With possible ambitions of a takeover herself, and despite delaying the next, significant revelation from Mary, Livia felt she had to ask.
“Don’t you find this all at odds with your faith?”
“Thought you moight ask,” said Mary, “and it’s a fair question. But I’ve been reading me scriptures, particularly the Ten Commandments which are my reference points, and whilst I accept I shouldn’t kill, I can’t fer the life of me find a Commandment I could interpret as ‘you can’t grab a feller by the bollocks, threaten him or dobb him in to the feckin’ pigs’. There ain’t one!”
Even though it was a diversion, Livia had to ask. It was a question waiting to be asked.
“Or else what?”
“Very simple,” replied Mary, “I’ve got something on each and every one of the little shites; a dossier, and I’ve lodged it with my solicitor, who also happens to be one of me brothers. Anything happens to me or any of my family, not including feckin’ Ronan of course, he’ll send them to the police. Despite hating the pigs!”
“Also told em all that where they’d be sent, the other inmates would tear them a brand new arse hole!”
“Go on.” urged Livia.
“Well one of the little gobshites, Aidan, the one who puked when he saw my pictures, y’know... well he was keeping something from me. I knew it. I could see it on the little hamsterbollocks’s face. So I persuaded him to cough up...”
“How?” asked Livia, genuinely interested.
“I just grabbed him hard by his little bollocks and said ‘Cough! Tell me what else you feckin’ know... right now!’ Funny how that always seems to work.”
“Aren’t you worried about reprisals?” Livia queried.
“I tell em Ronan’s dead and I’m in charge now... or feckin’ else!”
“Bodies? Literally? There are bodies to be found?” Maybe Livia was quizzing Mary too hard, but her guest didn’t seem bothered.
“A mere figure of feckin’ speech,” said Mary, “I’d known him a long time and a wife gets to know a thing or two... and use it! Bet you had a load of stuff on your late husband, Terry was it?”
“Terry.” confirmed Livia, but didn’t confirm or deny if she’d ‘had anything on’ him. She needed to clarify something with Mary.
“So if Paolo’s not an issue, what is it you’re after?”
“There’s something more... something much more!”
“So how come you didn’t find out about Ronan and that girl from your son? He must’ve been pretty pissed off with his dad!”
“Being pissed off with Ronan and doing something about it, particularly telling me, his mum, are two different things. If Conor had told me and if Ronan got to know... which he certainly feckin’ would have... he’d have got such a feckin’ beating he’d never have recovered. That’s the kind of man the shite was!”
“So how come you were immune from his beatings?” Livia asked.
“Me brothers... and I know where the bodies are buried!”
“Apparently my boy, me son Conor, it was who took the tart off your Paolo...” Mary continued.
“He’s not my Paolo!” Livia quickly insisted.
“Whatever... seems Conor got gazumped when Ronan met her and the little tart decided to go for power, experience... and money! No feckin’ taste though if she’d settle for Ronan!”
Mary stopped, looking thoughtful for a moment before she continued.
“But hang on... what the feck does that say about me!” she started to laugh, which started Livia off and removed any slight tension she’d suddenly been experiencing.
“What the feck?” said Livia to more laughter.
“One of my boys?” Livia was confused and appalled. “The only boy I have is upstairs... my son, who’s off school. I don’t have any other boys!”
“No, not you Livia. One of the guys who works for the Monellis. Young chap. Paul or something they said. D’you know any Pauls?”
“I don’t know anyone called Paul... but there is Paolo.” Yes, thought Livia, this might be a way to get rid of Paolo, making her own position more secure. “He’s a cocky little sod!”
“Think you moight be getting me wrong there Livia. I’ve no gripe with the boy!”
“Was that all you had to do?” asked Livia, clearly impressed.
“Well, me brother did send me some pictures to show em too! One of the fellers was actually feckin’ sick when he saw em! Worked a treat. Spilled his guts too! It seems they all knew. They knew Ronan had a tart, had set her up in a flat somewhere east and was jealous as feckin’ hell if anyone else even looked at her. She was pretty too, the cow! I think the fecker was actually in love. Silly cont!”
“Seems he stole her from one of your boys!”
“How on earth did you manage to get anything out of them Mary? Surely they’re a pretty hard bunch, given their line of work?” Livia was curious how this woman exercised control.
“You could say I used me assets well... me assets being me family. I’ve lots of family - we’re Irish Catholics, what else would you expect? One of me brothers was a surgeon before he was struck off - long story! I suggested he moight cut off their bollocks and replace them with walnuts if they decided not to open up. Men seem to be strangely sensitive about their bollocks!”
“Fecking bollocks? How come?” Livia was inadvertently becoming infected with Mary-speak, but she was intrigued.
“Well foirst, he was fully clothed. If you’d seen him you’d know that’s hardly feckin’ kinky! Second, according to estimated time of death, he could‘ve only got there a short toim before. ‘Cos I know exactly when he left home. Course, I didn’t tell the conts that! Someone else must’ve been involved! So that’s when I knew I had to interrofeckingate the slimy gobshites who worked for him. Someone had to feckin’ know something.”
“And did they?” asked Livia.
