26

Evil counsel travels fast.

The night before, Lisabetta had moved quickly after she had seen Dr Crichton and his Jaguar, rather satisfyingly disappear over the clifftop by the light of a crescent moon, which was only a sliver. She picked up the bag she had packed with his stolen coins and started to walk down the country road. England, she thought to herself, really was very beautiful sometimes. She liked the calm dark glossy silence of its nights – that feeling of being the only person awake. The only person alive.

The forge had still been fiery hot. They hadn’t been gone for long. Still, she knew the thing to do was simply leave it. It was always like this at the end. You got out with what you could, which for Lisabetta in this case was a lot of experience, three very healthy bank accounts in different names and different countries, this bag of coins and her clothes and jewellery from London. There was no need to go back to Crichton’s house. She would simply ring. There was no need to contact Manni – he would continue if he could, launder the money and pay it into the Velazquez bank account, which, of course, she controlled. There was no need to even go back to London – Bert would see to everything there. He knew the drill. Put it on the first train meant the second train. Send everything to the usual destination meant the last stop before wherever she was located – in this case Preston Park station, just north of the town. Lisabetta trusted Bert. He was completely self-interested and she had catered for that. When the insurance money came through he’d get five hundred pounds whether she was alive or not. It was a registered debt that would be paid without any need for her presence. If he didn’t do everything he was told she would simply tell the insurance company the truth anonymously – that Romana was a fabrication. She’d lose her five hundred pounds, as well, of course – or rather less than that, in fact. As Romana she had developed some expensive shopping habits on account that the solicitor would need to cover out of the estate. It mattered not a jot. Bert would be paid and as a result he’d do whatever she wanted. His payment wasn’t contingent on her survival or her being in the country. It was perfect.

Lisabetta checked her watch. The first train would arrive in about an hour and a half and then they came every thirty minutes. She needed to pick up her things and disappear. She’d find a city centre hotel, somewhere near the main station. She couldn’t stay at the Grand this time. And she’d need a disguise. Lisabetta enjoyed disguises. It was like playing a game. By tonight she’d be in Southampton on her way to the continent and then South America. Her mind wandered and she wondered if they still made those delicious vanilla custard tarts in Lisbon. She must stay for a few days and enjoy the city – the nightlife in the Bairro Alto, those crumbling regal townhouses like dowagers falling apart from neglect. Lisabetta would have loved to be an aristocrat. A title! How glamorous. But she knew these things were too easily traceable and in her line of business that would never do. Lisbon, she recalled, made her feel like an aristocrat – a charming beautiful princess. She had visited the city twice and now it was set to be her last port of call in Europe – perhaps forever. She almost felt nostalgic. South America, of course, was Spanish or Portuguese depending where you chose – there was no advantage to one or the other as the men were broadly similar and she spoke both languages only haltingly. She would learn. She always did.

They want me to risk so much, Lisabetta mused. It is enough now. I cannot do more for them.

In the distance she heard the roar of a car. She positioned herself at the roadside, drew a white hanky from her sleeve and stuck out her thumb. The Ford stopped just ahead and she stalked towards it.

‘All right, love? You’re out late!’

‘Yes,’ she grinned. It was perfect – as if she had made a prior arrangement. ‘I need to get to my aunt’s. At Preston Park. But a lift into Brighton would be marvellous.’

‘Hop in,’ the man smiled. ‘I’ll take you wherever you like. Want a smoke?’

‘Thank you.’ Lisabetta quickly checked her little pistol, just in case the man tried any funny business, then she fluttered her eyelashes and got into the car.