The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  He didn’t say goodbye.

  Chapter 24

  Brilliant sunshine enriched the terracotta and sand of roofs and spires, the sky offered a royal blue mantle as backdrop and a cacophony of horns echoed up from the streets below. With a towel wrapped around his waist, Adrian stepped onto the hotel balcony to appreciate the view. The air smelt fresh yet autumnal, containing a reminder. All is ripe and the time is now. He stretched, wincing slightly as his back muscles complained. By heaving Beatrice’s suitcase out of Jaime’s flat and up the steps to the hotel, he was sure he’d done himself a mischief. One day, he would have to teach her the art of capsule packing. The phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Matthew and I are on our way down to breakfast. Are you fit?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Well, hurry up and put a skirt on. Change of plan. Full briefing before I leave, which is in half an hour.”

  “Give me five minutes. See you down there.”

  Adrian shook his head as he replaced the receiver. Her joy and relief at their arrival had soon reverted to the usual bossy exasperation. He smiled and began the task of choosing a suitable ensemble for the day. An ensemble which was unlikely to include a skirt.

  Beatrice looked like hell. The black bruising around both eye sockets, the swelling of her eyelids and the little bits of crusted blood between the stitches wrenched at Adrian’s heart. He almost wished someone had done it on purpose so he could hate them. But he, like Matthew, was familiar with her lack of coordination. She seemed unbothered, launching straight into her instructions as Adrian sat down.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from visiting the vineyard again. You should go to Alava Exports. Take a look at another link in the chain.”

  Adrian shrugged. “Fine with me. Could you pass the coffee?”

  Beatrice shoved the cafetière towards him.

  “Ana has made you an appointment for eleven. You’re posing as British wine buyers, which won’t be too onerous a challenge, I shouldn’t think. Ask as many questions as you can about Alava Exports’ numbers. See if you can get a feel of which vineyards have a sizeable share of the market and how much. Don’t limit yourselves to Viura or even to white. Be enthusiastic, be professional and be curious. But also be bland. The proprietor, Angel Rosado, is Aguirre’s son-in-law, so will be alert to any excessive interest in the Castelo de Aguirre output. Matthew, you have toast crumbs on your tie.”

  Matthew looked down. “That’s not toast. That’s croissant.”

  Adrian poured coffee into the white china cup. “The white Rioja story is big news, though, so it won’t hurt to make some general enquiries.”

  “He’s right. If we ignored the phenomenon, it might look even more suspicious,” said Matthew, picking pastry flakes from his woollen tie.

  Beatrice twisted her wrist to see her watch. “Yes, yes. What I mean is, just try to be subtle. Underplay everything. We’re treading on thin ground. I have to go or I’ll be late. Be careful. Far more careful than ... you have ever been.”

  Adrian appreciated her sensitive circumnavigation of unpleasant memories. “We will. What time will you be back?”

  “No idea. Ana’s meeting someone from the Denominación de Origen Control Board at midday and I’m lunching with that wine writer at two, so if all goes smoothly, we’ll be back by tea-time. Now I really must go. First I have to call James, then Ana’s picking me up.”

  Matthew frowned. “Picking you up with what? Not that ghastly moped?”

  Beatrice stood and hitched her handbag up her shoulder. “It’s not a moped, it’s a Vespa. And that’s strictly for city driving. Jaime lent us his car to get us to San Sebastian, remember? We’re going to have a whale of a time. It’s a soft top BMW, you know, in powder blue.”

  Matthew stirred his coffee. “Hardly Easy Rider.”

  Adrian smoothed over Matthew’s obvious snipe by deliberately misunderstanding the reference. “No, it’ll be more like Thelma and Louise meets Sideways. Have fun and be careful.”

  “It’s you two I’m worried about. Remember what I said. Be subtle. See you both later.” She kissed Adrian’s cheek and patted his shoulder. “Look after him.” She reached down to embrace Matthew. “Stay out of trouble, you old coot.”

  With that, she hurried away towards the lifts.

  Matthew yawned. “She does worry so. Now, shall we have another croissant and discuss how to approach this?”

  Adrian reached for the coffee with a grin. He’d got it all worked out.

