The Boathouse (26 page)

The large entertainment area was opulent with colourful Picasso- and Hockney-style art hung on dark mahogany panelled walls above over-sized dark brown leather furniture. The circular log fire in the centre gave it a continental chalet feel, but the finishes seemed more in line with a luxury yacht than a house. It had a bar and home cinema, providing functional facilities for entertaining. An oversized fish tank lit with ultraviolet lights was the main showpiece between the bar and the seating area. The polished mahogany bar was high end with a samurai sword on display behind it. Sinclair placed an extra log on the fire while Becky sat on the huge sofa facing the fire and the bar.

Archer could see the side of her face. She was still wearing the orange tracksuit from the Boathouse, along with shiny cream stilettos.

“I couldn't care less about Louise. We're finished for good this time. She doesn't care about me, I don't care about her, so that's that. It's always got to be her way. She's just like you. That's why the two of you never got on,” Becky was saying angrily.

“You rinse me for millions over the years, then you plan this revolting hoax and rob me blind with ransom threats. I was genuinely worried about you.”

“You're such a liar. That's absolute bullshit and you know it. You were only worried in case it made you look stupid. You only care about yourself.”

“Why did you do it to me?”

“Because I found out you were going to get rid of me.”

“You found out I was going to divorce you?”

“Not divorce me. Have me killed.”

“Bullshit.”

“So you could marry a younger woman. I know all about it.”

Sinclair looked down at the floor and thoughtfully stroked his neatly trimmed white beard and then his short white hair. He leaned into her personal space as if he was trying to intimidate her.

“Well it's true. I am going to divorce you. We've drifted apart over the last couple of years and I've met someone else.” He stuck his chin out pompously.

“Louise found out from her Ukrainian friend. She told me everything.”

“Oh right. I get it now. It was all her idea. I knew it. She's a real piece of work, that sister of yours. How much of my money have you given her over the years?”

“What's that got to do with anything?

“She's a whore. She spends money like water. It's like pouring it down the drain with all her fucking parties and all her sycophantic cronies hoovering up mountains of Charlie in the toilets like there's no tomorrow.”

“She tried rehab. You know she struggles with her addictions.”

“She takes wads of money off you and spends it on any junk going. I suppose she's got you back into that old scene again? Or are you still just chilling out like a zombie on all your prescription drug cocktails?”

“You know exactly what the doctor prescribes for me. That half a Valium you gave me is wearing off. Where's my handbag? I need my handbag. I need my meds. I can't think straight without my meds.” Becky's voice rose with panic.

“I'll get them as soon as we finish talking business. You agreed to tell me the exact location of my money. Now where is it?”

“I need to take the edge off first. I need a drink. Get me a drink.”

“In a minute. What state is her business in?”

“Worse than ever. Her lifestyle is spiralling out of control. That's why she needs the money. She's run up huge debts. She's in over her head. You know Louise.”

“I know she's a worthless flake. So what was the deal?”

“We agreed to split the money and go our separate ways.”

Sinclair walked behind the bar, poured a shot of Jura single malt whisky and downed it in one. He turned around and looked at Becky. “Louise always was a selfish troublemaker. I honestly don't know why you bothered with her after all she's done to you.”

“I did it for Amanda's sake. Imagine if Louise was your mother.”

“But why take responsibility for her?”

“She's only a kid.”

“But she's not your kid.”

Becky held her head in her hands and screamed. “She is my kid.”

“Bullshit. You're just being stupid now. You've never had a kid. The doctor told me.” Sinclair laughed mockingly and poured himself another shot.

“You're such an arsehole. I had an abortion when I was sixteen. He didn't tell you that though, did he? He doesn't know everything and neither do you. She's the same age as the daughter I never had.” Becky cried out loud and screamed, “I need my meds. NOW.”

Sinclair took a deep breath. “All right, calm down. I'll get them. If you tell me who got you pregnant.” He walked up to her and prodded her shoulder with his finger.

“What?”

“Who was it?” He leaned in closer. She moved back in disgust. He prodded her in the shoulder with his index finger to emphasise each word. “Who – Was – It?”

“My drama teacher, if you must know. I used to be in the drama club. We stayed late after school to rehearse for the school play. We were normally the last to leave the drama studio and then he would give me a lift home in his yellow MG.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was afraid of all the scandal it would cause. The idiot killed himself when I told him I was pregnant. I said I'd tell his wife if he didn't leave her.”

Sinclair returned to the bar and downed another shot.

