“Don’t look behind you, Zoe, just keep walking,” Simon muttered as he marched swiftly toward his car, parked a few yards up the street.
Once inside the Jaguar, Simon signaled into the flow of traffic, heading toward Soho and the recording studio. Zoe turned back and saw the media huddle still outside her front door less than fifty yards away. Just as they turned the corner, she gave them the finger.
“Do you know, I really enjoyed that,” she giggled. “And the thought that all those vultures are now waiting outside a deserted house has cheered me up no end.” She reached for his hand, resting on the gearstick, and squeezed it. “Thanks, Simon.”
Zoe’s light touch played havoc with his concentration. “We aim to please, madam. But don’t be lulled into a false sense of security. Sooner or later, someone’ll twig you’re no longer at home.”
“I know, but let’s just hope it’s not before tonight.”
Simon dropped her off on Dean Street in front of the recording studio, then phoned in on his mobile.
“Sorry to ring earlier than usual, sir, but it might be hard to do so later.”
“Understood.”
“I’ve found something. It may be nothing, but . . .” He read out the details on the invoice he had retrieved from the drawer in the desk.
“I’ll get onto it, Warburton. I hear you’re having a busy time.”
“Yes. I’m driving Miss Harrison down to Dorset tonight.”
“Keep talking to her, Warburton. Sooner or later, something will slip out.”
“I’m really not convinced she knows anything, but I will, sir. Goodbye.”
Simon hung up, drove off, and managed to find a space in the multistory car park in Brewer Street then texted Zoe to tell her to call him when she was finished, and he’d pick her up outside the recording studio. Feeling suddenly hungry, he took himself off for a McDonald’s. He eyed the pub across the road, longing for a pint, but the image of Ian, disgustingly drunk and tearful, made him think better of it. He chomped his way through the tasteless hamburger and fries and tried to concentrate on his book, but visions of Zoe kept filling his brain as he recalled the touch of her hand on his.
Get a grip, Warburton, he lectured himself. First rule of operation: never become emotionally involved. Yet, as he waited eagerly for her call, he knew he’d already passed the point of no return. There was nothing he could do save execute a damage-limitation program and expect to suffer horribly when his services were no longer needed and they went their separate ways.
When Zoe jumped back into the car two hours later, Simon noticed she’d added makeup to her face. He rather preferred her without, thought she was so beautiful that she didn’t need it . . .
Stop it, Warburton!
He started the engine and headed toward the M3 to Dorset.
“Had a good post-thingy?” he asked her casually.
“Fine. Of course, everyone was far more interested in my relationship with Art than anything else.” Zoe swept a hand through her long blond hair. “Mike, the director, was very sweet, mind you. He told me he has an apartment in the south of France and he said I could use it any time I wanted.”
“I hate to say it, but I suppose he’s also thinking how having the new girlfriend of a prince of England starring in his film might boost worldwide ticket sales.”
“That’s awfully cynical, but you’re probably right.” Zoe sighed as she looked out at the River Thames running underneath Chiswick Bridge.
“Anyway, you seem much happier.”
“Of course I am.” She turned to him, her eyes full of warmth. “I’m seeing Art in a couple of hours’ time.”
Simon pulled into the drive of Haycroft House at just after six p.m. Inside, as always, it was freezing. And spread all over the sitting room were the higgledy-piggledy contents of a dozen boxes from the attic.
“Damn you, Marcus!” Zoe cried as Simon attempted to light the fire and she began to heap the piles of old paper back into the crates. “I knew he’d get bored halfway through and give up. Now it’s even more of a mess than it was before.”
“Oh well, if you’re stuck down here for a while, I suppose it’ll give you something to do.”
“I’m hoping Art might have other plans arranged. Maybe he’ll suggest we go abroad for a while, but then what about Jamie? Oh God, I don’t know, Simon. I’ll just have to wait till he gets here. For now, can you help me stack all these boxes in a corner?”