  The huge warehouse appeared unwelcoming and unattractive after the charms of the city. Two olive trees in faux cut-off wine bottles either side of a large welcome mat indicated the visitors’ entrance. Adrian and Matthew slammed the taxi doors shut and, with a wave, the driver sped off in the direction they had come.

  “I had no idea you spoke Spanish so well,” said Adrian, as they surveyed the building. “How come you let Ana and Jaime do all the ordering last night?”

  “Sometimes it’s better not to let on how much you understand. You never know when it will come in handy.”

  “They are on our side, Matthew. You don’t like Jaime much, do you?”

  Matthew squinted at him. “I’m yet to form an opinion. Anyway, Spanish isn’t all that different to Italian. You should hear my Greek. I sound like a native, if I do say so myself. Shall we go in? Only I find this sun awfully strong.”

  Adrian accepted the change of subject and began walking across the dusty drive. “I think I’d like Greece. You should invite me sometime.”

  “And Greece is guaranteed to like you. Are we all set?”

  The receptionist behind the marble desk greeted them with a perky smile as they walked into the air-conditioned foyer.

  “Bailey and Son, Fine Wines? You are right on time. Mister Rosado will be with you in one moment. Why don’t you take a seat? Help yourself to coffee. Could I take your business cards to add you to our system?”

  Adrian tensed, but nodded. He held out a hand to a blinking Matthew. “You did bring our business cards, Dad?”

  Matthew ran a hand across his hair. He patted his pockets, looked in his briefcase and sighed. “I must have left them at the hotel. I’m sorry, young lady. Perhaps my son could let you have our details by fax later this afternoon.”

  Adrian rolled his eyes and addressed the receptionist. “I’ll email you by close of play today. And your name is ...?”

  While Adrian entered the details into his phone, he noticed two things. Matthew pulling out a handkerchief and taking off his glasses to polish them, and the lift numbers descending. Professor Bailey was wholly in character and ready to make his debut performance. The lift doors opened.

  “Good morning. My name is Angel Rosado. You must be Mr Bailey, and son.”

  He extended his hand and gave his full attention to Matthew, so Adrian took the opportunity to pass judgement. Slicked-back hair and so cleanly shaven he looked waxed, Angel Rosado was polished to perfection. The cut of his suit and fall of the navy fabric made Adrian covetous. His lemon shirt would not favour many complexions, but on Rosado, it heightened the tan and emphasised the whiteness of his teeth. Black brogues, a Tissot watch and a fresh trace of Miller Harris; this man dressed the part.

  Greetings exchanged with Matthew, he turned to Adrian. “Mr Bailey Junior, I presume?” His hazel eyes met Adrian’s, the mildly patronising smile evaporated and they shook hands. Cool, professional and firm. And Adrian knew.

  Chapter 25

  At eleven minutes past eight, Luz opened her eyes and made a decision. Having debated her promise to stay for the weekend versus her will to get on with her own life, Maria Luz Dolores Santiago de Aguirre opted for the latter. She would take a train back to Burgos, the first available, and tonight, she’d go to the restaurant, wearing her new dress. She couldn’t wait to see Tunçay’s face. Especially when she told him what she was wearing underneath.

  Her duties performed, her family appease
d, she had no reason to stay. If possible, she’d avoid her father, say goodbye to Marisol and leave a present for Basajaun. She badly wanted to kiss him and hold him and tell him she’d see him soon, but his heartbreaking sobs whenever she left were more than she could take today. Just the thought of his tearful blue eyes made her bite her lip.

  After a hot shower, she dressed in her old jeans, a navy jumper and black leather biker boots, an outfit to infuriate her father. She searched for her phone to check train times but couldn’t find it anywhere. The Castelo clock chimed nine. Hunger gnawed at her, as she’d only picked at the buffet yesterday. Maybe breakfast first, then trains.

  He would be in the vineyards. He always toured the estate after breakfast. She would be in the breakfast room, nibbling on toast and fruits, reading a magazine. Basajaun, if the gods were smiling, would be at school. The usual sounds floated through the house; sounds which, as a child, she had spent hours decoding. In the car park stood her mother’s Jaguar, but the Range Rover was missing. She smiled. As she expected. Time to venture downstairs, grab some food and say goodbye.

