Breaking the Rules (33 page)

M had had a narrow escape. Linnet just had a narrow escape. Both incidents in public places were considered to be terrorist attacks, and by the police in Paris and London. But were they?

Throwing back the bedclothes, Jack got out of bed, put on a robe and went over to the desk. Sitting down, he found a piece of hotel writing paper, and drew an oblong shape on it. He then drew three squares next to each other and wrote in the squares: Bird Cage, linen department, Linnet’s office. They all three adjoined each other. As he knew they did; he had just needed to see that portion of the store floor set out like a floor plan.

Had Linnet’s office been the real target? Maybe. But it was impossible to get into the executive offices without setting off a series of alarms. If somebody wanted to do damage to Linnet’s office, why not place bombs in the linen department next to it? Because it didn’t have any doors, was open to the entire floor, and therefore liable to be checked at night by patrolling security men. The Bird Cage was the obvious place to hide bombs. And to hide the perpetrators themselves until they could leave the next morning.

Jack leaned back in the chair, wondering if M had been the real target in Paris. And what about her husband? Larry had eaten contaminated food the day the runway collapsed. Or had he been poisoned? Running his hand over his face, Jack asked himself if he was becoming paranoid now that he knew Jonathan Ainsley was alive, not dead as they had all believed.

He had no answer for himself. But he did know he had to watch his back, and Paula’s, and the backs of her daughters. Was Ainsley targeting them? The answer, of course, was yes.

Jack didn’t even bother to go back to bed. He sat at the desk, thinking and worrying, and wondering where the hell to begin.
Jonathan Ainsley was a psychopath, there was no question in his mind about that. And a billionaire, so money was no object. He had to be stopped. Whatever it took.

Jonathan Ainsley. Alive not dead. Bad joss.
His
bad joss.

When he hit the streets at ten o’clock later that morning, Jack caught his breath in surprise. For a moment he had forgotten what it was like to move on foot here. He was quickly engulfed in a cacophony of sound, blinded by swirls of colour and brilliant light. Everywhere there was movement, noise and tumult, people jostling him as he was instantly caught up in the crowds rushing about their daily business.

This was Hong Kong, and there was a perpetual motion wherever he looked. Jets soaring up in the skies above the Peak; junks, sampans, ferries and yachts plying the waters around Kowloon and Central. Yet there was a distinct rhythm, a tempo to all of this flow of humanity. Normally, Jack revelled in the teeming life of this small island where space was at a premium. But this morning he was irritated as he hurried to his destination in Central, dodging the trams, buses, rickshaws and cars that surged through the streets.

He was intent on his purpose, making for the offices of Zhèng Wen Li, where he was expected in a short while. Last night, as he had been leaving the banker’s grand house on the Peak, Zhèng had invited him to come to the private bank so that they could finish their business.

Within fifteen minutes, Jack arrived, and was immediately shown into Zhèng’s inner sanctum. The respected banker, smiling at the sight of Jack and rising at once, came around the desk and shook his hand. He said, ‘I am saddened that Harte’s has been hit by the terrorists, Jack. I am sure you have spoken to Linnet. From the information I garnered from the television
news, it appears that the damage was not as enormous as it might have been.’ He sat down at the desk; Jack took a chair at the other side.

‘That’s correct, Wen Li. And I did speak to Linnet, and to Paula, and they both send you greetings and their good wishes. The store is closed until tomorrow, counterterrorist squads have been checking every floor, every nook and cranny, and making sure there are no more hidden explosives. Fortunately, there have been no fatalities, although a number of people were injured. Nevertheless, it could have been much worse.’

‘The counterterrorist branch of Scotland Yard are calling it a terrorist attack,’ Zhèng murmured, eyeing Jack pointedly. ‘But what is your opinion? Could this crime have been perpetrated by…an
individual
with extraordinary resources?’

‘Yes, it could. And that thought crossed
my
mind. Ainsley could have set everything in motion with no trouble at all. He’s done similar things in the past, and we know he is unconscionable.’

Zhèng simply nodded, aware that Jack spoke the truth.

