CHAPTER SEVEN

Vita let herself into the apartment, twisting the doorknob as carefully as if it were glass. She’d been gone for far longer than she intended; her mother would already have left to meet Grandpa’s bank manager, and Vita prayed her absence from her bed had not been noticed. She smelt slightly of horse, and bird, and her cheeks were flushed.

The apartment was silent. She tiptoed to her bedroom and pushed the ring under the bed; then hesitated, her arm still deep under the mattress. What if Sorrotore found out where she lived? She took a needle and thread, unpicked an inch of the hem of her skirt, and tucked the ring inside, sewing it tightly to the lining. She was just biting off the thread when Grandpa knocked.

‘Are you awake?’

Vita opened the door, and saw her grandfather wrapped in his green woollen coat. It looked far too big for him now, but he was smiling, and the spark was still in his eyes.

‘Put this on, Rapscallion,’ and he handed her his red woollen scarf. ‘I’ve been inside too long. We’re going to the Park.’

The leaves in Central Park were a bright, stark red against the blue of the sky, and coated the ground like a carpet. They followed the paved pathways, down winding tree-lined trails, Grandpa swinging his stick. A Black woman dressed in an ankle-length coat went briskly past, pushing a cart selling hot chocolate. Grandpa saw Vita’s imploring face, and gave her a coin.

‘Get yourself the largest and thickest hot chocolate she has.’ He creaked down on to a bench. ‘I shall wait here, and commune with the squirrels.’

Vita went, as fast as she could, down the twisting tree-lined path. It forked; the woman was nowhere in sight, so she turned left, on to the wider avenue. Her limp was worse than usual, but the chocolate was beckoning.

The man came out of nowhere, rounding the corner.

‘Hey! Hey! You!’

Vita froze. He was broad-shouldered and sandy-haired, and much younger than she had thought he was at the party. His eyes were pale grey, and they darted over her feet and leg, her red-brown hair. Dillinger, she thought.

‘You were that kid at Sorrotore’s party!’ His voice was high, with a rasp to it that suggested cigarettes and alcohol.

Vita tried to look unafraid. ‘What if I was?’

‘What have you done with it?’

‘Done with what?’

‘The ring, you little brat! Where’s the ring?’ He slurred on the word ‘where’s’, and she wondered whether it was anger or early morning drink.

Vita tried to keep her face and body utterly still. Only her heart defied her. ‘What ring?’ she said.

‘Don’t be cute, kid. Sorrotore tore the study apart looking for that ring. There’s nobody else who could’ve taken it.’ His clothes were loud and expensive, but had the rumpled look of someone who had not yet gone to bed. His silver wristwatch had not been wound, and pointed to midnight.

‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The ring, inside the sewn-up hem of her skirt, was pressing against her leg.

‘Listen, kid.’ He leaned down, his face close to hers. ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Things aren’t so good for the boss right now. He’s unpredictable. Hand it over, and he’ll forget it.’

‘I don’t have any ring! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ It was broad daylight, but the path had taken her out of Grandpa’s view, and there was nobody in sight. She wondered if he would hear her scream. And what if he did hear, but couldn’t help? The thought made her bite her lips together.

He grabbed her upper arm. ‘So you won’t mind me searching you, I guess?’

‘Let go of me!’

A sudden something flew out of the air and struck the man on the shoulder. Vita looked down; it was a rock, as large as her palm.

‘Step away!’ Grandpa came striding down the pathway, leaning on his stick, his eyes ice cold. His voice as he reached them, though, was steady. ‘I would be grateful if you’d explain what the hell you think you’re doing touching my granddaughter?’

Dillinger stepped backwards, but kept his eyes on Vita. ‘I wasn’t doing anything. This kid of yours stole something from my boss.’

Grandpa moved in front of Vita, shielding her from the man. ‘And who would your boss be?’

‘Victor Sorrotore.’

Grandpa’s eyes glanced round at Vita, but he remained facing Dillinger. ‘I find it incredibly unlikely that my granddaughter would steal anything. And since your employer has stolen my entire home, I would say that if by some extraordinary chance she has, he is scarcely in a position to complain.’

‘Make her turn out her pockets!’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ said Grandpa. ‘Leave, now, or I’ll shout for the police.’

Dillinger reached into his jacket. ‘I wouldn’t do that, you know,’ he said.

When his hand came out, it held a small pistol. He did not point it at them, but dangled it loose in his hand.

Vita froze, staring at the gun. The barrel was barely bigger than her thumbnail, and yet it looked large enough to eclipse the sun. Dillinger handled it with the ease of a man who was accustomed to using a weapon to make a point.

Grandpa’s eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with rage. ‘Police!’ he roared, his old voice lifting above the trees. ‘Police! Help!’

‘You senile old fool.’ Dillinger was stumbling backwards, nostrils flaring. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing! You’re playing with fire, kid.’ And he ran. The path forked, one broad and one narrow, and he darted down the narrow path. In the centre was a manhole and, through the trees, Vita watched in astonishment as he hauled up the cover, and dropped down into the darkness below.

‘He went into the sewer!’ she said, but Grandpa had not seen: his eyes were on her face, and he seemed uninterested in anything else.

‘Do you want to explain what’s going on? You went to see Sorrotore?’

Vita hesitated; then nodded.

Grandpa’s eyes were dark. ‘Why? Why would you do a thing so obviously, criminally, stupidly dangerous?’

‘I just … Nothing happened. I wanted to see what he looked like.’

‘And have you seen, now?’ Grandfather’s voice was tight. ‘Have you seen what kind of man he is?’

Slowly, looking down at her left foot, Vita nodded.

‘Will you promise not to go looking for him again? Ever? Promise, or I can never let you go out alone.’

‘Yes,’ she said. It wasn’t a lie, she told herself. It was not Sorrotore she was looking for. And if he was looking for her, that was something very different. She had made no promise there.

Grandpa gave a great sigh, and he turned to sit on a tree stump at the edge of the path. His face was white, and though there was still fury in his eyes, it was directed inwards. ‘Oh, my love. What have I done? I’ve put you in the way of such ugliness.’

‘You haven’t! Truly. I swear, I’ll be careful.’

With one hand, she reached out and took Grandpa’s hand. With the other, she reached into her pocket and felt for the red book. She rolled it up into a tube and clenched her fingers around it. She held her plan in her fist: a weapon, of sorts.