Alchemist

  ‘I’m sure yours would have been better.’

  She shook her head and took another sip of the powerful French red. ‘This is perfection.’ She forked a tiny new potato into her mouth.

  He picked a wing up in his fingers and sucked it clean. ‘So is this – you’re an amazing cook.’

  She shook her head, modestly. ‘I’m rather hit and miss; I tend to improvise my way through most recipes. Sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t.’

  ‘Me, I do a terrific scallops in black bean sauce and stir-fried vegetables. Maybe I could try it on you some time?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I just have to get my kitchen sorted out. We’ll make a date.’

  ‘Where is it, your new place?’

  ‘Fulham – well, kind of Fulham – just off a road called –’ He thought for a moment. ‘Redcliffe Road.’

  ’Redcliffe Road?’

  ‘Uh huh. Know it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She tapped the side of her wine glass. ‘I was there today. Redcliffe Road is where Dr Corbin was killed.’

  ‘Jesus! That construction site down by the lights?’

  ‘Yes. Another coincidence?’

  ‘One I could do without.’

  She looked up at him. ‘It’s a nice area. I like that part of London. How did you choose it?’

  ‘It’s within the Bendix Schere approved zone.’

  ‘Within the what zone?’

  ‘You don’t know about that? You didn’t read the Bendix Bible?’

  ‘I have a copy in my office but I’ve never been right through it.’

  ‘Makes fascinating reading. You and I and your father and everyone else in the company are only allowed to live in allocated areas of town and countryside.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Am I OK here?’

  ‘You should check; if not they could insist you move.’

  ‘Let them try,’ she said darkly, then grinned at him. ‘Tell me about the flat – is it in one of those lovely terraced houses?’

  ‘Yup, really elegant. It’s just a one-bedroom, but it has a big living room and walk-through kitchen, high ceiling, with all the mouldings.’

  ‘Sounds gorgeous,’ she said enthusiastically.

  ‘Why don’t you come and have dinner with me tomorrow and I’ll show it to you? Might have to be a takeaway or something.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  He raised his glass slowly and held it in front of his face, and their eyes locked. Then he pushed the glass forward, lightly touching hers. ‘I think you’re really lovely,’ he said.

  Monty blushed a fraction and smiled warmly at him; her attraction to him was fuelled further by the wine. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed silently, and felt a lump of excitement tingling within her.

  ‘How come you’re not married? Or don’t have a queue of guys with red roses lined up around the block? Or maybe you do?’

  ‘No, afraid not.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just a very dedicated career girl, I suppose.’

  He tilted his head a little. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He nodded at the painting on the wall, of St Mark’s Square. He had noticed the artist’s signature earlier. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Like it?’

  ‘I think you’ve got talent. You’re wasting yourself in the pharmaceutical industry.’

  She shook her head, then in a moment of weakness took a Marlboro from the pack he proffered and let him light it. She inhaled and felt a dizzying buzz in her head, then coughed and had to apologize.

  ‘Sorry – my first in five years!’ She took a second, much more cautious drag, and cleared her mind. ‘Painting’s not important. There are plenty of pictures in the world, thousands of painters far more talented than me, and one more is neither here nor there. But there aren’t thousands of people like my father. There aren’t even hundreds.’

  ‘Probably not even a dozen,’ Conor said.

  She took a gulp of wine, then another more daring drag. ‘God, this tastes good. You bastard, you’re going to get me hooked on smoking again!’

  He leaned over, gently prised the cigarette from her fingers and crushed it out.

  ‘Hey! I was really enjoying it.’

  ‘Oscar Wilde once said that a cigarette was the most perfect thing – because it always leaves one unsatisfied.’ He looked at her expectantly.

  ‘Very true,’ she said.

  ‘So, quit while you’re ahead, OK? And maybe the same should apply to Bendix Schere.’

  ‘Quit Bendix?’

  ‘Quit investigating Maternox.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want you to come to any harm.’

