‘Olly. We’re talking about a man whose wife has disappeared without trace. Now it’s Emma who’s gone, and we know he’s been in touch with her in the last few days. Do you not think that’s significant?’
‘If you mean, do I think Jeremy Rothschild has done away with Emma and his wife, no, I don’t.’
Then he says, ‘But you should probably call him. Just to check.’
There’s a long pause after I tell Rothschild who I am. ‘Oh,’ he says eventually. ‘Leo. I wondered if you might call.’
‘Firstly, fuck you,’ I say. ‘Secondly, are you with my wife?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Are you with my wife? It’s a simple question.’
He says he isn’t, but he sounds unnerved.
‘Then this conversation is over,’ I snap. ‘Goodbye.’
‘I’d like to talk to you,’ he interrupts. ‘I had a call from Sheila this morning. I know you’ve uncovered some difficult information concerning me and Emma, in the last few days – would you be willing to come over?’
‘Are you serious?’
He pauses, as if trying to decide something. ‘Emma’s stopped communicating with me in the last few days,’ he admits. ‘I’ve been trying to talk to her about something. I ... I thought perhaps I could tell you.’
‘You want me to pass on messages to my wife?’ I ask. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘It isn’t,’ he says. ‘Look, Leo, I’m not sure you’re completely up to speed - I really think we should talk. And I appreciate it’s a bit of a drive, but I need to be here in case Janice calls. Plus, I’ve got to keep an eye on my son.’
‘I’m looking after Ruby,’ I begin, but Olly interrupts, telling me – loudly enough for Rothschild to hear – that he can look after her.
‘Go,’ he whispers. ‘Might be helpful.’ I know he’s right because I’m thinking the same, even though I’d actually like to go and murder Jeremy Rothschild.
‘I – maybe, I – oh, bloody hell. Fine, I’ll come. After I’ve put –’
I swallow. ‘After I’ve put my daughter to bed.’
‘Come via Kentish Town,’ he texts, a short while later, as if we’re meeting for a friendly beer. ‘There’s an Arsenal match on; Holloway Road will be at a standstill.’
Chapter Thirty-One
LEO
An hour later I am standing outside a large, very handsome house. Rothschild opens the door, and instead of delivering a devastating right hook I have to ask him for money for the parking meter. I left home without my wallet and there’s extra football parking restrictions tonight.
Then we’re standing in his spacious kitchen, looking at each other, and he’s saying thank you very much for coming over, and I don’t reply because I haven’t the faintest idea what to say and I’m worried I might break down.
‘She’s my girl,’ I manage, eventually.
Rothschild says nothing.
‘Mine,’ I repeat, and to my fury, my eyes fill with tears. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near her.’
The kitchen is perfectly silent for a while. Outside twilight is falling and the plane trees in the park move silkily, on a breeze we can’t hear. I imagine this house is fitted with very expensive windows.
When Rothschild finally speaks, his voice is careful. ‘I have tried to help her, over the years. From a distance.’
‘We don’t want or need your help.’
‘I understand. And I don’t know what you’ve been told, Leo, but I’ve done my best for her. I’m not the villain: I feel for her.’
