to the glove compartment, sprang the catch and felt around for the bottle of pills amid the accumulated detritus of parking fines, food wrappers, breath mints and chewing gum. Flipping the cap with his thumb, (some of what he'd bought from Pepe Sullivan were in conveniently basic plastic tubs rather than the child-proof variety) he brought the container to his mouth and tipped a few in. Now he was covered for hopefully the rest of the evening. A sense of relief took the edge off almost immediately and he settled back, checking the rear view mirror again.

It was almost dark when they entered Dempsey's apartment and he drew the curtains across the big bay window before switching on the overhead light which he realised was way too harsh. There was no happy medium. He possessed only one single lamp which was fine for wooing a lady into bed after a night on the town. Along with a little mood music, it created the perfect seductive ambiance; the exact balance to tip the scales quite efficiently in his favour. But even if he was attempting to seduce her, he was pretty certain Harry wasn't the type to fall for that kind of crap. Miraculously though, it now seemed like there was just as much possibility of her wanting to get him between the sheets!

"The lighting sucks. Guess I need to do somethin' 'bout that," he acknowledged.

Harry seemed to find that funny if the stifled titter was anything to go by.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"It's never bothered you before…" and then with a hook to her lip, "maybe the lamp would work better? What do you think?"

So she was making fun of him.

"What about your scented candles?" she continued playfully. "And you could pop on a Barry White record whilst you're about it."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, Makepeace. I make an innocent observation on how lousy the light is in here an' you're branding my ass for a dog."

He tried to look hurt but didn't quite manage it. He did however, succeed in garnering a kiss on the cheek for his efforts.

"Awww, never mind," she commiserated, "we all run out of scented candles occasionally. Just as long as you still have that Joi de Vie bubble bath."

She watched for his reaction, smiling passively before sitting down on his sofa and crossing her legs to adopt a relaxed pose.

She had tested the words in her head first and they had come out bathed in sarcasm, the version that was filtered through her mouth, tempered with a silky, teasing lilt that hid her rancour.

When she had first leant that he had a bottle of Joi de Vie bath essence in his possession, it had made her curious to know its provenance – now it pained her to think of it. She had never asked for details and probably never would. She didn't actually want to know the story behind it. She wasn't a complete masochist.

"I do! You remember that!" he laughed.

Unfortunately, yes, she did.

"If you feel like a soak in the tub later, Princess, it's somewhere in the bathroom, all yours… unless you want company," he added.

"We'll see. You might offer me a drink first though rather than a bath. I could certainly use it."

"Yeah, sure. Wine or somethin' stronger?"

"Do you have any vodka?" she asked, uncertain as to what spirits his shelves might hold.

"Straight up?"

"Just a threat of tonic water and lots of ice, thanks."

"You got it."

He picked up her overnight bag that he'd left at the doorway.

"Make yourself at home, okay? Put on the box, spin some vinyl… I'm gonna drop this an' then get things started in the kitchen."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"You insult me, Makepeace. I got everything under control here. Literally half an hour, you gonna have an epicurean delight served up in front of you like you won't believe. You're gonna be singin' 'O Sol Mio an' planting an olive tree in the yard when you taste this, I'm tellin' ya."

He disappeared into the hallway, his whistled rendition of the old Italian song drifting back to her.

He was certainly in a good mood and it buoyed her up a little as she listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen; the clinking of glasses, the rattle of ice, the opening and closing of cupboard and fridge doors.

It all seemed too quiet sitting here alone but she didn't feel completely comfortable with helping herself to his music collection, not now, not when she might find herself wondering who else had casually studied that pigeon holed assembly of records. How on earth had she got to be this insecure, she wondered. She was attractive to men, she knew that, she could flirt comfortably and confidently and feel that she had the upper hand. Dating men wasn't a problem either as a general rule, it was when the fun stuff turned serious that she couldn't cope, when the dating surreptitiously became a full blown relationship. The acknowledgment scared her. That put her in the same bracket as Dempsey, didn't it?

But Dempsey was a self-confessed player of women, bored by the long term, eager to try out whatever waited around the corner. For Harry, commitment was a fearful prospect for a very different reason, because from bitter experience she knew that it made her vulnerable, left her weak and malleable. From the day she had fallen in love with Robert Makepeace, he had slowly eroded away her fortitude and sapped her spirit, she could see that now. And now, here she was again, wide open to emotional battery, having fallen in love with someone like Dempsey.

He walked in at that moment and she snapped out of her reverie, taking her vodka and tonic from him and feeling unnerved by the way her heartbeat quickened simply by the way he looked at her.

Thanks for taking the time to read :-)

I'm half way through the next chapter now and so far it's flowing quite well... maybe because I enjoy writing 'Demparry' ;-))