How to Kill Your Family(106)

And that was that really. My story was accepted as gospel, why wouldn’t it be? I was referred to as an assistant in the papers but I went unnamed, which was a huge relief. I wouldn’t like to upset Mum or make trouble for the girls at school. But Lara Artemis got in touch with me to thank me for being so discreet, and she was so nice about it that I told her my true connection to Simon. She wasn’t surprised, I must say. I supposed she’d known him long enough to greet an illegitimate child without so much as a raised eyebrow. And Simon’s DNA test was all the proof I needed. Lara is a lovely woman, Grace, I’m sorry you’ll never meet her. She’s in charge of the family fortune now and she’s been incredibly generous to me. More than I could ever ask for really. I cashed that cheque of course, and my family are all doing much better now. Lara has even been down to lunch a few times. It’s never mentioned explicitly, but I think she and Mum recognise the bond they share. Part of a select group of women who survived the Artemis brothers.

So why am I telling you all of this? You must be wondering. Well, partly it’s because I wanted you to know how he really died. I thought it might help you feel less of a failure to know that I took on the mantle and finished off what you started. In a funny old way, we were a team. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect really – given all your recent problems, you’d have had less opportunity to kill him yourself anyway. And if we’re being entirely honest, you would never have managed it. I know you gave it a good old go with the rest of them, and well done on that. But Simon was a different matter entirely. And it would’ve needed more than vague plans and luck. It didn’t really look to me like you were working with anything else. Am I wrong, Grace?

So that’s the gallant part. I hope it pleases you. But mainly I write this to let you know that you need to leave it there now. The revenge was your motivation, I understand that, I really do. And you’ve got it now, with a little help from yours truly. Expand your life, shack up with your old pal Jimmy – there are people in the world who want to love you, Grace, if you decide to let them. Write a book about your harrowing incarceration – publishers will be champing at the bit to sign you up. But all the other stuff stops here. I need to protect my new life. Along with a sizeable chunk of the family fortune, Lara has graciously made me CFO of the new foundation and we’ll be running it together. It’s not been announced yet, we’ve been building up to that, but it won’t be long now. She’s lost interest in the wildlife stuff and I’m glad, it’s not quite as grabby as the new endeavour. I won’t say I know much about refugee kids but I’m relishing the opportunity to hold gala dinners and invite the great and the good from the banking world to open up their wallets. There will be amazing corporate tie-ins and we’ll work closely with the financial world to make the foundation as big as that of the Rothschilds and the Guinnesses. It will be prestigious, a world away from Simon really. Certainly no Chic Chablis up for auction under Lara’s new reign.

Just to make sure you won’t come for me (I respect you too much to think you wouldn’t), I set up a little scheme while you were in prison. I hope you’ll forgive the slightly dirty tactics, but I’m sure you’ll understand the need for collateral here. When I found out you’d been sent to Limehouse I paid a fairly low-rent investigator to find out who you shared a cell with. It wasn’t hard as it turns out. Kelly had somehow told half of Islington that she was the lucky one chosen to bunk up with the notorious Grace Bernard. I wrote to her, asking to visit and explaining that there was money in it, and she agreed. Of course she did. I saw you at that first visit as it happens, sitting with your lawyer. You glanced over several times, perhaps surprised to see Kelly with someone like me. I must say I’m still surprised you didn’t find me familiar. Off the top of my head, I’ve been within three feet of you several times. Outside the Wildlife Centre, on the steps of St Paul’s, in the strange sex club (I’ll let you off there since I was in a mask), grabbing a lighter in Soho, in the British Museum café, in the visiting room. I guess having a slightly generic face works in my favour here. You looked a little thin, if you don’t mind me saying. I hope you make the most of your newfound freedom and enjoy some slap-up meals. Sorry, where was I?

Yes, Kelly. Not the kind of woman I’d come across much in my everyday life – I couldn’t stop staring at her astonishingly bright nails when we met – but I found her to be a lovely girl. Very helpful. I explained that I worked for a firm investigating your crimes for a private benefactor and wondered if she’d be open to keeping an eye out for certain things. I’ll say this for Kelly, it was refreshing to see how little detail she needed on me once financial remuneration was dangled. Through a contact of hers, which took me to a fairly insalubrious part of East London, I managed to get a phone to her. It had the all-important camera feature – what did we do before that innovation, eh? And Kelly, fair play to her, took to her new role like a duck to water. She watched you much more closely than you probably imagined, and texted me with much excitement when she realised that you were writing down your life story. She read it of course, I’m surprised you were so careless. And she photographed every single page with an enthusiasm I was in awe of. Then, just to be sure, she took a few choice pages for fingerprints and the like. I hadn’t even thought of that, but I guess when you’ve been blackmailing as long as she has, you learn to keep hard copies too. I have to say, you underestimated her.