While Nipper and Milly were meeting up, Belle Barton was speeding along the country lanes in her red open-topped BMW. She was thinking over everything, and coming up with nothing that helped, nothing to get her out of a state of extreme worry and bewilderment.
She couldn’t forget what she had seen in that place in Clacton. Or Nige’s words to her. And the mirror on the front door of the house. Was that weird, or what? She’d looked that up at the library, and found that it was a Vietnamese thing, to repel dragons. So the people in there were from Vietnam. She remembered the bubbling vats, the throat-closing rubbery stench, all of them wearing protective clothing, goggles, masks. Making crack cocaine, according to Nige.
And Dad knows.
She thought of Charlie’s furniture manufacturing business, which she’d always believed to be legitimate. Now, she was thinking otherwise. Jill’s shocked reaction had confirmed her worst fears. The furniture business was nothing but a front, a cover for drug dealing. And her family and Milly’s, and even Harlan, she was sure, were in on it.
Belle was in shock. No wonder Dad seemed to be doing so well. No wonder Mum had never had to work. Jill barely had to lift a finger. She had the nice gatehouse and grounds with plenty of help from cleaners, gardeners, ironing services and the rest. Everything on the surface appeared fine, prosperous. The Stones and the Bartons were – apparently – living the good life on the back of a successful, legal business.
Only . . . they weren’t. Not really.
Nothing was as it seemed. Belle’s own aimless life no longer made any sense to her. Up to this point, she’d had fuck-all to do. She’d been sent to a goodish school but had never bothered to study much. She’d been a popular girl, a gang of friends all around her, Julia, Molly, Davey and Phil, Nige and the others, and she’d always taken pains to include shy Milly whenever she could. She’d been a prefect, then head girl. But she hadn’t troubled herself with exams and she certainly didn’t want the faff of uni, like ultra-bright Nige.
But what was she going to do, now she knew what had been going on under her nose all these years?
She had her shades on and the roof was down. The wind was streaking through her hair and sending it billowing back in a tousled blonde wave, messing up her careful hairdo. She didn’t care. Freddie Mercury was blasting out ‘Killer Queen’ on the sound system, the bass notes booming along the verges, scattering cows and startling sheep in the fields beyond.
Mulling it all over and finding no answer, she was jolted back to reality as she saw something in her rear-view mirror. A silver-grey Porsche was coming up fast behind her. Damn, she knew that car. She put her foot down harder on the accelerator. The last thing she wanted was to chat to Harlan Stone. She’d never liked the fact that her dad worked for his dad. And now she knew the trade they were in, she realized that Harlan had to be involved too. Harlan was on the manor a lot now, getting into it all. He wouldn’t give a single shit that his high life was paid for in blood and misery.
He was inching closer in the rear-view, matching Belle’s speed. He was flashing his lights. She could see him grinning back there, edging up closer and closer.
Fucker, thought Belle.
The Porsche was right on the BMW’s tail now, and then . . . no, he wouldn’t do it. Would he?
He would.
The Porsche thumped, jarringly, into the back of her car.
‘Hey!’ shouted Belle, jolting forward at the impact, the wind whipping her words away in an instant. ‘Harlan, you bastard!’
Belle accelerated harder. But Harlan was there, right there on her tail.
Crumpppp!!!!
Again the Porsche hit the back of the BMW.
‘You, Harlan Stone, are an arsehole!’ yelled Belle. Dad would throw a fit if there was any damage, she knew. He’d bought her the BMW for her last birthday. But Charlie Stone would say, ah, the boy was only playing, where was the harm? It was only money, it was only a car, it was easily fixed.
Yeah – with drugs money, right?
Belle put her foot down harder and the speed dial crept up past seventy. Then she rounded a sharp bend and her heart leapt into her mouth. A tractor was pulling out from a field. She stamped on the brake and the BMW skidded to a halt. The Porsche, following right behind, slewed sideways and came to a standstill mere inches away.
That silly bastard could have pulverized her.
‘Jesus!’ said Belle and slapped the wheel in fright and rage.
Harlan was grinning across at her as if it was all one great big joke. The bearded tractor driver gave them both a long cold look, then went, unconcerned, on his way.
‘You fucking idiot,’ she snapped, full volume.
Belle was unfastening her seat belt, throwing the door open and storming round to the back of the car, peering at the BMW’s rear end to check for damage. There was a deep scratch above the number plate, nothing else. But damn – he’d scared her half to death. When she’d come round that bend at full speed and seen the tractor blocking the road, she’d nearly pissed herself.
‘What’s the problem, Belle?’ Harlan was saying, getting out of the Porsche and coming to stand nearby.
He was such a moron. Superior. Smug. Snidely laughing at everyone’s discomfort. She loathed him.
‘The problem?’ Belle scowled at him. ‘The problem is you, you dick.’
‘Hey! You don’t speak to me like that,’ said Harlan, the grin dropping from his face. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard.
‘Ow!’ Belle winced. ‘God, you are such a—’
‘A dick. You said.’ The grin was back. ‘You, however, are fucking tasty. You know that? Very tasty indeed. That dark blue suits you.’
‘Oh shut your face,’ said Belle. He was really hurting her. ‘Come on, stop fucking around, Harlan. Let go of me.’
‘Kiss me first,’ said Harlan.
Belle shook her head. He’d been on about this for years. You’re lovely, Belle, you’re tasty, kiss me. And the groping, the patting. He made her flesh crawl.
‘Fuck off,’ said Belle, yanking herself free of him and staggering back a pace.
‘What you gonna do, tell your father? Well shall I tell you something, Belle?’
Belle was hurrying back around the car, getting into the driver’s seat. ‘Whatever you got to say, I don’t want to hear it,’ she said, starting the car.
‘Yeah? Well hear this,’ he shouted over the sudden lion’s roar of the engine. ‘Your father would bring you to me tied up and naked, if that’s what he was told to do. He works for the Stones. He follows orders, like a good boy. Your arse belongs to us. Don’t you ever forget that. One day soon, Belle. One day soon.’