The Imposter

“Look what you’ve done,” he said.

“Everything’s going to be alright now. We don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Well done, my boy. I’m proud of you. Your father would be, too.”

Jimmy squeezed his hand and, as he left him with Chiara, Edward felt moisture in the corner of his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Chiara asked him gently.

“Yes,” he said. “Just happy.”

For he was. Everything about the day had been perfect. He compared it to Joseph’s wedding; everything was simply better. The ceremony at St Mark’s had been more beautiful, the aisles bedecked with armfuls of roses and lilies and a storm of multi-coloured confetti as the couple emerged, blinking, into the sunshine. Chiara’s engagement ring was more elegant: fourteen solitaire diamonds surrounding a twelve-carat oval blue Ceylon sapphire set in eighteen-karat white gold. Edward had commissioned Crown jewellers G Collins & Sons to make it and it had cost him seven hundred pounds. It was elegantly understated and yet very obviously expensive, easily surpassing the gaudy bauble that Joseph had presented to Eve. And his wife, who looked so luminously beautiful in her dress, was superior in every way to Eve.

He squeezed her hand and leant over to kiss her. He had proposed two days after he had disposed of Billy and then gotten rid of Spot and his men. The notion had been on his mind since before then, but his decisive action to secure his own future and the family’s position in town made it the obvious next step to take. It was difficult to imagine how his stock could rise any higher, and the union would serve to preserve and deepen it. He would be family, once and for all, and all the silly talk of his leaving and returning to medicine could be finally put to rest. He had demonstrated the benefits he could bring to the business and now he would entwine it more tightly around himself. He would involve himself with every last aspect of it, enmeshing himself in it so completely that he would be impossible to disengage without causing expensive damage. It would be impossible, even when George and the others were released from jail. By that time––and he guessed he had another two years before he had to consider the problem of Georgie the Bull––he would be so deeply submerged that they would not be able to contemplate going back to the way things had been before.

He looked around. It was a boisterous and good-natured crowd, fuelled by a free bar that had been well-stocked by Ruby Ward. Topics of conversation included the police car that was ostentatiously parked at the gates of Halewell Close and the gimlet-eyed detective who regarded the guests as they turned off the road and set off along the long drive to the house. Some recognised him as detective inspector Charlie Murphy, fresh from his successful prosecution of George Costello and the other men who had been arrested at the army base.

Mention of the police inevitably led to disgusted observations that Billy Stavropoulos was still missing. This led to the presumption––which had become something more than a presumption––that he had been responsible for what had happened. He was a grass, a snake, and he would, people suggested, be dealt when he was found.

In turn, the conversation turned to the murder of four of Jack Spot’s soldiers: Frank “Hock” Gusenberg, his brother Peter “Goosy” Gusenberg, Reinhardt Schwimmer and Richie Moran. The men had been gu

* * *

VIOLET COSTELLO sat down next to him with a wide, friendly smile.

“Aunt,” Chiara said.

“Darling. Having a good day?”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

She shooed away her gratitude with a wave of her hand. “Now, then, my dear––would you mind if I bent your husband’s ear for a moment?”

“No––”

“Just me and Edward, if you don’t mind? Your sisters are at the bar––I’m sure they’d like to speak to you.”

She frowned but quickly mastered it. She leant over and kissed Edward on the lips.

Violet squeezed her hand. “Thank you, darling.”

“Don’t be long with him.”

She left them alone.

Violet allowed a passing waiter to hand her a flute of champagne. She took one for Edward and, too, and handed it to him.

“Cheers,” she said.

“Your very good health.”

They touched glasses.

She placed the flute down on the table and stroked a finger around the rim. “You got what you wanted,” she said.

“As did you.”

“Yes,” she said. “Don’t think I’m not grateful for your help, Edward. I am grateful. Things would have been different without you––I’m not too proud to admit that. But let’s not pretend about any of this, alright? I know what you are. You have plenty of similarities with Spot. You were not all that different, not when it comes down to it. You’re ambitious. Greedy. You want to take the things this family has for yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Violet.”

“Edward, please. You’re not talking to Joseph. A little respect.”

He sipped his drink and, without looking at her, replied in a low voice: “So why did you give me and Chiara your blessing, then?”

“The lesser of two evils, I suppose.”

“What?”

“Call it a marriage of convenience. You can help us––you have helped us––I’m not denying that.”

“You don’t think I’ll look after her?”

“I don’t really care what you do.”

It felt like the ground beneath him was slipping a little. “Why are you talking like this?”

She stared at him. Her eyes were crystal clear, as blue with cold as they had been when he had met her for the first time. “Because I want there to be no misunderstandings between us, Edward. This family’s legacy is the most important thing in the world to me. When I’m gone, I want to be sure that the family name will continue. My father worked too hard for too long to fritter it all away. I know that Joseph will never be able to take that responsibility for himself. He’s too simple––not cu

Edward did not answer.

“You, on the other hand are cu

He flushed. “Let’s see what Joseph and Chiara think about that.”

She waved that aside and took another sip from her glass. “That doesn’t really matter.” She smiled thinly at him and, again, he was put in mind of a predator addressing its prey. “There’s one other thing you should know. I had a letter from Victor last week. He’s coming home. Next month, or the month after that. He is everything my brother was, and more. He’s better than Joseph––you won’t be able to pull the wool over his eyes quite so easily. He’ll see you for precisely what you are. A parasite. A leech. And we won’t need you then. You will be of no further use. And Victor will brush you off.”

* * *

THE GUESTS SPREAD out beneath the huge marquee, some dancing on the wooden platform that had been set out as the dance-floor, others sitting at long tables piled high with food and gallon jugs of wine. The bride sat in her beautiful dress at the raised top table with both of her sisters––her maids of honour––together with her other bridesmaids. The band finished the first half of their set and broke for refreshments. A young Italian tailor from the Hill picked up a discarded violin, wedged it awkwardly beneath his chin, and began to sing a Sicilian love song. Edward walked around the perimeter of the tent, trying to forget the conversation with Violet. He managed to smile warmly at those guests who caught his eye, a few of the men reaching back from their tables to shake his hand. Joseph was sitting with Eve, his hand resting on her knee beneath the table. Jimmy was in conversation with an older woman Edward did not recognise, a smile playing on his lips. Violet, Chiara and her sisters were talking animatedly.