  She looked at the curled, crushed butt in the ashtray. ‘Conor, I don’t quit anything easily.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ He laid his own cigarette down in the ashtray and watched her face. ‘I just told you Charley Rowley doesn’t have any idea what we’re dealing with. Nor do you.’

  ‘What are we dealing with, Conor?’

  He shook his head. ‘I really think you should try to forget it.’

  Monty argued back. ‘It was you who encouraged me, if you remember. When I was in hospital and you hinted pretty strongly that Jake Seals’ death wasn’t an accident.’

  He picked up his cigarette again. ‘It had begun before that for you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t put any thoughts or doubts into your mind that weren’t already there. Right?’

  It was true, she knew. She wouldn’t even have been in hospital in the first place if she hadn’t listened to Hubert Wentworth and agreed to help him. She touched the stem of her glass. ‘So come on, what is it that Charley Rowley and I don’t know about Bendix Schere?’

  ‘Tell me first what you do know.’

  She shrugged. ‘Not a lot – I –’ She hesitated suddenly. ‘Actually, I heard something very strange this afternoon. I’ve become quite friendly with one of the security guards in the lobby. There’ve been a couple of times when I’ve heard a lift going down to the basement – but the weird thing is that the sound doesn’t seem to have any origin. When I asked him about it he got very nervous. He told me I ought to check out the site plans some time – hinted that the Bendix Building wasn’t all it seemed. Then he said that I ought to read Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth.’ She smiled.

  He smiled back thinly. ‘Sounds like a guy with a pretty wild imagination,’ he said, and lowered his eyes evasively to his empty plate.

  ‘Conor, what is it you are hiding from me about the company?’

  ‘I don’t know, Montana. I just –’ He stood up, shaking his head, and walked round to her side of the table. Slowly he leaned over, took her hands and entwined his fingers in them. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to you, you don’t deserve it. And I’m not going to let it. OK?’

  She looked up at him, feeling a sudden intense longing for him, and agreed. ‘OK.’

  He squeezed her fingers a little harder, and lowered his face towards hers. ‘I’ve only just met you and I don’t intend losing you.’

  Monty felt a sensual excitement. His face filled her view, became a blur of warmth. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t want to lose you either.’

  He was smiling and there was something in that smile that she was finding hypnotic.

  ‘You know, Conor, it’s really strange. I feel as if I’ve known you for ages.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Their lips brushed lightly and she felt the sensation reverberate through her whole body. They brushed again, and she shuddered with pleasure, then reached up, spontaneously, and kissed him harder.

  He responded increasingly vigorously until she pushed her chair away and stood up, gripped him in her arms and pulled him up towards her. He put his arms around her in response, pulling her even tighter against his frame, kissing her for a long time.

  Then their mouths parted for an instant. Their eyes locked in a warm, blurry smile.

&
nbsp; ‘God, I want you,’ he said.

  ‘I want you too.’

  He touched her lightly on the forehead, and she took his hand, led him upstairs into her bedroom and switched on the heavily shaded lamp.

  For a brief moment they stood staring at each other. Then they closed the gap between them and began undressing each other, garment by garment. Thoughts of safe sex flashed through her mind. Condoms, he ought to wear a condom, but she did not want to stop. He looked clean, wholesome, he was fine, fine. He smelled fine too. Anyway, she’d stayed on the pill when her last relationship ended, so there was no problem there.

  When he laid her on the bed and entered her, she moaned in pleasure as he pushed up inside her, the firm muscles of his chest pressing against her breasts. Then he made her cry out as he pinched her nipples and kept hold of them, rolling them in his fingertips. She felt him swelling, pushing further and further up into her, felt a wave welling out from deep within, larger and larger, carrying her and flowing through her. As it exploded, firing sparks of pleasure through every cell of her body, she was lost to the world, completely and utterly lost.

  Afterwards they lay intertwined, faces pressed together. She opened an eye and saw his eye staring warmly, and could see the edges crinkled in a smile. She smiled back. ‘We needed that,’ she said.