Eventually, with the sitting room tidied, the fire lit, and the kitchen range coaxed into action, Zoe set about storing the food Simon had purchased earlier that she had hidden in the car.
“Thank God I have some clothes still in my wardrobe here,” she said distractedly. “I should go and change. Will he have eaten, do you think? Should I make something? Maybe put a casserole in the range so it won’t matter what time he arrives?”
Simon fielded her questions as best he could, sensing her tension. While she went upstairs to change, Simon walked outside with his binoculars to survey the lay of the land. His heart sank as he saw two cars parked beyond the gate, then a ladder being lengthened and balanced precariously against the hedge surrounding the house. How do these people do it? he wondered, as he garnered the courage to go inside to inform Zoe.
“Oh God, no!” She stood in the kitchen, a look of desolation on her face.
“Zoe, I’m afraid I have to warn security the media are down here.”
“Why can’t they leave us alone?! Why? Why? Why?!” She thumped the table, harder each time.
“I’m sorry, but I need to call now.”
“Yes. Whatever.” She slumped into a chair.
Simon left the room and duly delivered the message. He went back into the kitchen, where Zoe was sitting smoking a cigarette.
“Didn’t know you smoked,” he commented.
“Marcus must have left the packet here, and if there was Prozac, Ecstasy, or even heroin in the house, I’d take it tonight.” Her eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion. “He won’t come now, will he?”
“No. Look, why don’t I knock up a little something for supper? I haven’t seen you eat a thing since I arrived at Welbeck Street yesterday morning.”
“That’s kind of you, but I just couldn’t force it down.”
“Fine. Then I’ll cook it for me.”
Zoe shrugged, then stood up. “There should be enough hot water for a bath by now. I’m going to take one.”
When she’d left the kitchen, Simon set about gathering ingredients together and began to chop vegetables, whistling to himself just to break the deathly silence of the ancient walls around him.
Zoe arrived back downstairs an hour later in her grandfather’s old paisley robe, and smelled something enticing wafting from the kitchen.
“What is it?” She peered over Simon’s shoulder at the pot he was stirring.
“Does it matter? You don’t want any, remember?” He indicated an open bottle of red wine on the table. “Help yourself. I opened it for culinary purposes only, of course.”
“Of course.” Zoe smiled, then poured herself a glass, sat down, and watched Simon at work.
“Is this part of your training?”
“No. I just love cooking. Sure you don’t want some?”
“Go on then, as you’ve worked so hard.”
Simon filled two plates and put one in front of Zoe. “It’s spicy beef with lentils. I should have marinated the meat for a few hours first, of course, but it should be edible.” He sat down opposite her.
Zoe forked up a mouthful. “This is really good, Simon.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he laughed.
“You’re wasting your talents. You should open a restaurant.”
“That’s what Joanna always says.”
“She’s right.” Zoe continued to eat. “Were you and Joanna ever . . . you know?”
“Lovers? No, never. I always thought of her as my sister. Somehow it would have seemed . . . incestuous. Although . .
.”
“Yes?”
“Oh, it was nothing really. A few weeks ago, she was staying with me and we kissed.” Simon felt his face redden. “Her boyfriend had just dumped her, but I still thought my relationship with my ex-girlfriend was intact. So I stopped it.” Simon paused with a forkful of food halfway between his mouth and his plate. “If I’d known then that my ex was about to dump me, I wonder if I’d have reacted differently.”
“Well, you’ll never know now.” Zoe shrugged.
“Would you like some more? There’s plenty.” Simon studied her empty plate.
“I’d love some more, thanks, it’s delicious! Will you do this forever?” she asked as he put a second helping in front of her.
“What’s that?”
“Be a bodyguard. Subjugate your own life for the safety of others.”
“Who knows?”
“I just think you’re wasted. It’s a bit of a dead-end job, isn’t it?”
“Wow, thanks,” he laughed.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She blushed.
