Chapter Twelve

‘Julius,’ said Dr Calder ‘how could you? I was hoping she might provide an interesting case for my research.’

They were in the doctor’s room at Monks Hill comparing case loads, and Calder had just learnt of Verity Forster’s release.

‘I’m sorry Lawrence, I had no idea,’ said Dr Maloney ‘what’s it about?’

‘Just some rather splendid idea I had about split personalities, and reincarnation,’ he replied.

‘Intriguing, didn’t have you as the religious sort though,’ said Julius.

‘I’m not, but I can see a correlation that might be worth a little investigating,’ said Lawrence.

‘Not to mention buckets of cash from the pharmaceuticals,’ said Julius grinning.

‘Perhaps.’

‘Must dash,’ said Julius slapping him on the back ‘some poor bugger keeps begging me for another dose of electro therapy.’

Lawrence decided to phone Marcus Forster at work.

‘Look Marcus I’m really sorry about Verity,’ he said.

‘Why what’s happened?’ asked Marcus, hoping to hear of some terrible accident.

‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘Know what?’

‘She was released from Monks Hill yesterday,’ said Lawrence.

Marcus had spent last night in the apartment he rented for Jennifer.

‘I thought you said you could keep her in for at least for six months.’

‘I was going to, but they had her in the ward review without me knowing, and a colleague let her go.’

‘Damn,’ said Marcus ‘and she’s not even informed me.’

Although neither had he been home.

‘Well never mind, it’s too late now,’ said Marcus calming down.

Besides he had other worries.

‘Have you heard anything from Bastille lately?’ asked Marcus.

‘Yesterday,’ replied Lawrence.

Then she had contacted them both.

‘And let me guess she wants more money.’

‘Of course,’ said Lawrence.

Bastille was an extortionist who went by the name of the famous French prison. She knew plenty about them, and had followed their careers with interest. But all they knew about Bastille was that she was a woman who somehow knew them from Cambridge University, and their darkest of secrets.

‘Look I’ve got to pop in and see Verity this evening,’ said Marcus ‘but why don’t we meet at the club later tonight?’

‘Shall we say ten?’ asked Lawrence.

‘Fine.’

They were sat in the opulent restaurant, with Ivy feeling rather conspicuous.

‘It’s posh in here,’ she said.

‘Marcus used to bring me here all the time in our courting days,’ said Verity.

‘It must be really expensive.’

‘I never worry about the price; it all goes on Marcus’ card.’

‘In that case,’ said Ivy ‘can I change my mind?’ and they both laughed.

With their meal ordered, Ivy removed a large tattered photo album from the carrier bag by her side.

‘This is me and Milly growing up,’ she said proudly.

Verity flicked through the treasured photos smiling.

‘What happened to these?’ she asked looking at four pictures with someone at the side cut out.

‘That’s where our stepdad was standing,’ said Ivy.

Verity didn’t question her, but could see from the look on Ivy’s face that all was not well in the family.

‘She was such a beautiful girl,’ said Verity.

‘I know much prettier than me,’ said Ivy ‘she used to get all the attention.’

Although Ivy, like Verity, was a stunner herself.

‘So where did you meet Marcus?’ asked Ivy.

‘I’d gone skiing in Switzerland with some friends, and he was there on a working holiday selling some artwork or another.’

‘And he knocked you off your skis,’ said Ivy.

‘Not quite. I thought he was quite boring at the time, but he was staying in the same hotel, and we kept bumping into one another. He kind of grew on me.’

‘A holiday romance.’

‘I guess.’

‘And what about you, any man in your life?’ asked Verity.

‘I’m taking a holiday myself,’ said Ivy.

At least she hadn’t said ‘all men are bastards,’ thought Verity. A line she might have taken herself if it wasn’t for Alain.

‘You know we should make this a regular thing,’ said Verity, happy for some unpretentious girl talk for once.

Her old friends were now flung far and wide across the globe, from Hong Kong to Dubai.

‘Only if you like fish and chips,’ said Ivy.

‘I adore them,’ said Verity.

And they both looked down at their artistic asparagus starter.

‘Look let’s go and get them now,’ said Verity lifting up her handbag.

‘But we’ve ordered,’ said Ivy.

‘I wouldn’t worry; Marcus comes here all the time with his girlfriends. You must know my dear that money talks,’ said Verity.

Ivy did indeed know. She came from the poor part of town where cola was champagne, and a shower head was a jacuzzi.

They relaxed in their green leather seats at the Pierrepoint club with a brandy and a cigar. Marcus had his legs outstretched, whilst Lawrence crossed his. The coal fire was ablaze, and they were alone in the small Portland room, after Archie the valet had cut and lit their cigars. The lights were dim, and their dark shadows were cast on the walls, traversing the portraits of old luminaries.

‘Damn this Bastille woman,’ said Marcus ‘I almost believed she’d left us alone after the last time.’

He stubbed his cigar in the ashtray.

The last time was two years ago, when she’d blackmailed them for another fifty grand each.

‘It’s a cross we have to bear,’ said Lawrence resigned. He blew a ring of smoke in the air.

They’d been crucified since their respective careers began to flourish, by an unknown woman who called herself Bastille.

‘And we can’t change the past,’ said Marcus.

The past, or the unfortunate incident as they referred to it, involved a drunken university party, and a raped first year student. The drowning prevented a hearing, but Bastille had seen them.

‘If only we knew who she was,’ said Marcus.

‘And kill again?’ asked Lawrence.

‘Why ever not? Surely it’s the least she deserves after tormenting us for years.’

‘It is a rather pleasant thought,’ said Lawrence.

Just as it was a discussion they had repeated many times. She’d proved impervious to their traps, untraceable from every drop off point. She could read them like a book; the book of the damned.

‘Well it won’t last forever,’ said Marcus ‘we’re all getting older.’

He rang the copper bell on the table in front.

‘Anyway, we can’t change the past,’ said Lawrence, as Archie entered the room to pour them another brandy.

But he did think to himself, for one delicious moment; but if you believed the crazy theories of Alain Fontaney perhaps you could.

‘Someone’s put a smile on your face,’ said Marcus.

‘Indeed they have,’ said Lawrence, pondering a rather intriguing thought.