Breaking the Rules (32 page)

‘So why has Dad been so suspicious? And anyway, how did he find out?’ Larry asked, bafflement echoing in his voice.

‘Someone told him I was seen with a man whilst he was slogging away in Toronto. Who that was I might never really know. But someone
did
pour poison. And I have my suspicions.’

‘Mum, listen to me! I bet it was that two-faced bloody brother of mine.
Edward.
He must have told Dad. Edward was here in London, before going over to Canada when Dad was rehearsing
Cyrano.
Remember?’

‘I don’t think Edward is the culprit, Larry. Besides, he knows which side his bread’s buttered on. He wouldn’t do anything to upset me, because—’

‘You’re giving him money, aren’t you, Mother?’ Larry interrupted. ‘Giving him thousands so he can support all those women, all those kids. You’re enabling him to behave badly.’

‘I am giving him money, Larry, yes, because all of those kids, as you describe them, do happen to be my grandchildren. I can’t see them starve, just because my son, their father, behaves like a juvenile delinquent.’ Pandora shook her head. ‘I don’t believe Edward was the one who told your father, but somebody definitely did.’

‘So, Dad must know the name of this…soul mate of yours, Ma, think about that. Since you’ve obviously been seen in public,
they
must have passed on a name.’

‘What are you getting at, Larry?’

‘You can tell
me
his name, can’t you? Since Dad must know, why the big secret?’

‘Such curiosity, darling—but no, I can’t reveal the man’s name, because whoever it was who gossiped to your father didn’t know the name of my old friend. He hasn’t been in office for years, he’s retired, he’s someone from the past, he doesn’t look the same. Only someone of my age might recall who he actually is…’

‘Are you saying a younger person told Dad?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Who, Ma? Someone we know?’ He threw her a searching look.

‘I think it might have been Miranda,’ she finally confided.

‘
Our
Miranda? Your daughter? My sister? That
particular
Miranda? Ma, you must be joking. You are, aren’t you?’

Pandora bit her lip, looked suddenly saddened as she murmured in a low voice, ‘The first time I had lunch with my soul mate—oh, God, let’s just call him the politician, that’s easier. Well, that day, I was sitting facing the door in a little restaurant in Chelsea, and I suddenly saw Miranda rushing out. It was as if she had come in, seen me and hurried off. Embarrassed. She looked embarrassed.’

‘God, I can’t believe it! Why would she tell Dad she’d seen you with a man having lunch? And so what? You have male friends in the theatre with whom you lunch and dine. Do you think Miranda would gossip to Dad? I mean really? And they don’t like each other, Ma.’

‘But who else knew where to get in touch with him? Only someone in the family, and she’s the only person who saw me that day, as far as I know.’

Larry sighed, leaned back in his chair, staring at his mother thoughtfully. Taking a deep breath, he said softly, ‘Maybe you’re right about Miranda. Perhaps she wants to curry favour with Dad, wants to stroke him a bit, stroke his ego, get back
in his good books. She might be thinking of that Last Will and Testament.’

‘Larry,
please.
Don’t be ghastly. I can’t stand it when you’re like that. However, to be fair, there is a point to what you say. And regarding my friend, the politician. He’s a widower, one daughter is dead, the other lives abroad, he’s rather lonely. And once, long ago, we cared about each other. He wants us to be friends, and that’s all there is to it. He just needs a friend.’

‘You said you meet at his home?
Why?
‘

‘I didn’t want to run into anyone I knew a second time, because your father was acting up so much, once he’d heard the story. I was simply trying to be discreet.’ She paused, took hold of his hand. ‘I was being kind to both of them.’

‘I understand. But where’s it at now, with my father?’

‘I’ve finally convinced him that the man is just an old friend, someone from the period when I worked in Los Angeles, a man who’d been kind to me when I was filming there from time to time. I also managed to convince him that my old friend was only over here on a short trip, and then confided that the man was gay. And there the matter rests. The rows have stopped; your father is more like himself. And just think on this, dear heart. I managed to do all this by simply telling a simple lie about a man’s sexuality.’

‘I’m glad you did, since it makes life easier for me, for the family, when the two of you are not at loggerheads.’

‘Glad to hear it, Larry.’

‘Ma?’

‘Yes?’

‘Who is the man? Please tell me.’

She looked into his extraordinary blue eyes, and sighed. He was her favourite, she loved him unconditionally; she trusted him implicitly. And so she told him who her soul mate of long ago was.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Larry exclaimed, looking thunderstruck, gaping at her. ‘The true seat of power. Oh, Ma.’

