Chapter 11
‘We never used to have tiramisu, did we?’ says Tony Taylor, between mouthfuls of tiramisu. ‘When did tiramisu start?’
‘Maybe,’ agrees Tony. ‘They probably had it in London before then.’
‘And even earlier in Italy,’ says Felicity. ‘If you think about it.’
‘Is it Italian?’ Tony asks.
‘Tiramisu? Yes,’ says Felicity. ‘That’s why they always have it at Italian restaurants.’
‘I always assumed it was a coincidence,’ says Tony. ‘Same with ravioli?’
‘Italian too,’ confirms Felicity.
‘Fair play to them,’ says Tony, shaking his head in wonder at the sheer range of the Italians.
They are celebrating. Finally a job for We Solve Murders.
Something for Felicity to do. Although so far all she’s really had to do is make sure that Rosie’s drivers know where to meet Rosie’s plane.
She did some digging into a woman called Georgie Glazier this afternoon as well.
She knows that Tony is pleased for her, and he had suggested dinner.
The Bella Italia in Lymington, to toast new beginnings.
Tony is something of a miracle. I mean, sure, he doesn’t know that tiramisu is Italian, or, in an example that cropped up last night, that Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character, but he can strip and reassemble the engine of a Kia Sportage in under twenty minutes – he showed her this on their third date – and he treats her happiness as his own, and her successes as his successes.
When Felicity smiles, Tony smiles to see it.
He will pay the bill tonight, as he does whenever they go out, despite Felicity’s outlandish salary.
‘You heard from them?’ Tony asks.
‘Steve and Rosie are flying back to talk to an ex-wife,’ says Felicity.
‘Of this Vern fella?’
Felicity nods. Vern Blackwood. She sent the man an invoice this afternoon. For ‘consultation services’. Looking at the amount made her feel a little better about her salary.
‘Imagine getting shot through the head,’ says Tony. ‘No thanks. No thank you one bit. The ex-wife involved, then?’
‘No idea, according to Steve,’ says Felicity. ‘But she’s in the same business, and she’s been asking for money, so Vern asked them to take a look at her.’
Tony nods. ‘And it’s vitamins? All that nonsense?’
Felicity takes vitamin C for immunity, vitamin D for bones, vitamin B12 for something she read about and now can’t remember, magnesium tablets for blood, or something of that nature, calcium also for blood, or for brain health, although if they’re for brain health then what is the omega-3 oil for?
She takes ashwagandha for stress, St John’s wort for mental balance, creatine for if she’s been on a long walk that day, iron for, again, blood, and zinc because she likes the word ‘zinc’.
‘All that nonsense, yes,’ says Felicity.
Is it all nonsense though? She’s still here, isn’t she? Fighting fit, except for a bit of flu a couple of weeks ago. And she’s managed to find love and land a hundred-and-twenty-grand job, so she must be doing something right. Who’s to say it isn’t the chicory root prebiotic?
Tony is paying the bill. He is wearing the new shirt Felicity bought him at River Island. He had told her at the time that he would ‘save it for somewhere fancy’ and she had thought that he was just being polite. He looks gorgeous.
‘Will you pass on our thanks to the chef?’ he says to the young waiter.
‘I mean, he’s more of a food assembler than a chef,’ says the waiter, handing Tony the receipt. ‘But I will. And thank you for the tip. Most people don’t.’
Most people aren’t Tony Taylor. Tony stands and offers his arm to Felicity, and they weave their way through the tables and out on to the Lymington quayside.
The night is warm. Giddy teens drink from cans, legs dangling over the stone quay. Lights dance on the far bank.
‘Should be no traffic this time of night,’ says Tony.
Small boats bob like bath toys and squeak against their rubber fenders. There is salt on the breeze, as late gulls caw and jetty wood creaks.
‘Straight on the Southampton Road, no roadworks, we’ll be home in nineteen minutes, tops.’
Felicity rests her head against Tony’s shoulder as they turn off the quayside into a small, steep alley cut between low fishermen’s cottages.
‘Unless we get stuck at the level crossing, and even then, it won’t be more than twenty-one minutes. Plus we’ll get to see a train.’
A man enters the alleyway from the top. Head up, hood down. If Felicity were by herself, this is absolutely the type of man she would turn around to avoid. But she is with Tony.
‘If we’re not inside our front door by half past,’ says Tony, ‘I’ll give you a fiver.’
Tony steps aside to let the man through and Felicity tucks in behind him. But the man does not pass.
‘Please, my friend,’ says Tony. ‘After you.’
The punch is immediate, Tony’s head is forced into the flint wall behind.
Felicity’s instinctive scream is muffled by the man’s other hand.
Tony is on the floor, Felicity sees his arm move, hopelessly trying to protect himself.
As the man kneels beside Tony, raining blows on to him, Felicity kicks out with all her force and connects with the side of the man’s head.
He bats this away and laughs. Felicity finds herself being lifted into the air, legs kicking helplessly now.
Tony is groaning, which means he is alive.
The man wears no face covering, and she sees him clearly even in the dusk light of the alley.
Bleached blond hair, the wing of an eagle tattoo reaching up to his neck.
At the top of the alley a laughing teen couple sees the scene. They stop laughing and turn heel.
‘I’ve got money,’ Felicity says. ‘Leave him, let me take him to a hospital.’
The man looks at her. ‘I’ve got money too. And he’s okay. If I wanted to kill him I would have killed him.’
Tony is getting quieter now. His new shirt is torn at the shoulder. She remembers buying it. Holding it up against the assistant to judge the colour. Just knowing how handsome he would look.
The man aims a final kick at Tony’s ribs. ‘You tell Vern Blackwood, you don’t come looking for Jakob Eriksson, you understand?’
Felicity spits in the man’s face. He wipes it away. Vern Blackwood is the client in Italy. Who is Jakob Eriksson? What have Steve, Amy and Rosie got involved in? What have they got her and Tony involved in?
‘No Jakob Eriksson,’ says the man. ‘Or the next time I see you, I will kill you both.’
‘If you ever see me again,’ says Felicity, hearing Tony breathe heavily, ‘I will kill you first.’
The man laughs with genuine amusement.
‘I am sorry to do this,’ he says. ‘But a message is a message.’
The man puts his hood back up and continues his stroll towards the bottom of the alley without a care in the world. Felicity drops to her knees and cradles Tony’s head. His eyes open and he mumbles something she can’t hear.
‘Don’t speak,’ says Felicity, weeping and shaking. His face is swelling already, and there is blood on his left temple where he struck the wall. It is the tear in the shirt that is making her weep though. ‘You rest, we’ll get you to hospital.’
From the top of the alley the teenaged couple reappears, the girl speaking into a mobile phone. Felicity hears an ambulance in the distance.
Tony is trying to speak again but no words come out.
The teens reach her. The boy takes off his jacket and wraps it around Tony as Tony’s eyes begin to close. As the girl takes off her jacket and wraps it around Felicity, Tony loses consciousness.