Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (15 page)

‘No. No … Don’t beat. Please don’t beat.’

Her gaze flicked to the balustrade, and before he could think, she was gone.

Tara was past him in a flash and charging headlong out through the French windows, then onto the balcony and rushing for the balustrade.

Swinging round, he began to run, but she was already clawing at the round topped stone, and pulling herself up, stood wobbling on the edge, and with a last terrified glance back, leapt out and threw her tiny little body into the quiet peaceful air.

Frank hit the balustrade with a crashing thump, and lunging out into the still air, clawed frantically for her arm, but it was slippery and slid down through his fingers, and snatching again, felt his hand close around her wrist like a vice.

He felt a hot tearing wrench as the force of her downward weight jerked at his shoulder, and knowing there were only seconds before the pain would loosen his grip, he whirled her up over the balustrade and let her fly across the balcony to land rolling and tumbling in the lounge before coming to a crashing halt against the sofa.

Standing for a moment, he wondered if he’d killed her, but walking over, she groaned and tried to move, and kneeling beside her, checked for damage but she seemed okay.

There was no sign of broken bones or obvious injury and her face seemed quite normal, and when he called her name, she whimpered and tried to claw herself up, but her eyes were empty and dull and a sheen of clammy sweat was covering her skin.

She was obviously slipping into shock, and when her big green eyes suddenly rolled up, she fainted in a slump onto the carpet.

Gathering her up, he carried her to bed, and easing her down, drew up the covers, and finding hot water bottles in a cupboard, filled them and slid them down beside her.

Watching for a moment, he thought she was sleeping peacefully, her breathing regular, and as her colour was returning, decided against calling a medic as the only doctor he could call would be from Angela’s private clinic.

Returning to the lounge, he picked up the phone and called security reception, and soon a confident Welsh voice came on the line.

‘Hello? Thornley Manor, Dafydd Jones speaking, so how can I help you?’

‘Hi, this is Frank Lewis. I understand Miss Goodwin left a folder with you this afternoon when my colleague, Mr Montague, was brought out to the ambulance.’

‘Ah yes. A sad business, but don’t worry, sir, we have it here and it’s quite safe.’

‘Good man, so have it brought up immediately to Miss Goodwin’s apartment.’

‘Very good, sir, will do. I’ll have it there now, in a minute.’

Frank made himself a cup of strong coffee, and when a knock came at the door, a burly uniformed MoD guard asked him for his ID, and checking it over, handed him the folder and asked for a signature on his clipboard.

Taking the folder back through to the bedroom, he sat down on a bedside chair and kept one eye on Tara as he began to read, but he didn’t know what he hoped to find that might solve the puzzle of that bizarre scene in the lounge.

So why would she agree to speak to him privately in her apartment, and having arrived, strip herself naked, freak out and try to kill herself?

It made no sense. Well it might to Monty, but it sure as hell made no sense to him.

And why had she been cowering and crying like that, and why those words,

‘
I’m sorry, the clothes have all run away, don’t hurt, don’t hurt, beg, beg.’

But most of all, why had she wanted to kill herself?

Opening the file, he began to read, and it wasn’t long before ugly suspicions began to creep into his mind.

It seemed she’d been educated almost entirely in private, at Oldbury House, the home of her guardian, Sir Freddie Bromsgrove.

But why had he been her guardian? It didn’t say.

He remembered Angela saying that Sir Freddie Bromsgrove had been having her for almost a year, but she’d only been head of security at Thornley for barely a year.

So could he have been taking advantage of her for much longer than that, after all, if that was his intention, why wait till she was made head of security at the manor when she’d been living with him in his country house for years?

The rest of her CV and her meteoric rise up through the system and into MI5 read like a condensed version of the ‘Who’s Who’ of the government security services.

Recommended by Sir Freddie Bromsgrove, advisor to the Chiefs of Staff.

Conscripted by Sir Marcus Glenndenning, advisor to the Joint Intelligence Committee.

