Warhol's Prophecy

107

THEY DROVE IN silence.

Hailey unwilling to speak. Caroline unable to.

In the back seat, Walker remained quiet: gaze fixed on the two women in front of him.

Every now and then, Hailey would glance into the wing-mirror on her side of the car, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but it was shrouded in darkness.

She had no idea which of them the gun was pointing at.

Once or twice she had glanced across at Caroline and seen the terror on her face: her jaw clamped shut, a knot of muscles pulsing at the side.

Hailey had wanted to ask what was going on. But each time she had tried to speak, it seemed as if her mouth would not open.

All she could think about was the gun.

Gun?

No matter how many times she ran the word through her mind, it didn’t seem to register. She and Caroline were being held at gunpoint.

Impossible?

If only it was. This seemed all too real.

Hailey tried to swallow, but her throat felt as if it was filled with chalk. Fear had dried her mouth more effectively than blotting paper. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Caroline never took her eyes off the road.

It became apparent to Hailey, after the first few moments, that they were heading towards Walker’s house.

Thoughts tumbled through her head with incredible speed.

Jump from the car?

They were moving at a steady forty. She would probably be killed in the fall, or hit by an oncoming car.

But her recurring thought was of Becky. She was convinced she was never going to see her daughter again.

Caroline swung the car into the street where Walker’s house stood.

Now, when the car stops, run like hell?

In her fevered mind’s-eye she could see him raising the pistol, shooting her in the back as she ran.

Again she tried to swallow. Still she couldn’t.

Caroline parked the car and waited for further instructions.

‘Get out,’ Walker said. ‘Walk to the front door, slowly.’

He was out first, the gun held low.

Caroline nearly stumbled as she made her way to the door. Her legs would barely support her.

Hailey walked behind her, not daring to glance round at him.

Run now. He won’t fire the gun in the street – will he?

Walker unlocked the front door and ushered them inside, closing it behind him. He left the lights off.

Hailey heard the key turn once more. They were locked in.

In the semi-darkness she saw the glistening barrel of the pistol.

‘Go through,’ Walker instructed them, nodding towards the study.

They obeyed. What else could they do?

There were two chairs set in the middle of the room.

Both had pieces of nylon rope hanging over the back.

‘Caroline, sit down,’ Walker said evenly. ‘Hailey, tie her up.’

For long seconds the women hesitated, looking helplessly at each other.

Hailey saw tears welling up in her friend’s eyes. She felt as if she herself might lose control any minute.

‘Do it,’ Walker repeated softly, his voice almost a whisper.

With shaking hands, Hailey began her task.

Rob looked at his watch.

How much longer?

He sipped at his mineral water and looked around the dining room of the hotel.

It was bedlam: the noise, the constant ebb and flow from table to table, the clutch of people standing around the bar, the waiters and waitresses moving about so efficiently amidst the throng.

He saw James Marsh talking to the group.

Saw Craig Levine pointing towards his groin and laughing. The crowd around him laughed, too.

Nicholas Barber was speaking to a couple of local councillors.

David Easton – the bass player with Waterhole – was juggling with peanuts, to the obvious delight of the roadies watching him.

Beside him, his girlfriend, a stunning raven-haired woman wearing a red dress that looked as if it had been sprayed on, was chatting to Jenny Kenton, who was sipping her spritzer and looking regally around her. Occasionally she adjusted her dark glasses.

‘Where’s Mum?’ said Becky.

‘She’ll be here soon, babe,’ Rob replied, putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

I hope.

He continued to scan the heaving mass of people.

No sign of Walker or Caroline Hacket either.

Again Rob looked at his watch.