Jack said, ‘I have several other appointments today, various things I want to put in place, and a couple of meetings tomorrow. But I am flying back to London on Saturday, Wen Li.’

Leaning across the desk, the banker said, ‘I shall proceed as we discussed last evening, Jack, and keep you abreast of all matters.’

‘Thank you, and I’m sure you understand my urgent need to go back to London.’

‘I do indeed. Now, I have a few more items to clear with you, and then I wish to introduce you to a most brilliant young man, whose expertise and knowledge might be helpful to us at some point in the future.’

Jack nodded, and listened as the banker passed on additional and useful information about Jonathan Ainsley, before finishing, ‘And that is everything I know, Jack. For the moment.’
Zhèng picked up the telephone, dialled a number, spoke quickly in Cantonese, and hung up.

A moment later there was a knock on the door, and it opened to admit a young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties.

Jack stood, stepped forward, and took the hand that was instantly offered to him.

The young man said, ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Figg. I am Richard Zhèng, but everyone calls me Richie.’

‘How very nice to meet you, Richie,’ Jack responded, and added, ‘You have been educated in America I am assuming.’

‘Yes. At the Wharton School of Business, among other institutions. But now I am back in Hong Kong, where I belong. And to stay.’

‘I am proud to tell you that Richie is my grandson, Jack,’ Zhèng announced, and his smiling face told Jack that the banker was besotted with the young man. And what a specimen he was. Jack had been startled by his looks when he walked in. Richie was tall for a Chinese, and extremely handsome, staggeringly good looking, and Jack suddenly suspected there might be occidental blood in the young man because of his height and skin tone.

As if he had read Jack’s mind, Zhèng said, ‘My son married a beautiful English woman, Jack. After his parents died, I raised Richie, and he has proved to be the most devoted of grandsons. He is my sole heir, and he has been learning about banking here with me. One day, China Zhèng Private Bank will be his, and I know it will be safe in his very competent and clever hands. But I think you should also know that Richie has another area in which he excels.’

Jack looked at Zhèng expectantly, but when he sat there smiling, saying nothing, Jack turned to Richie, and asked, ‘And what else do you excel at as well as banking?’

‘I’m a computer whiz,’ Richie replied.

‘No, not a whiz,’ Zhèng corrected sternly. ‘You are a
genius
at the computer.’ Looking across at Richie, the banker said something in Cantonese, and turning back to Jack, he murmured, ‘An invaluable asset, Jack. Do you not agree?’

Jack’s mind was racing so fast he simply nodded in agreement.

As he walked back to the hotel, Jack’s mind remained focused on Ainsley. How fortuitous it was that the man had never known how close he was to Zhèng Wen Li, as Emma had been until she had died, and then Paula afterwards. This gave them an advantage now. Nor did Ainsley know that the Chinese banker had always detested him. As Wen Li had once said to him, ‘You don’t have to like those with whom you do business, Jack.’ It had been a cynical remark, but then, like most bankers, Zhèng Wen Li was a pragmatist, and Wen Li had made money with Ainsley at different times.

J
ack Figg sat in Linnet’s office, drinking a cup of coffee as he waited for her to finish a phone call, which had started a few minutes after he had arrived. He studied her surreptitiously, as he so often did, thinking that she looked better than she had for a long time. He was positive this was because M was back in London, and that she felt less lonely with her sister around. Thank God she and M were all right, had not been injured in the explosion. ‘Only a few bruises,’ Linnet had explained. ‘M and I are none the worse for wear-and-tear, or explosives!’

He brought his gaze back to the fireplace, where as usual a fire was burning brightly. He was glad of it this morning. It was May Day, the first of May, pouring with rain, rather cool and windy. Some spring day, he thought.

Lifting his eyes, he stared at the oil painting of Linnet’s great-grandmother, Emma Harte, a woman he had revered, and still did. She had been on his mind a lot these last few days. He suddenly thought of the time he had decided to leave Harte’s because he wanted to start his own company. Emma had fought him at first and then, relenting, she had cleverly persuaded him to compromise. She had said she would help him to finance
Jack Figg International, a company he would own, with the understanding that Harte’s would be his first client.