Approved by the Parliamentary Intelligence and Security Committee.

Employed by the Army Chiefs - Permanent Joint HQ, Northwood.

Assignments by Sir Edmund Nichols, advisor to the Chief of Defence Intelligence.

Frank looked up from the file.

Why had this young woman, who’d lived her life in a closed environment, with no work experience and almost certainly no street cred, be taken on by some of the country’s most powerful men, and given a job, senior intelligence officers would give their eye teeth for.

It was a secret too far. So what was the true reason for Miss Goodwin’s popularity?

What he needed now, was the answer to two, simple, but vital questions.

Why had Miss Goodwin’s uncle, Sir Freddie Bromsgrove become her guardian?

And when did he become her guardian?

He felt sure those answers were the key to a very mucky room of secrets.

1
4

Tara murmured, and glancing over, thought she seemed to be sleeping soundly, so he carried on reading the file.

She had woken from a very strange dream and had been secretly watching him from under her long, blonde, eyelashes.

At first she’d felt confused, but when her senses had come alive she’d remembered the empty drawer what seemed to be her worst nightmare.

And then she remembered jumping, and it had seemed nice at the time, just to escape, but then
whoosh
and she’d been flying like Peter Pan, and now, here she was in bed, warm and snug with this man Lewis sat reading beside her.

Becoming aware of the hot water bottles, she watched him reading, and then far off memories of her wonderful father came back.

He used to do that, tuck her into bed with a bottle while he read her a bedtime story.

She laid perfectly still, afraid to move or breathe in case the memory should slip away, and then she cried those dry, silent tears, the ones other people could never see.

Frank closed the folder, and placing it down, looked up to see her lips tremble, and laying his hand on her forehead, smiled because the clamminess had gone now, but as he walked from the room, Tara secretly watched and wished he would stay.

Fussing around in the kitchen he prepared a tea tray, and finding some aspirin in the bathroom, carried everything through, and as he set the tray down on the bedside cabinet, she pretended to lazily wake up.

‘Hello Tara. I’ve made some tea, would you like some?’

She smiled, and pulling up the covers, nodded and sat up, ‘Yes please.’

Frank watched her sipping her tea, and she didn’t seem frightened now and he wished he knew the answer to the puzzle, but never mind, the answer had to be somewhere.

Clinking the cup down to the saucer, she looked at him with a quiet, inquisitive smile.

‘You make nice tea.’

He smiled back, ‘I used the Darjeeling, was that okay?’

She nodded, her curls dancing, ‘Yes, it’s one of my favourites.’

He opened a packet of biscuits, ‘I found these in a cupboard. Would you like one?’

She stared at the thick, dark, chocolate biscuits, but slowly shook her head.

‘I’d better not, I have to watch the calories.’

Frank looked at her in surprise, ‘But surely, you don’t need to.’

She looked away across the room, ‘I must. They like me slim.’

He frowned, ‘Slim? Who does?’

The room fell into silence, and when she looked down and bowed her head, he sighed.

‘Look, I think I’ll go now and you can get some rest.’

‘Oh. Must you?’

‘Well I don’t have to, but wouldn’t you like to be alone for a while?’

She looked down, her golden curls now dancing violently as she shook her head.

‘No, I wouldn’t like that at all.’

In that strange moment, she was so much the child he had to remind himself that this young lady was a fully grown woman.

The light in her eyes suddenly flickered, her expression changing to conflicting emotions.

‘I think I would like a biscuit, after all.’

Frank offered the packet, and as she took one, thoughtfully pressed her lips together.

‘I have a song.’

‘Oh? And what’s that?’

‘A special song. My song. So would you like to hear it?’

Frank was trying to keep up, ‘Yes, I think I would.’

She sat up, and without thinking, pushed away the covers, but stared down to herself.

‘Oh. I forgot … Just a minute.’

Frank stared into the pattern of the wallpaper as she rustled around in the wardrobe.

‘Is this alright?’ She lowered her gaze, ‘Or is it silly.’