“I want all my fucking money back. And the diamonds you stole from me. Then you'll leave the country. I'll give you ten million pounds and never want to hear from you again. If you agree to a quick divorce and go. You can use the company jet to travel anywhere, as long as it's far away from me.”

“Where will I go?”

“Not Europe. Too close. Try Cape Town. Ten million will buy you a lavish lifestyle down there. It's a good climate and you can buy everything you'll ever need.”

“Who is she, Peter?”

“No one you know.”

“Who is she?”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. A smile grew and he stood up straighter. He looked Becky directly in the eye. He smiled confidently.

“I met her in Paris this time last year. You didn't want to come. Remember?”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-two. Austrian. Six foot tall. Blue-eyed blonde fashion model.”

He stuck his chest out and his chin up in the air. His face beamed with pride.

“How do I know you'll let me live?”

“I gave you my word.”

“That's not good enough.”

“That's all there is.”

He rummaged beneath the bar, picked up her red Hermès handbag and emptied it out over the bar. Ruffling through the contents he picked out four boxes of prescription drugs and waved them at her.

“Tell me now and you can have these back.”

“I've taken a contract out on you as an insurance policy.”

“On me? Don't be stupid. No one would be dumb enough to take it.” Sinclair looked at her as if she was an idiot and laughed.

“The Ukrainians took it. And I paid them with your money.” She laughed back at him, mocking his laugh before she flinched and looked at him apprehensively.

“Who would be that arrogant?” Sinclair scowled at her.

“Louise's friend.”

“What's his name?”

“Uri Shevchenko.”

“How much did he charge?” Sinclair stroked his beard pensively.

“Two hundred thousand pounds.”

“Don't be stupid. That's way too much for a hit.” Sinclair smiled again and wrote something down on a piece of paper.

“Louise owed them one point eight from business loans, so we gave him two million. If you let me go, I'll call the hit off.”

“Tell me where the rest of my money is right now.”

“I'll tell you where it is and I'll call off the Ukrainians if you let me go.”

“Where's my money, you thieving cow? Tell me where it is before I lose my patience with you.”

“And just for the record you were super shit in bed. So just remember that Miss Austria will be faking it. Now do something you're good at and fix me a Grey Goose.”

Sinclair ignored her as he fed a shoal of small, red-bellied fish in the show tank with a single but larger crown-tailed fish from another tank. The shoal of fish went into a feeding frenzy. The ultraviolet-coloured water boiled as they fought over the fresh, colourful food. He watched the small fish attack it en masse until nothing was left. He turned to Becky and held his arms apart theatrically as if he were an impresario putting on a show. He bowed deeply towards her and then walked over to the log fire and grabbed the poker. He prodded the embers under the flaming logs and looked at her. His stare as cold as ice.

“You and those bloody fish,” she sneered at him in disgust.

He left the poker in the fire, walked right up to her and slapped her hard on the cheek with the back of his right hand.

“Where's the money? Tell me where it is and you can have your fucking pills back.”

“I need them now.” She consoled her flushed cheek with her hand and stared back at him harshly but with a hint of doubt.

“Tell me where the money is. There's a divorce settlement drawn up and waiting for you to sign. Plus ten million pounds and a one-way ticket to anywhere far away.”

“What's my alternative?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Sinclair walked back to the fire and grabbed the hot poker. He pointed it at her and started to walk towards her, baring his teeth like a wild animal.

He began to shake with anger. “Do you want me to use the poker?”

Becky looked down at the floor as if caught in a trance.

“It's in a cottage in the Cotswolds.”

“What's the address?”

“It's on a card in my handbag.”

He left the poker next to the fire, returned to the bar and rummaged through the spilled contents of her handbag. He found the small card and read it out. She nodded and he made a short phone call, relaying the address. He then made her a Grey Goose vodka with orange over ice.

“Here you are. Your favourite drink.”

“Where are my pills?”

“You'll have them back, with your settlement, if my men find the money.”

She grabbed the drink off the bar and took it back to the sofa. She downed it in two.

Sinclair carefully picked up the sword from behind the bar. He slowly removed the blade from the wooden scabbard. It glistened under the spotlights.

“This is a very special sword. Look at it. A magnificent fifteenth-century Katana. Sharp as a razor. It's killed many men over the years. It once belonged to a famous Samurai and then to his son who was the most feared Ronin of all time. Now it's mine.”

“Whatever.”