He smiled to himself now, remembering how sly and cunning she had been. His second client had been Blackie O’Neill and O’Neill Hotels International, his third Sir Ronald Kallinski and Kallinski Industries. He hadn’t needed any other clients once he was representing the three clans: head of security for three major tycoons and three successful companies. She had managed very skilfully to keep him bound to her for most of the time, and on an exclusive basis. One day, some years later, she had drawn up a document that gave him total ownership of his company; when he had tried to return her initial investment, she had told him that it was a bonus for his devotion, that he owed her nothing. But he knew he did. He owed her everything, the life he had today, the life he, in turn, had helped Simon to have.

Linnet was so like her, not only in her looks but in a variety of different ways. She could be just as loving and charming, clever and devious, and also surprisingly ruthless, when this was necessary. He was relieved she was now coping with her grief so well. Julian Kallinski’s sudden and unexpected death two years ago had stunned her, knocked her sideways. It had been a shock to them all. Julian had died of a heart attack in his early thirties, and he a man who had never been ill a day in his entire life.

There was a knock on the door, and it flew open as M came hurrying into the office, a little out of breath. Blowing a kiss to her sister, she glided over to Jack, sat down next to him on the sofa, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Sitting back, she asked, ‘Have you seen the mess? The Bird Cage is virtually destroyed, Jack. I couldn’t believe it, the day it happened. We had a lucky escape. Just imagine if those other two bombs had gone off in the restaurant. The linen department would have been demolished—and possibly this office.’

‘Not possibly, M, it
would
have been. And an inferno would have ensued, with all this wood panelling,’ Jack answered,
glancing at the beautiful polished pine walls dating back to Emma’s day. ‘It’s a great relief to me that you’re both all right. We had good joss in that, at least.’

‘Good
joss
?’ M repeated, sounding puzzled.

‘Good joss means good luck; it’s an expression the Chinese use.’ He put his hand in his pocket, brought out his beautiful jade pebble and showed it to her. ‘A friend gave me this, it’s a talisman, and it’s supposed to bring good luck. And you and Lin
were
lucky last week.’

‘I know you spoke to Linnet and Simon on the phone over the past few days, so you must know everything. And I suppose Simon brought you up to date this morning, right?’

Jack nodded.

M gave Jack a direct, penetrating stare. ‘Do you think it strange that no terrorist group has come forward to claim responsibility for the bombing of Harte’s? Don’t they usually love to do that? Take bows?’

‘Not always. But I agree with you. Quite frankly, I thought some group might make an announcement because of the importance of Harte’s.’

‘Anyway, we’re open again,’ M said, assuming a cheerful tone. ‘I suppose that’s because we’ve made sure everyone knows the store was thoroughly checked, floor by floor. Also, that we’ve increased security.’

She raised a black brow, grimaced. ‘I couldn’t move for all the extra security men this morning. They’re swarming all over the place. Thanks to Simon. Anyway, on to other things. How was Hong Kong, Jack?’

‘Interesting,’ he answered noncommittally. ‘And still one of the most extraordinary places in the world.’

‘I’d love to go there one day, but only if you were along. Nobody knows it like you, and I bet we’d have a great time.’

‘Just let me know
when,
’ he said, smiling at her, even though his heart was heavy. Black Irish, he thought, studying her. She’s
as much a throwback to Blackie O’Neill, with her dark good looks, as she is to Emma Harte.

‘I’m sorry. That was an interminable call,’ Linnet apologized as she finally put down the phone and came to join them.

M jumped up, the sisters hugged, and Linnet held her away and said, ‘I know I’ve said this many times lately, but I’ll say it again…it makes me so happy that you’re back in London.’

‘Me too, Linny.’

As usual, Linnet sat down in the straight chair next to the fireplace. Jack knew she felt the cold just as her great-grandmother had, and preferred this warmest spot in the room. Smiling at him, she said, ‘Sorry I had to take that call just after you arrived, but it was important.’