‘Quite,’ Pandora murmured, opened her bag, took out her lip gloss and ran it over her beautiful mouth.

The moment he walked into the flat after lunch, Larry knew that something was wrong. M was standing in the library corner, intently focused on the television screen, and when she heard him and swung around, he saw how pale she was, and the worried expression in her dark eyes.

Hurrying towards her, he asked anxiously, ‘Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I thought you probably hadn’t heard, Larry. The store’s been attacked—two bombs exploded there this morning when I was having my meeting with Linnet. At around noon. In the Bird Cage—’

‘Oh, my God, how horrendous!’ he cut in, joining her in front of the television, putting his arm around her, drawing her close to him. ‘
Lunch time.
’ He groaned. ‘How many people have been killed?’

‘It was closed. Fortunately, Lin had closed it because of a drainage problem, so it was empty. Even the plumbers had gone to lunch. But there were a number of casualties.’ Turning off the set, taking hold of his hand, she explained everything as she led him towards the kitchen.

‘Obviously Lin is going to be at the store for hours with Simon Baron, and Scotland Yard. And the counterterrorist chaps. But I’ve asked her to come over for supper, and Simon, too. I hope you don’t mind. She needs me at a time like this.’

‘Of course she does, darling, and I’m glad they’ve accepted. And thank God you’re both all right.’

‘Yes. We are, although we’re both bruised a bit. The blast threw us across the room. We were in Linnet’s office, and we could’ve had a few broken bones.’

Once they were in the kitchen, Larry realized M was in the process of making his favourite bolognese sauce. Chopped beef, tomatoes and onions were spread over the central island counter, and she had already taken out various bowls, pots and pans. ‘I can see we’re in for a treat,’ he said, sitting down on one of the tall stools, still feeling shaken up by her shocking news.

‘It’s the easiest thing for me to make, and I had all the ingredients except for the meat.’ As she returned to her work with the food, M went on, ‘The store will remain closed until tomorrow, late afternoon, or Friday. The bomb squad have to check the entire store just in case more explosives were planted on other floors.’

He stared at her, worried, shaking his head. ‘It’s unbelievable this has happened—there’s such enormous security at Harte’s. It’s just incredible.’

‘Yes, I know. Scotland Yard believe it’s a terrorist attack, and Inspector Yardley told us they’d been expecting a hit on an important department store for a long time. Public places are very vulnerable, you know. Remember the seven/seven bombings two years ago? The public transport system was attacked during the morning rush hour, and the damage was horrible, so many hurt. Fifty-two people killed, and another seven hundred people injured altogether.’

‘I do remember it, M. I had a friend who was injured on that bus.’

‘It’s extremists, I’m sure. And I have a theory. I think whoever did this hid in the store until it closed, planted the bombs and then waited until the store opened the next morning in order to leave. I know that place inside out, and I have since my childhood. Believe me, there are many corners and areas to hide without being spotted.’

Her mobile suddenly rang, and M snatched it up off the counter. ‘Hullo?’

‘It’s Lin,’ her sister said. ‘A bit of news.’

‘I’m listening,’ M replied, pressing the phone closer to her ear. Once Linnet had finished, she said, ‘Thanks for letting me know, and we’ll see you tonight around eight thirty then. Bye.’

Looking at Larry, M told him, ‘The police have found two unexploded bombs in another area of the Bird Cage. They didn’t go off, they just fizzled and died. Thank God.’

Larry was aghast. ‘Thank God indeed. I hate to think of the carnage if
four
bombs had exploded.’

M gave him a knowing look, went to the stove and put the chopped onions in a pan with a little butter, and let them cook slowly over a low light. Next, she poured hot water on four large tomatoes so that the skin would drop off easily when she peeled them.

Larry continued to watch her, not only admiring the deft way she worked, but her calmness and self-control after the explosion. She was a wonder.

At one moment he said, ‘I don’t know much about Simon Baron. Tell me about him, darling.’

‘He’s Jack Figg’s nephew. Well, actually, he’s not really. By that I mean he’s not actually a blood relative. Jack’s sister Sarah and her husband Alistair adopted Simon when he was a baby, maybe six months old or so. Jack’s close to him, and Simon worked for Figg International before taking over day-to-day security for the stores.’ M let out a sigh, shook her head. ‘I wish Jack were here right now. He makes me feel safe.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He went to Hong Kong. Apparently, he had business there. Even though he’s sort of semi-retired, he goes in to the Knightsbridge store three days a week, and I know it makes Linnet happy to have him around. They’re as thick as thieves, those two.’