Frank was caught totally by surprise.

She now looked absolutely stunning, in a black, high necked, Chinese silk dress inlaid with fiery golden dragons that wrapped themselves around the contours of her body, as if protecting and defying.

‘No, it isn’t silly at all - and to be honest, you look absolutely wonderful.’

She smiled, and as she glanced sideways to him, he saw the girl again.

‘It wasn’t a present, honestly, I bought it myself with my own money.’

He felt puzzled, ‘Right. Well that’s good, it’s beautiful.’

She looked down, her body lightly swinging, ‘So shall I play my song now?’

‘Yes please. I’d like that.’

Walking barefoot to the lounge, her figure shimmered in the Chinese dress, and kneeling down at the old fashioned record player, she switched it on.

‘This record is my very best friend in the whole world.’

The arm of the record player swung over, the stylus hovered, and when it dropped, the powerful quavering voice of Elkie Brooks filled the apartment.

As Frank listened to the words, he wondered if Emily could be the answer to the puzzle.

‘We don’t cry out loud, keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings, fly high and proud, and if you should fall, remember, we almost had it all.’

As Frank listened till the song was over, he knew the innocence of this young woman placed her in great danger and she could so easily become just another of Angela’s casualties.

With the song at an end, the apartment fell into a brooding silence, but she seemed calm now and he wondered if it might be worth trying a few questions.

‘Tara.’

She looked up, her eyes soft and woozy, ‘Yes?’

‘Look, I hate doing this, but it’s important we talk.’

She stared blankly into his eyes, ‘Alright, but is it about work?’

‘I’m afraid so, but if we’re going to help each other, we haven’t got much choice.’

She nodded, but looked up fearfully around the room.

He followed her gaze, ‘What’s wrong?’

She shuddered, ‘They’ll watch and listen with their cameras.’

‘But I thought the apartments were surveillance free zones.’

‘Well they can’t be, because you knew about the games.’

‘Games? What games?’

Her childlike eyes stared at him intently.

She’d seen so many men whose eyes held deceit, but there was nothing in his, so maybe it was only Mr Montague who knew of the games.

‘Mr Lewis, if we talked, just as friends, could it be somewhere else?’

He watched her looking nervously around the room, her body language tense.

‘Sure, we could go out for a meal if you like, and by the way, the name’s Frank.’

While Tara got ready, he did some hard thinking, and knew he was just about to go against Angela’s instructions, but there again, she wanted the job done.

Calling the main gate, Sergeant Jenkins answered, and he didn’t sound too happy.

‘Hello. Main gate. So what’s your problem?’

‘Hi sarge, this is Frank Lewis, it sounds like you’re having a bad day.’

‘Ah. Yes sir. Sorry about that.’

‘You’re still working then, that’s a long time.’

He sighed, ‘Yeah. I’m doing a double shift, Sergeant Lock is off sick.’

‘Hard luck. But never mind that, I need a favour.’

‘And what might that be, sir.’

‘I need a car, unmarked and something decent, can you help?’

The sergeant was a natural survivor, ‘Well we do have quite a nice Jag, sir.’

‘Good, that’ll do. So fuel it up and have it brought to the house.’

As he waited for Tara, he flicked through a glossy magazine.

‘I’m ready now.’

He looked up.

‘Am I alright? It is my own dress, really. It isn’t a present.’

Although she had looked totally stunning in the Chinese gown, the way she looked now in that tiny black dress was a statement of simplistic beauty.

She was almost unreal, a beautiful figurine, an exquisite statuette of loveliness, and everything about her was perfection, from her golden hair of tight little curls that fell as a tumbling cascade of gold around her elfin face, so tiny, so bright, and so alive.

Her emerald eyes and pert little nose so beautifully formed, her soft pink lips that parted in a smile to reveal dazzling teeth of the purist white, and crucifix earrings shimmering below the curls and dancing as reflected light with every cautious smile.