“It’s okay. You’re right, I don’t want to be doing it forever.”
“Well.” Zoe raised her glass. “To both of us finding our true paths.”
“To us.” Simon raised his glass of water.
At that moment, Zoe’s mobile rang.
“Excuse me.” She left the kitchen to take the call.
Simon duly cleared the plates away and made coffee. Ten minutes later, Zoe was back in the kitchen, a smile lighting up her face. “Oh, Simon! It’s all going to be okay.”
“Is it? Good.”
“That was Art. He’s arranged for us to go abroad. An industrialist friend of his has offered us his private jet and his summer house in Spain. Apparently it has the most sophisticated security, so we can relax and talk about the future in complete peace, without a prying eye in sight.”
“Right, er, great. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. Art said they will be calling you, but I have to be at Heathrow for nine o’clock. We’re meeting in the VIP suite at Terminal Four. And then, you’ll be glad to hear, you’ll be free of me. Art’s taking his own people to look after us while we’re there.”
“Okay. Coffee?”
“I’d love some. Let’s drink it by the fire,” she said as she led him into the sitting room with the coffee. “It’ll be so fabulous not to have anyone spying on us. We so desperately need time to talk.” Zoe settled herself down cross-legged by the fire, and cradled the mug between her hands.
Simon sat down on the sofa and took a sip of his coffee. “So, if he asks, will you marry him?”
“Do you think he’ll ask? Could he, with this situation?”
“Okay, let me put it another way: do you want to spend the rest of your life with him?”
Zoe’s eyes shone. “Oh God, yes! I’ve wanted it every single day for more than ten years.”
“Ten years? Blimey, then I was wrong. The story did take a long time to leak,” he teased her gently.
“No.” She paused, picking at a loose thread on the rug. “I first met him over ten years ago. I was so young . . . just eighteen. I’m not so naive as to think it’ll all be plain sailing this time. His family may veto me, just like they did back then. I may be flying to Spain for Art to tell me as nicely as he can that it’s a no-go.”
Simon did not mention the discussion he’d heard on Radio 5 Live as to whether the royal family was ready for an unmarried mother to join the clan. The opinion polls rather suggested not.
“There is one thing I was going to ask you.” She glanced up at him.
“Fire away.”
“Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be away. I was wondering . . . well . . .”
“Spit it out, Zoe.”
“If you’d go and visit Jamie for me at school this weekend? I promised to go down, and obviously I’m not going to make it. He seemed so fond of you and—”
“Of course I will. Consider it done.”
“I’ll let the school know where I’ll be. Maybe I’ll tell them to tell Jamie I’m shooting a . . . a commercial or something in Spain. I don’t want to lie to him, but I also think it’s vital that Art and I have time together to talk.”
“Yes,” Simon agreed absently, thinking how exquisite she looked in the firelight. He stood up, not wishing to prolong the agony any further. “I’m going to turn in, Zoe. We have an early start and I may have to do some extravagant driving to lose those rats outside.”
“Of course.” Zoe stood up and walked toward him, stood on tiptoe, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Simon. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me in the past two days. You’ve kept me sane.”
“Thanks.” His heart contracted. “Night then,” he muttered, and left the room.
* * *
“Art!” Zoe left Simon’s side and ran into the prince’s arms at Heathrow the next morning.
“Hello, Zoe.” Art kissed her on the top of her head. “Right, we’ll be off. Thanks, Warburton, for all your help.” He nodded at Simon perfunctorily.
“Yes, bye, Simon.” Zoe waved at him as Art led her into the VIP room. A small posse of security men followed after the couple.
Simon made his way back through the maze of airport corridors that took him landside again. His mobile phone rang.
“Warburton.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re relieved of security duty until Miss Harrison returns. Stand by for further instructions.”
“Right. Thank you, sir.”