‘No problem. However, I have something urgent and vital to discuss with you both, and I think it would be best if you asked Connie to hold any phone calls, please, Linnet.’

Throwing him a curious glance, conscious of his sombre tone, she went to her desk, spoke to her personal assistant on the intercom, and then rejoined them around the fire.

Linnet said, ‘Is this something to do with your trip to Hong Kong, Jack?’

‘It is. As you know, I went to see an old friend of mine, and of your mother’s, a very good and loyal friend, the banker, Zhèng Wen Li. He needed to talk to me confidentially, and in person. He’s very cautious and didn’t wish to speak to me on the phone or send a letter or an email.’ Jack paused, and realized that Linnet and M were staring at him intently.

‘Wen Li had some news for me. As it turned out, it was bad news. For all of us.’ He paused, then said in a low voice, ‘Jonathan Ainsley is alive.’

‘That’s not possible!’ Linnet cried, gaping at Jack in astonishment, shaking her head, denying what she had just heard. ‘Everyone knows he died in that horrendous car crash.’ She realized her voice wobbled on the last few words.

‘Apparently not. According to Wen Li, Ainsley’s American wife—Angharad—took him to a clinic in Switzerland.’

‘Jack, this can’t be true! It just can’t be!’ M exclaimed, her voice shrill. ‘There was a funeral, we all know that. Oh, my God, did they have a
fake funeral
? To
deceive
us?’ M, her face as white as chalk, was staring at him, her black eyes wide with sudden shock. ‘That bitch was bad news from the moment she stepped into our lives. She’s as evil and as vindictive as Ainsley. And she hates all of us.’

Linnet, trying to overcome her shock, asked, ‘How does Wen Li know Ainsley is alive? Has he seen him? Identified him? It could be just some strange story, an invention.’

‘I thought that, too, Lin, but Wen Li has seen him, though he said I probably wouldn’t recognize Ainsley, because he hadn’t, not at first.’

‘So how can the banker be sure it
is
our fiendish cousin?’ M said. ‘It might be an imposter.’

‘I posed all the same questions to Wen Li, believe me I did, M. Because it seemed so improbable. I’m afraid he was able to give me answers that I had to accept. At first, Wen Li didn’t recognize Ainsley facially. I suspect there was a lot of plastic surgery, probably because of the burns from the crash. However, Wen Li did recognize the voice, which is very distinctive, was always so upper class. He said it was the eyes, the aquiline nose, and the height that also confirmed his identity. Wen Li remembered Ainsley’s brownish-blond hair, I suppose it’s called fair. And incidentally, Wen Li told me he has a limp, walks with a stick.’

‘How the hell did they do it?’ M wondered aloud, and then turned to Jack. ‘Where is the clinic? Where was Ainsley treated?’

‘Wen Li didn’t know that, but I had one of my European operatives on it over the entire weekend. I heard from him last night. Ainsley was in the Wendkettern Clinic in Zurich. He was in there for a full year, and then in and out for long periods for another year. Later he spent six months as a day patient.
Altogether I think he has been treated at the Wendkettern Clinic for three years, and has lived in Zurich all that time.’

‘And is he now living in Hong Kong?’ Linnet asked.

‘Wen Li thinks not, even though he still has the flat he bought there in Nineteen seventy. That’s when Ainsley moved to Hong Kong, after your grandfather David Amory fired him, and your mother kicked him out of the family, because he was cheating Harte Real Estate, the company he ran. He had good joss in Hong Kong, he made a fortune in real estate at a time when you could. According to Wen Li, Ainsley’s now a billionaire.’

‘Why did Wen Li see him? I mean, what was
that
all about?’ Linnet leaned closer to Jack. ‘Were they friends before? Or colleagues? What?’

‘As you know, Wen Li owns one of the oldest private banks in Hong Kong, inherited from his father. The China Zhèng Private Bank, and it’s very highly thought of—renowned, actually. Over the years he has done business with many people, including your mother, and before her your great-grandmother, as you’re aware. And he also did business from time to time with Ainsley. But they were never friends; in fact Zhèng never liked him. According to Wen Li, about ten days ago, he received a message from Ainsley via an intermediary, asking for a meeting and—’

‘He must have been gobsmacked!’ M cut in.