  59

  ‘DADDY! DAADDDDDYYYYYYYYY! DADDDDYYYYYYYYY!’ The scream woke Monty. She sat up in wild confusion. It was pitch black in the room, and her mouth was parched. Her nostrils were filled with the rich, animal smells of sex.

  ‘DAAAAAADDDDDDYYYYYYYYYY!’

  She heard the scream again and fear tore through her like a knife. She had no idea of the time. They had made love constantly during an endless night and she felt utterly in love.

  Conor.

  She had been making love with Conor.

  Beside her he was thrashing and screaming in his sleep.

  ‘Hey,’ she said gently. ‘Conor, it’s OK.’

  He screamed again. Then he choked and another scream died in his throat as he stirred and seemed to come round, panting.

  ‘S’shoory. I – sh – shorry. Sh’din’t mean to wake you.’

  He was trembling. She caressed his forehead which was slippery with sweat. ‘What is it? What were you dreaming?’

  He recovered himself a little before replying. ‘Nothing – just the same –’ He stopped abruptly in mid-sentence, and reached out to the bedside table for his cigarettes.

  She kissed his cheek. ‘You poor thing, you’re shaking.’

  He lit a cigarette, then proffered it to her for a drag, but she shook her head.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  He inhaled deeply, then blew out the smoke. ‘It’s – kind of dumb. Just about a bird. A large black bird.’

  ‘Like a rook or something?’

  ‘I guess. Bigger. It’s not important, just a dumb dream.’

  ‘Dreams can be very scary,’ she said. ‘Often they’re telling us things.’

  ‘Sure.’ The tip of his cigarette glowed bright red as he drew on it again. He seemed to be calming down. ‘The tests on the Maternox capsules, Montana – I could do those myself, in one of the labs if I could get the spec and template.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be dangerous?’

  ‘Maybe over a weekend or something.’

  She had an idea and thumped the mattress. ‘What about our old lab? Most of the equipment’s still there – I sold it off yesterday afternoon, but it’ll be there for another month. You’d be totally private.’

  ‘Yup, that makes a lot of sense.’

  She felt wide awake and her mind was very clear now. ‘Conor, I have a friend who’s been taking Maternox and she’s now pregnant. I don’t know whether I should say anything to her. I don’t want to frighten her, and at the same time it would be absolutely horrific if –’

  ‘You need to find out the batch number of the capsules she was taking when she got pregnant, and I need to find out whether there is anything wrong with that batch.’

  ‘You’re pretty sure, though, aren’t you?’

  ‘We need to be certain.’

  ‘And what do we do when we are certain? Go to Sir Neil Rorke and let him know what’s going on?’

  ‘Let’s get all the facts before we make any decision. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ She kissed his shoulder, breathed in the sweet smell of the smoke. ‘Conor – you know quite a lot about physics. Are there any atmospheric conditions that can dehydrate plants?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  She told him about the state of the plants when she’d arrived home last evening, and the extreme coldness of the house.

  ‘Weird,’ he said, taking a final drag on his cigarette and crushing it out. Then he traced his finger along the silver chain of the tiny crucifix she wore around her neck. ‘Are you a Catholic?’

  ‘No. This was my mother’s. My father gave it to me after she died, said it would make him feel good if I wore it. It’s one of the few sentimental things he’s ever done.’

  She sensed him rolling it through his fingers as he asked her, ‘Do you wear it all the time?’

  ‘Yes – it’s become a sort of talisman.’

  ‘Do you believe in God?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Sometimes. Not exactly a bearded man on a cloud, but something. Do you?’

  ‘I believe there’s something out there.’

  They lay still for what seemed to Monty like several minutes, then Conor slowly began to kiss her again, working his way down her body. They made love and afterwards she slept; deep, dreamless sleep.