‘Jack told me at the dinner your parents gave for us that Linnet is Emma Harte reincarnated.’

‘He should know; he worked for Grandy from the age of
eighteen.’ Changing the subject, she now asked, ‘How was lunch with your mother?’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Really? What did she want to talk to you about?’

‘I was the one who wanted to talk to her, actually. By the way, she told me she adores you, and she’s thrilled we’re married.’

M smiled for the first time that day. ‘And so am I. What did
you
wish to discuss with your mother that was so important?’

‘The vulnerability of the human heart.’

‘They laugh that win.’

From
Othello
by
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

‘Winner Takes All.’

Anonymous

T
he meal had been an incomparable feast, and Jack Figg fully understood that it had been prepared especially for him, and to please him. One after another, sumptuous dishes, elegantly arranged on platters, were brought out and presented to him, and then served with consummate skill. They were his favourites and the most delicious he had ever tasted…at least since he had been in this house several years ago.

Looking across the highly polished rosewood dining table at his host, Zhèng Wen Li, Jack said, ‘Thank you for this splendid treat, and my compliments to the chef. He has outdone himself tonight, and I feel most honoured, Wen Li.’

‘I am gratified you enjoyed the meal, Jack,’ the respected Chinese banker murmured, inclining his head graciously. Settling back in the carved mahogany chair, he added, ‘It is I who am honoured that you are here in my home. And I thank you for coming to see me. It was vital that we meet and I am too frail to travel. Now that we have dined, let us go into the library where we can enjoy jasmine tea or a
digestif,
and we shall speak of many things.’

Jack rose and followed the refined and dignified old banker
out of the dining room, thinking how elegant he looked in his magnificent red and gold brocade ceremonial robe. A family heirloom, it was of great antiquity, and Jack was fully aware that Zhèng only ever wore it with his family and intimate friends. This in itself was a compliment to him, and he was flattered by this relaxation of formality.

A long, wide gallery, where priceless Chinese paintings and objects of art were displayed, separated the dining room and the library. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed a few new pieces of exquisitely carved jade on display on the glass shelves, and he hoped Zhèng would show the pieces to him later.

Stepping briskly after his host, Jack caught his breath when he entered the library. Earlier, when he had first arrived, the mist had been rolling down the Peak, and outside the vast plate-glass window, the panoramic view of Hong Kong, Victoria Harbour and Kowloon had been obscured by smog.

But now all were visible, and the view was spectacular under the ink-black sky scattered with shining stars. Hong Kong glitters, he thought. But then it always had for him, and in so many different ways; if he had to pick a favourite city in the world, this would be it. What a mixture it was: skyscrapers and squalor; jewels and junk; big money and stark poverty…rich and poor living cheek by jowl in this great melting pot of humanity, where anything and everything was possible. He had come here as often as he could when he was younger, and he had once even contemplated living here. But he had known all those years ago that this would never happen. England was his country and his home.

Moving forward, Jack joined Zhèng at the window and his friend turned to him, murmured, ‘There is no view like this in the world, is there, Jack?’

‘There surely isn’t, and it’s different every hour of the day, or so it seems to me…constantly changing.’

‘As life is constantly changing…the only thing that is permanent is change.’ Zhèng sighed under his breath, indicated with
a wave of his long slender hand that Jack should be seated. He took the chair opposite this Englishman whom he considered to be the best friend he had ever had.

Almost immediately one of the Chinese houseboys appeared, carrying a silver tray of jasmine tea; another followed sharp on his heels with glasses of iced water; a third boy brought a brass tray holding a bottle of vintage Napoleon cognac and brandy balloons.

Jack took a small, paper-thin porcelain bowl of the jasmine tea, as did Zhèng, and, when they were alone, Zhèng said, ‘I am quite certain you understood that I had an important and confidential matter to discuss when I asked you to come here…because it was imperative that I speak to you face to face.’

‘I did, Wen Li, and, knowing you the way I do, I had no intention of ignoring your request, or questioning your judgement.’

‘We have known each other a long time, haven’t we?’ Zhèng said, slipping his hand into the pocket of his ceremonial robe, bringing out a small green-jade pebble, smoothing his hand over it, turning it slowly. A smile touched his eyes. ‘My talisman, Jack. For good joss.’

