The Faithless - Martina Cole [83]
It was Jack she really felt for though. He had taken it much worse than she had believed possible. He had liked Jimmy, despite his weaknesses. For all he came from a different background and environment, they had got on very well together. She suspected that Jack had felt sorry for the man, but then hadn’t they all? They would have felt sorry for anyone who had taken on Cynthia knowing her as they did.
And then there was Celeste to worry about. Mary had hoped she would finally walk away from Jonny after the last little lot, but it wasn’t to be. She thought Celeste should have seen him for what he really was, but the girl wasn’t right and hadn’t been right for many a long year.
As Mary walked into the kitchen, she felt an enormous pain. It hit her chest and travelled down her left arm. She was suddenly breathless and, as she leant out to grab hold of a chair for support, she collapsed on to the floor, knocking over the tea things on her way.
Jack rushed out to see what the commotion was and, seeing his wife’s grey face and shallow breathing, he phoned immediately for an ambulance, all the time cursing his elder daughter, and blaming her for her mother’s collapse. It was a wonder this hadn’t happened before now; she’d had more than enough on her plate the last few years, and this was the upshot. If he lost his Mary, he would do for that whore of a daughter himself, and that was a promise.
Chapter Seventy-One
Linford pulled in to the scrapyard in Bow, and parked between a new Daimler Sovereign, and an old stacked-head Mercedes. The Portakabin was ablaze with lights and, for a few seconds, Linford felt apprehension envelop him. He didn’t know what it was, but something about this whole set up stank.
He had tried to voice his opinion to Jonny but he wouldn’t budge. He was gagging for this villa lark, and who could blame him? It was the maximum return for the minimum outlay. It was all about renting offices, and looking the part. Once people parted with their dosh that was that. Over, done with, gone.
But it was Derek Greene who bothered him, and he could not for the life of him work out why. Then, as they walked into the Portakabin, it became as clear as day what had been niggling at the back of his mind. Now it was too late to do anything about it.
Chapter Seventy-Two
As she sat with her father by her mother’s hospital bed, Celeste breathed a sigh of relief. She was bad, but she would pull through. A heart attack the doctors said and, looking at her mother now, tubes everywhere and her face devoid of colour, Celeste wondered at how vulnerable she suddenly looked. Her mum had always been there for her. She had been a good mum, had loved her and cared for her, made her smile when she was down, gone without so her daughters could have things. Celeste felt the tears once more and choked them back. How had everything gone so wrong?
Her mum and dad blamed Cynthia but, although she was a part of it, in reality it was Jonny who had caused the trouble. As much as she had loved him – and she realised the significance of the past tense – she should have known that he was trouble. He was a violent criminal and she had swallowed that, believing love could conquer all. Well, it couldn’t. He had taken her sister and he had destroyed many lives.
She had gone back to him out of fear, fear of being alone, of having to earn a living, of going back out into the world; the world frightened her, the world was dangerous. Well, so was being in your own home she had learnt. Her house scared her; it was too big, too empty, and she longed for the bedroom of her youth.
She would give anything to be able to go back and do it all again, but that was impossible. She knew that if she had not married Jonny Parker her mother wouldn’t be lying in this bed, and her father wouldn’t be sitting opposite her, terrified of losing the person he had loved his whole life. Poor Gabby wouldn’t be in