  60

  Tuesday 22 November, 1994

  The floor felt as if it was moving and Monty gripped the uselessly small washbasin to keep her balance, feeling suddenly light-headed from her exertions of the night. Her reflection in the mirror startled her; her face seemed to have aged ten years: sallow complexion, and a chin covered in red blotches where Conor’s stubble had rubbed.

  But her lips spread irrepressibly into a grin. She shook her head at herself. I feel good, she thought. The horrors of yesterday in London were locked away in another compartment.

  Just don’t look at the mirror, it’s jealous, that’s all … But she acknowledged that not having a man in her life, and not being bothered about finding one, had meant her taking less care over her appearance. Now, she decided, she would start doing something about it.

  Rain was falling outside, gentle, steady, pattering down. It was 7.30. Still fairly dark out there, but she viewed the approach of daylight with apprehension, not wanting the spell of the night they had just spent together broken.

  Conor left for work first, and Monty stood in the doorway watching until his car had disappeared from sight, then she went back inside to make sure the cats had enough food and water before leaving herself.

  Unhooking her mackintosh from the peg in the passageway, she decided to wear the Cornelia James printed shawl that went well with it, which she usually kept slung over another peg. But it wasn’t there. Strange, she thought, wracking her brains to see if she could remember leaving it somewhere else. No, she was certain it had been hanging there yesterday morning.

  It wasn’t long before Zandra Wollerton’s words came back to her: Maybe the bastard who broke in is a closet pervert. There’s a pair of cotton panties I thought I had in the wash box – can’t find them anywhere.

  Was there a snooper with some kind of fetish for women’s clothing? Panties and a shawl? The thought churned her stomach, but at the same time she felt a flash of anger. No one is going to make me afraid of being in my own home.

  She went back inside, phoned the local police and asked for PC Brangwyn. He came on the line after a short wait, and she told him she thought the intruder had taken her shawl. Without mentioning Maternox or the rest of the background, she told him about Zandra Wollerton’s break-in, then suggested there might be a connection.

  He promised to get hold of the file on that case a
nd to report back to her if his findings revealed anything of interest.

  The rain had stopped and stars pricked the dayglo orange haze of the London evening sky. Monty drove her MG slowly down the tree-lined street, looking for Conor’s address, uncomfortably aware that she was close to where Dr Corbin had died yesterday.

  She looked at the numbers outside each of the elegant if slightly dilapidated Victorian terraced houses, with their columned porches, glancing into her mirror every few moments.

  74. She braked, scanning the line of parked cars for a gap, and spotted a tight space about thirty yards ahead. Then she set the alarm, picked the bottle of champagne and the large brown envelope off the passenger seat, before locking the car and walking briskly to Conor’s building and up the steps.

  She pressed the button for Flat 2. A few moments later she heard a crackly voice, barely identifiable as Conor’s. ‘Come on up – first floor!’

  The lock buzzed; she heaved open the heavy front door and stepped within. At the top of the stairs Conor stood staring down at her, dressed in a faded grey sweatshirt, baggy jeans and beat-up trainers. She had not seen him in casual clothes before and they suited him, made him look very cuddly, she thought.

  He greeted her with a hugely enthusiastic ‘Hi!’ and she fell into his arms as she reached the top step, their lips meeting. She burrowed against him, feeling safe again for the first time since he had driven off from her cottage that morning.

  She held out the bottle. ‘Brought you a little housewarming present.’

  ‘Wow, Bollinger! My favourite – how did you know?’

  She grinned and shrugged. ‘Maybe you told me in your sleep!’

  He touched the bottle with his hand. ‘And it’s cold – let’s have some right away. I could use a drink.’

  ‘Me too.’

  He ushered her into the open-plan kitchen and she looked enviously at the modern units, the large fridge, the Bosch oven and built-in electrical hob. She noticed a wicker hamper, crammed with exotic tinned and bottled foods beside the double sink.

  ‘Charley Rowley sent me this – from Fortnum and Mason.’ He picked a few things out at random. ‘Quails’ eggs. Iranian caviar; peaches in brandy. Kind of essential stuff for stocking a larder.’