Jack nodded. ‘I remember it. And we’ve known each other for thirty-five years, to be exact.’

‘And the first time we met, all those many years ago, you introduced me to your friend Mallory Carpenter, then head of the Hong Kong Police, when this island was still the British Crown Colony. Thanks to you, he helped me to solve a terrible problem. He became a wonderful friend, as indeed you did.’

Jack sat back, listening carefully to his wise and brilliant Chinese friend, wondering what he was leading up to, but he knew better than to ask questions or probe.

Leaning forward, Zhèng said in a low voice, ‘You risked your life to save mine. At the time I told you I owed you a debt of honour, but that I hoped and prayed I never would
have to repay it. I explained that I didn’t want
you
to
need
my help because you were in danger or in trouble. Do you remember, Jack?’

‘I do indeed, Wen Li.’ Jack spoke quietly. He was startled, taken aback, and wondering what this was all about. He returned Zhèng’s long stare, waiting. When he had flown here two days ago, he had done so on the assumption that Zhèng needed his help with an urgent matter. Now it appeared that the boot might be on the other foot.

Rubbing his hand over his mouth, Jack straightened his back, moved to the edge of the chair, decided to plunge in. ‘Do I have trouble? Am I in some kind of danger, Wen Li? Is that why you asked me to come here?’

‘I am loath to be the bearer of bad news; however, in this instance I must be. A man you and I detest has surfaced in Hong Kong, although he is not here at this moment. I am aware he bears you ill will. I had to warn you, Jack. You must protect yourself.’

Jack frowned in perplexity, shook his head. ‘I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d like to do me in, but in Hong Kong? I don’t think so.’ Jack was certain of this, and his voice reflected his confidence.

‘I am sure of it.’

‘So tell me who it is.’

‘
Jonathan Ainsley.
’

Jack was thunderstruck, and he gaped at Zhèng Wen Li in bewilderment; he had been rendered speechless.

Jonathan Ainsley. That dreaded name from the past, the evil man who had vowed to destroy Paula and her daughters: Tessa, Linnet and M. Her whole family, in fact, including her sons Lorne and Desmond, and her husband Shane O’Neill. Emma Harte’s grandson, who believed he had been cheated of his due and that his first cousin Paula had inherited what was rightfully his…the great Harte emporium in Knightsbridge and all the
other stores as well. And to think that Jonathan’s father Robin Ainsley and Paula’s mother Daisy Amory were brother and sister. How had such evil come about in one man? He was not like the rest of the Hartes at all. That old saying ‘blood is thicker than water’ did not hold true…

‘It is apparent you don’t believe me,’ Zhèng eventually murmured, now adding with some insistence, ‘but it is the truth.’

‘He’s dead. He died in 2002!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘He was in a car crash in France. His car was hit by a lorry head-on. We all know this. The car was demolished and so was he. He’s dead. I’m telling you he’s dead. And buried.’

Zhèng shook his head.

‘It’s a silly rumour somebody’s spread around. It’s not true, it can’t be,’ Jack persisted, unwilling to accept this appalling news.

‘I did not believe it, and I reacted as you have. However, apparently his American wife took him to a clinic in Switzerland, and they healed him. It took a long time, but they pumped life back into him.’

‘I just can’t accept this! I can’t!’ Jack muttered.

There was a long silence between the two men, and finally Zhèng said softly, in a carefully measured voice, ‘Surely you believe
me.
In any event, I have the benefit of my own eyes. An intermediary brought a message to me, asking me to come to Ainsley’s office. I was flabbergasted, as you are. But I went, I met with him. Ten days ago. He invited me to do business with him again.’

Jack remained absolutely silent, stricken by the news that he realized he now had to believe. He had no alternative.

The banker continued, ‘He is a dangerous man, and he has not changed. He is still vindictive, and that is why I had to warn you. He will attempt to destroy Paula, as well as you. He still hates her with his whole being. The hatred goes back to their childhood.’

‘Did he mention me? Or Paula?’

‘No, he did not. But I know, Jack…
I know it here,
’ he said, putting a hand over his heart. ‘And I know it in my frail old bones…I was compelled to send for you…’

Jonathan Ainsley. Back from the dead.
The words floated before Jack’s eyes. How this was possible he did not know; they must have worked a miracle at the Swiss clinic. Jack said, all of a sudden, ‘What does he look like?’

‘I did not recognize him,’ Zhèng replied. ‘And neither would you, if you were to see him.’