‘Absolutely,’ Jack replied. ‘He couldn’t believe it either, knowing that Ainsley died in a car crash in France and was buried. He was tremendously puzzled, but knew he must investigate because of me, and the Hartes.’

‘All a ruse, eh?’ Linnet muttered to no one in particular. She tried to remain calm but she was shaking inside, suddenly understanding what Jack probably suspected.

Jack said, ‘I think you’re correct, Linnet. To my way of thinking, Angharad was the mastermind behind this. When she got to him, she realized Ainsley was still alive in that French hospital, if only just, and she decided to get him into one of the
Swiss clinics. And then later, she dreamed up the idea of a funeral. She held a bogus one in order to throw us all off.’

‘But why?’ M asked.

‘Ainsley has a vendetta against your mother,’ Jack told her. ‘He believes that Paula was left the Harte stores in Emma’s will because she had used great influence on your great-grandmother. Not true, I can vouch for that. Just so you know, Emma Harte had always planned to leave the stores to your mother, and she divided up the rest of her holdings, properties and companies between her other grandchildren. Jonathan Ainsley has ranted against your mother for years. He has tried all manner of tricks to get the stores, and at one moment he even owned a lot of the shares. But he also has a tremendous and virulent hatred for your mother because she kicked him out of the family. So, there’s a lot of emotion going on there.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ M said, sounding baffled, looking from Linnet and back to Jack. ‘Why did Angharad let us all believe her husband was dead?’

‘To throw us off the track,’ Linnet exclaimed. ‘So Ainsley could attack us without us knowing that it’s him doing it.’

‘Attack us how?’ M leaned into Jack. ‘Does he want to kill us? Is that what Linnet means, Jack?’

‘Yes, he does…using others to do his dirty work, of course. Cast your mind back in time…Don’t you remember the bomb in the church in Pennistone Royal village? When it went off, that could have killed the entire family. He’s ruthless, relentless.’

M had gone paler than ever, and she nodded vehemently. ‘I hadn’t forgotten…’ She looked at Linnet and burst into tears.

It took M only a couple of seconds to calm herself. Reaching for her tan Kelly, she pulled out some tissues, blew her nose and dried her tears. ‘Sorry about that, chaps. I suddenly remembered
that day so vividly. So sorry,’ she said again, and took a deep breath, thinking of her beloved family home in Yorkshire, her favourite place in the world.

Jack said, ‘Listen, to cut to the chase, I honestly believe you’re all at risk. Your mother, the two of you, and also your sister, Tessa. I believe Ainsley is a psychopath and that he’s out to destroy the Harte women, especially those with high profiles.’

‘What about our cousins?’ Linnet asked.

‘I don’t think
they
factor into the equation. It’s all about Paula, in Ainsley’s sick head, and since he hasn’t managed to maim or kill her in thirty-five years, then he has now added you two to the mix, and Tessa, of course.’

‘Did Ainsley tell Wen Li this?’ Linnet asked, and then instantly she shook her head. ‘No, of course he didn’t, he wouldn’t tip his hand. This is a scenario you’ve worked out, Jack, isn’t it?’

‘It is. But getting back to Wen Li for a moment, he himself said the same thing, more or less. He told me Ainsley seemed as vindictive as ever, that he hadn’t changed, and that he, Wen Li, felt it in his heart, in his old bones, that Ainsley was quite likely to go on a rampage. Against Paula.’

‘With us as the other targets,’ Linnet asserted, and grimaced. ‘Out of curiosity, did Wen Li agree to do business with that bastard?’

Jack had to smile: she had sounded so like Emma at that moment, pithy and very angry.

‘He was smart as a fox. He indicated he was interested, very interested, but that he had to mull it over for a few days. Wen Li’s thought was to talk to me at once, to get my input, and to ask me if he could be of use to us by doing business with Ainsley.’