“Too feckin’ right they did!”
“Anyway”, continued Mary, “when he read that particular text, he immediately went feckin’ apeshite! Started feckin’ effin and bloinding, grabbed his car keys, even though he was full of Guinness and shot off like a feckin’ rocket. Last time I saw him til I identified his feckin’ body.”
“So what happened then?” asked Livia.
“The pigs said they found him fully clothed lying on a naked tart, dead, with a kitchen knife stuck in his neck. Blood feckin’ everywhere. And apparently he’d strangled the feckin’ tart too! Kinky sex gone wrong the pigs said... but I say that’s feckin’ bollocks!”
Having done justice to Livia’s lunch, and, in the case of Mary, having consumed far more alcohol than sensible, it was time for some serious talking, albeit still likely to be interspersed with giggling. Livia triggered the change.
“So tell me Mary, what exactly happened to your husband and how can I help?”
“Well... the forst inkling I got of anyting was when all of a sudden very late on Saturday night me feckin’ husband gets a text. It wasn’t so unusual for him to get texts on his mobile, except I’d already told the fecker that weekends were sacrofeckinsanct!
Sofia’s jeweller client had asked no questions of the provenance of the diamond, whatever he might have wondered privately. Having shown her various ring styles, he’d undertaken to have something ready for a week’s time. That would be a very long wait for a diamond-loving girl like Sofia. He had given her a discount, but even so, it wasn’t by any means cheap. But right now, Sofia still had plenty of means, thanks to Paolo’s carelessness.
Sofia's new best friend, in the right setting and on the right finger, with no questions asked, was worth it’s weight in... diamonds.
By the time Sofia got back to the office from her lunch break, her new diamond was on its way to be set in a platinum ring. Her jeweller client had told her that the diamond was indeed a very fine specimen and was already cut in the ‘round brilliant’ style, for maximum sparkle... and Sofia wanted sparkle. The ring would be simple to maximise the impact of her round brilliant sparkling jewel.
Part of her would have loved it to go on her ‘ring finger’, but she opted for the right hand instead. One day maybe, maybe one day!
‘Aw!’ thought Sofia, ‘that’s so sweet!” She’d taken Paolo’s tears to mean he’d recently lost his beloved mother. She was moved. She already liked Paolo, quite a lot in fact. This made her like him more. What’s more, the large, impressive diamond was the only thing his dying mother could leave Paolo and he’d given it to her, Sofia. ‘If ever he asks...’ she thought idly...’age gap...so what?’ But then she came back to Earth.
Paolo was making it up as he went along... playing ‘the advantage rule’. He’d expected Sofia to ask searching questions. And he’d supplied sparkling answers.
“Did you steal this diamond?” Sofia asked Paolo after he had passed it over to her and lay, spent, beside her on his bed. “Are the cops going to come knocking on my door Paolo? It’s a really cool diamond... but is it hot?”
“No worries” was Paolo’s immediate answer. “It was paid for fair and square, but the person I got it from doesn’t need it anymore. She isn’t going to want it back.”
“She?” queried Sofia.
“Couldn’t take it with her. It’s all she had left to give me!”
“Your mother?” Sofia asked. “She passed away?”
While Livia and Mary were enjoying a hilariously serious gourmet lunch, Sofia had turned down the offer of lunching with an office friend to visit one of her clients, a jeweller of some repute. Sofia had helped him a lot on a recent property search and she felt he could be trusted to be discreet if asked.
Sofia was a woman of considerable style and wanted to be able to show off her new diamond. It was terrific on its own, as an investment, but would be so much better as a statement. It would make a lovely solitaire ring.
Talk became small as both women tackled the modest feast Livia had created and somehow managed to call sandwiches. When finished eating, the serious talk, the big talk, would start again. Something told Livia that what Mary was about to tell her would be anything but trivial.
“Should’ve brought a bottle with me Livia.” said Mary as the last of the fizz dripped into her glass. “And d’ya know what? I feckin’ did! It’s in me car. Wait a sec while I go get it.”
Mary came back with a bottle, not of Prosecco, but champagne.
Celebration time, come on!
‘Oh!’ thought Livia as she watched Mary demolish the glass of Prosecco. She pushed the bottle towards Mary.
“Fill your glass Mary while I get the sandwiches.” Mary needed no further encouragement. Meanwhile, Livia went into her spacious pantry, to another fridge from which she took out two plates of open sandwiches, works of art in their own right. She removed the cling film preventing them from drying out. Livia was well prepared for an impromptu lunch.
“Feckin’ hell,” exclaimed Mary as she saw the two plates. “You must give me the address of your sandwich shop. They’re feckin’ brilliant!”
Livia went to the fridge for the Prosecco, grabbed a couple of glasses and uncorked the bottle with a pop. Wine bubbled fiercely out of the bottle before she reached the glasses.
“I reckon my Ronan was doing a bit too much of that with his feckin’ slut! I would say the fecker’s all shot, but the cow stabbed him!” More laughter at Mary’s smutty outburst.
With a clink of glasses, Livia sipped her wine. She needed to stay in control, with her wits about her. Not so Mary it seemed, who took an enormous gulp, half emptying her glass.