Jack did not answer.

Zhèng sat studying his old friend, and after a moment he drew closer to Jack, placed a hand on his knee.

Jack looked at him, his expression quizzical.

Zhèng said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, ‘There is another reason I needed to see you in person. I have many things I must share with you about Ainsley.’ The Chinese banker paused, held Jack with his eyes, said at last, ‘We must discuss ways to render him useless, powerless. That is an imperative. Let us start planning, plotting against him. There must be a way that you and I can defeat this odious man.’

It was long after midnight when Jack got back to his hotel located in Central. As usual he was staying at the Mandarin Oriental, and although it was his habit to have a nightcap in the Captain’s Bar, tonight he went straight to his room.

As he went in he immediately saw the winking red light on the telephone, and he closed the door and went over to the desk in front of the window. Checking his hotel voice mail, he discovered that Linnet had called him, and so had Simon. A third message was from Linnet, explaining she and Simon were now in her office at the store. Until eight. After that they would be
having supper at M’s flat. He checked his mobile phone, which he had left on the desk recharging, and found messages from the two of them, made about half an hour earlier.

Sitting down heavily, he knew at once there was some kind of problem. Five years of peace and tranquillity. Now the tension was back. The thought of Ainsley made his blood run cold, and he shivered. Goose flesh prickled the back of his neck, and he shivered again.
Somebody walked over my grave,
he thought, remembering an old saying from his childhood.

He pulled the phone towards him, glancing at his watch as he did. It was almost one o’clock in the morning in Hong Kong; six o’clock in London. Since there was a seven-hour time difference, Linnet and Simon would still be at Harte’s.

After dialling Linnet’s private line, Jack sat back and started to worry about her mother. How to protect Paula O’Neill from Ainsley? That was going to be some task, virtually an impossibility.

‘Linnet O’Neill.’

‘Hello, Beauty. It’s me.’

‘Jack! You got our messages?’

‘I did, Linnet, yes. What’s going on? Has something happened?
I hope not.
’

‘I’m afraid so, Jack. I guess you haven’t seen the news. Turn on CNN. We’ve been attacked by terrorists. The Bird Cage blew up around noon today—’

‘Jesus Christ!’ He went cold all over, and closed his eyes, then snapped them open. ‘Tell me the worst.’

‘I’d closed it, Jack. At six o’clock this morning. Brenda Powell had called me at five, because there was trouble with the drainage system. She was in early because she was running the power breakfast today. She acted fast. Jack, some good news. Nobody dead, staff and customers injured by the blast but it’s not overwhelming.’

‘I shall come back straight away, Lin, don’t worry. I suppose Simon called everybody. Brought in the Yard, all that lot.’

‘Yes, he did, and here he is, he wants to talk to you, tell you everything. But we’re both fine, Jack. And we’ve got matters under control.’

Jack Figg listened at length to everything Simon had to say. He had trained Simon himself, and he knew what a brilliant security officer he was. There was nobody more alert, responsible and efficient. He was a good cop. But as he listened, Jack became troubled and alarmed when he heard that the counterterrorist squad had discovered two unexploded bombs in the Bird Cage that had fizzled and died. He knew that if they
had
gone off, the damage to the store would have been horrendous. The executive offices, he suddenly thought, Linnet’s office. She could have been killed. She had had a narrow escape, and all because of those dud bombs. A chill ran through him again.

After a few more minutes on the phone, he told Simon he would be back by the weekend, Monday at the latest, and hung up. Once he had found the remote control, he went and stood in front of the television set, zipped around until he found CNN. Then he sat down on the bottom of the bed, waiting for the coverage of the terrorist attack at Harte’s store in Knightsbridge to show up on the screen. He saw mention of it on the crawl first, and suddenly there it was, his beloved store, and his beloved Linnet, the managing director, being interviewed about the attack on the most famous department store in the world.

He woke suddenly in the middle of the night; for a moment he thought it must be morning. After glancing at the illuminated electric clock, he learned it was only four, and groaned to himself.

Jack lay there, listening alertly, wondering what had woken him up. And within seconds he understood. His own brain had dealt a solid blow to sleep; his thoughts had intruded and so had M’s voice. Two weeks ago she had said to him, ‘I had a
narrow escape, Jack. If I hadn’t sprained my ankle I’d have been on the runway. And I could have been a goner. I think my namesake is watching over me…Mummy has always said Emma’s my guardian angel.’