Simon drove the Jaguar back to the car pool and handed over the keys. He then headed for the pub, where he treated himself to a perfect foaming pint of Tetley’s bitter, in which he intended to knowingly and wholeheartedly drown his sorrows.
THE ISOLATED PAWN
A pawn that has no friendly pawn adjacent to it. It may be either seen as a weakness, or used as an opportunity for counterplay.
25
Joanna sat at her desk, dejectedly typing an article about the top ten plants that could kill your pet. She felt numb, empty, used, and confused, and on the verge of giving it all up and returning to Yorkshire to count sheep for the rest of her days.
Marcus had called her on her mobile and even a number of times on the tapped landline at her apartment last night. Joanna had not returned his calls. In reality, she was “out” to Marcus for the rest of her life, after the way he had betrayed her. She shuddered at the thought that during all those beautiful times they had spent together, he had simply been using her for anything she knew.
She was counting the minutes until it was half past five and time to switch off her screen. Though why she wanted to go home to an empty apartment with no boyfriend and no best friend, she didn’t know. It didn’t help that the whole office was buzzing with the news of Zoe Harrison and the prince. Or that this morning Marian, the female features editor, had called her into her domain.
“You wrote the piece on Marcus Harrison, Zoe’s brother.”
“Yes,” Joanna had replied sullenly.
“And word has it that you’re screwing him.” Marian never minced her words.
“I was, but I’m not now.”
“As of when?”
“As of yesterday.”
“What a shame. I was going to suggest sending you to try and get an interview from her, seeing as you’re almost family.”
“Impossible, I’m afraid.”
“Pity. It could have got you off Pets and Gardens.” Marian chewed her pen as she studied Joanna. “Okay, Jo, it’s your call. If you won’t do it, then someone else will. You trying to protect her?”
“No.”
“Fine. Because if you are, the best thing you could do is to get her to agree to talk to you. At least that way she’ll get a sympathetic hearing.”
Marian had waved her out dismissively and Joanna had slunk back to her desk.
At long last, it was twenty-nine minutes and fifty-five seconds past five. With a
groan of relief, Joanna switched off her computer and headed for the door. She was waiting for the elevator when Alec came up to her.
“Hi, Jo. You okay?”
“No, Alec, I’m not.”
“Right, well, I want a word, but not here. I’ll meet you in the French House in an hour. Looks like you were right.” Without giving her a chance to say no, Alec turned on his heel and went back into the office.
Given she felt she now had nothing to lose, Joanna spent an hour wandering aimlessly around Leicester Square and the Trocadero, increasingly annoyed with the tourists getting in her way. Alec was already on a stool when she arrived in the crowded bar.
“Glass of wine?”
“Yup.” She nodded, pulling up the bar stool next to him.
“Hear it’s not been a good day.”
“Nope.”
“Marian told me that you refused to try and get an interview with Zoe Harrison. You could have used it as leverage to come back to me.”
“It would have been a pointless exercise, Alec. Zoe probably thinks I was the one who spilled the beans in the first place and would prefer to pose semi-naked for the News of the Screws rather than talk to me.”
“Shit!” Alec’s mouth dropped open. “You knew about her and the prince?”
“Yes. She’d told me all about it. Thanks.” Joanna took a slug of her wine. “In quite some detail, I might add.”
“Jesus,” Alec groaned. “So, you could have broken the story?”
“Oh yes. And now I wish I bloody well had, as I seem to have got the blame.”
“Christ, Jo! You’re going to have to toughen up. Breaking a story like that could have given your career a lifetime boost.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?! I spent most of last night thinking that maybe this game isn’t for me, because I don’t have the necessary lack of moral fiber. I seem to have this awful, unjournalistic quality of being able to keep a secret.” She finished off her glass of wine. “Can I have another?”
“Well, at least you’re beginning to drink like a hack.” Alec signaled to the barman. “C’mon, you’ll cheer up after the news I’ve got for you.”
The Royal Secret Page 27