The satin skin of her soft bosom, and a tiny waist above seductively curving hips, and her legs made all the more voluptuous in shiny silky stockings and tall stiletto heeled shoes.

Tara Goodwin was nothing less than a goddess in miniature.

‘Will I do?’

As they emerged from the big old house, Frank saw a royal blue Jaguar waiting for them at the foot of the steps, and cruising up to the main gate, saw just one bored looking officer at the barrier who seemed to be killing time by kicking imaginary footballs across the road, and seeing the Jaguar, swaggered over to the red and white barrier and stabbed the button.

Frank was surprised he was allowed to drive on through unchallenged, and when the guard merely nodded to him, it confirmed this whole establishment was long overdue for a good kick up the arse, and although X Stations were usually pretty much on the ball, this place had a serious problem with its own self-importance.

Driving on through, he parked the car opposite the security lodge.

‘I need a word with the sergeant, but I’ll only be a minute. Okay?’

Tara smiled, but when Sergeant Jenkins wandered out onto the veranda, she cringed when he looked over to her with a knowing smile.

As Frank walked up the steps, the sergeant’s expression turned crafty as his gaze flicked to Miss Goodwin, sitting in the Jag and all dressed up for the kill.

‘It looks like you’ve got your evening’s entertainment all sorted out, sir.’

Frank noticed his sly grin and the locker room tone of his voice.

‘That’s right. So what of it?’

‘Oh nothing, except Mrs A was quite particular that the official car was to take you back to the cottage, sir.’

‘Yeah, I know, but that’ll have to wait. Something important has come up.’

The sergeant smiled and looked over to the car, ‘Yes sir, I do understand.’

Walking him up the veranda, Frank took him away from the ears of the guard.

‘Sarge, if you can take your eyes of Miss Goodwin, I need your local knowledge.’

He grinned, ‘Well I’ll do my best, sir. So how can I help?’

‘I need an eating house, somewhere quiet and discrete, and just upmarket enough to keep out the arseholes of this world.’

The sergeant looked at him, a world weary, cynical smile on his face.

‘And would that be, mobile phone, pinstriped arseholes, as well, sir?'

‘Yeah.’

‘Right.’ He flashed a knowing smile to Miss Goodwin, all dolled up in the Jaguar.

‘Well in that case, I think the best place for your needs would be a nice little hotel cum restaurant that me and my wife found over by Bourton-on-the-water. It’s not too far and the people are decent folk, and of course, they have rooms, if you think you’ll need one.’

Frank noticed the innuendo again, and while the sergeant gave easy to follow directions, he smirked and glanced to the car as if he knew a piece of local gossip to be laughed about and it soon became obvious that something rotten was going on beneath the peaceful tranquillity of Thornley Manor.

Frank remembered Tara being quite adamant that her relationships had been instruction, and now he was beginning to wonder just how far those instructions had gone.

‘Sarge, you’re an old hand, so I don’t suppose much gets by you at this station.’

The sergeant puffed out his chest, ‘Well I like to keep my finger on the pulse, sir.’

‘Right. So I’d like to know something, strictly off the record, you understand.’

The sergeant wondered what was coming as Frank looked back over to the Jaguar.

‘So what do you know about Miss Goodwin’s private life that I wouldn’t necessarily find from checking the official records.’

The sergeant gave him a sideways look, ‘Well don’t quote me, but there are rumours that our Head of Security has been blessed with rather loose, panty elastic, sir.’

Frank felt his worst fears coming true, ‘Go on.’

‘Well since she arrived here about a year ago, it appears that Miss Goodwin has been, how shall we say, giving her all to both the Chief, that is, Chief Inspector Hillsdown, and also to the clerk of works, Mr Anderton.’

He froze. Those weren’t the names he was expecting to hear.

‘And to be perfectly honest, Miss Goodwin seems quite an obliging young lady, so if you need to stab the pussy tonight, I don’t think you’ll have too much of a problem, sir.’

Frank had been prepared for almost anything, but not this.