Sinclair placed the gleaming sword delicately on the bar and picked up the phone again. He dialled a number and turned round, leaning against the bar with his back to her. Her eyes darted between him and the poker in the fire. She got up and walked quietly to the fire.

She picked up the poker and pointed it at the back of his head over ten feet away. She started to swing it back and forth as if she was hitting an imaginary object in mid-air. He was still talking on the phone with his back to her when she started to walk towards him, moving the poker down by the side of her leg. She stopped at the bar. She was within range.

Sinclair turned round and replaced the phone.

“Same again only lots more vodka,” Becky said.

“I almost forgot how trashy you were. Very well, another one coming right up.”

He fixed her another drink and took a single pill out of one of the boxes. Becky placed the poker against the bar and sat on a stool with her mouth open in anticipation.

“Just one until I get my money.”

She took the pill and swallowed it without a drink. She grabbed the second drink, but stayed on the stool and drank it slowly through a bendy black straw. Sinclair poured another whisky and they drank in silence, staring at the cream phone on the bar.

It rang loudly, making Becky jump. Sinclair answered it and listened without speaking. He put the receiver back down and smiled at Becky.

“The address worked out.”

“That was fast.”

“I had men in the area.”

“In the Cotswolds?”

“In the helicopter.”

“Can I have another drink and my pills back now?”

“It seems like your young nephew was in the cottage having some fun. Some old whore his mother's age had him tied up in bed. Whips and handcuffs. He's a funny boy, that Christopher,” Sinclair laughed out loud. “My men found everything except the two million you said you'd used. You're free to go. Do you want me to spare your sister?”

“You can do what you like with her. I never want to see her again.”

Sinclair made another round of drinks at the bar. He then picked up a slim leather briefcase, placed it on top of the bar and snapped it open. He smiled to himself as he carefully extracted a thin document and turned it around to show Becky, pointing out parts of it on different pages.

“Here look,” he pointed and then tapped the document. “The settlement figure is even spelled out. Ten Million Pounds.”

“How will you pay me?”

“I'll have it transferred into your personal bank account tomorrow, less the two million you owe me, of course.”

“Where do I sign?”

“You sign against the red sticker and I sign against the yellow sticker.”

He presented the bare signature page to her. The red sticker was at the bottom pointing towards nothing but white paper. Above it a yellow sticker did exactly the same thing. Becky snatched the pen off the bar, scribbled her signature and printed her name and the date below it without reading the document.

Sinclair took the document and placed it back inside the briefcase.

“Put everything back in your handbag.”

He handed her four boxes of pills and she grabbed them out of his hand. She took two more pills and put the contents back inside her handbag.

“Cheers.” She raised her glass and drank the rest of her vodka.

“You can stay here tonight and take the Learjet tomorrow.”

“I think one more drink should do it before I go to bed.”

“Haven't you had enough?”

“One for the ditch. Neat.”

“Very well.”

Becky stood up. Her right heel keeled over, but she managed to grab the bar and save herself from falling over.

“I'll have it on the sofa by the fire and then go to bed.”

“One neat vodka coming up. You better go and sit down.”

Becky stumbled over to the sofa and fell into it. She rolled over and managed to sit up.

“What's taking you so l-o-n-g?” She started to slur.

Sinclair poured neat vodka in a fresh glass and took it over to her on the sofa, holding it by the base with a small black napkin.

“What about the o-r-r-a-a-n-n-g-e?”

Her eyes rolled around and her head wobbled as if she was catching it and then losing it again. Sinclair put the drink down carefully on the glass coffee table.

“What day is it, Becky?”

“S-a-t-u-r-d-a-y.” Her head fell to the side and she slumped to the left, resting against a large cushion.

“Where are you?”

There was no answer. She was sprawled over the sofa on her back. Motionless.

Sinclair stared coldly. He looked sober and deadly serious.

He walked back to the bar and picked up the sword. Holding it gently, he stroked the polished blade and kissed it. “Business first.”

He started humming as he took the divorce papers back out of the briefcase. Pulled the paperclip off and removed the last page. Grabbed Becky's pen out of her handbag and wrote something on the sheet above her signature. He placed the sheet of paper on the coffee table. Wiped the pen with his handkerchief and placed it in Becky's right hand for prints. He held it with the handkerchief and placed it on the coffee table next to the sheet. He did the same with the glass. He removed the pills from her handbag and scattered them across the table. He left them spread randomly over the table and placed the glass of vodka on top of the fake suicide note. Archer pushed the door open.

“What do you think you're playing at, Sinclair?”