  Her smile contracted as she opened the door to the breakfast room. Her father’s head rose above the newspaper.

  “Good morning, Luz. I wondered when you would finally rise. Please sit down. While your mother is out, we need to talk. Coffee?”

  With a nod, Luz sank into the chair nearest the door. He filled a cup and pushed it towards her with a cold blank stare. She knew that look. He was about to read the riot act. She’d ditched Vasconcellos as soon as she was able and retreated to her room, claiming a headache. Instead, she’d checked her emails, made some calls and sent more than one lewd message to Tunçay. In her father’s eyes, she’d neglected her duties.

  Luz added sugar to her cup and stirred. She didn’t care. He could rant and rail and threaten till his arteries burst, but she was no longer under his control. And poor old Simon Vasconcellos could find some other strategic alliance. She slugged the espresso in one. All she had to do was listen, appear contrite and she could get out of there. Back to Burgos.

  “You are not going back to Burgos.”

  She jumped, dropping her cup into the saucer.

  “Your studies are officially at an end. I called the university this morning to withdraw you from the course. You are to stay here with us, until your mother and I resolve this situation.”

  Luz shook her head and opened her mouth but he had no intention of stopping.

  “What? You expected to go back? How could you be so selfish? How long did you think you could continue like this? Our agreement was for five years. Five years in which you would study law. Which, incidentally, already put you at risk. You would have been twenty-seven by the time you completed that course, which is very late to marry. I should never have allowed myself to be persuaded. In retrospect, I was the stupid one.” He stood up and faced the window.

  Luz blinked. “You cannot stop me going back. I have to finish ...”

  “I think I made myself clear. It is finished. Your mother has gone to collect your things and finalise any outstanding arrangements. And how did you propose to deal with your current situation? I doubt you even thought that far. I still can’t comprehend this. My own daughter. To bring such shame on me, on all of us. How, Luz? How could you be so stupid?”

  The caffeine buzzed around Luz’s bloodstream, making her feel simultaneously wide-awake and as if she were dreaming. She kept her eyes on her father’s thunderous face as she grasped the enormity of his words. He wanted to destroy her. He wanted her back on her leash. She’d always known her freedom would be short-lived, but to snatch it away already? He was right about one thing. How could she be so stupid? Her mother had unlocked the information and handed her father the key. By trusting Marisol, she’d signed her own jail sentence. She should have known. They weren’t parents. Parents were people who loved you and wanted nothing more than your happiness. These two were debt-collectors.

  Luz got to her feet. Shaky and cold, she made a decision. Her voice was steady.

  “I am leaving now. I am going to Burgos and I will complete my studies. All I ever asked from you was financial support. But I can live without it. I can get a job and pay my own way. I am twenty-three years old and an adult. I thank you for all you have done, but I need to be my own person. You no longer tell me what to do.”

  Aguirre exhaled a humourless laugh. “Go to your room, Luz. You aren’t going anywhere but I want you out of my sight. Tomorrow, you will travel with your mother to Bilbao, to see a specialist. We have to deal with this situation as soon as possible.” He took out his mobile and began composing a message.

  Luz exploded. “Situation!? What is the matter with you? I’m in love. That’s all! I’m not mentally ill, you arrogant, domineering arsehole! I know there’s no future in this and to be honest, wouldn’t even want to bring him into such a family. He deserves better. But you will not manipulate my relationships! Not now, not in the future. I am never going to marry some chinless prick because it suits your empire-building. I will NOT be bullied by you. Not anymore. And if you try to interfere ...”

  The door opened. The housekeeper peered in.

  “Señor? Your car is ready.”

  “Good. Please make sure my daughter eats something. She’s becoming hysterical.”

  Without another word, he left the room. The housekeeper took one look at Luz’s face and followed.

  The urge to smash something, to hurl something, to wreck his hermetically sealed world bubbled up like lava. She clenched her chunky little espresso cup in her hand and aimed for the window. Beyond the glass stretched acres of vineyard, a quivering palette of Van Gogh colours which represented so much more than grapes. She replaced the cup on the saucer. Smashing his window would be an irrelevance to him, merely proof that his daughter was undisciplined and immature. If she really wanted to cut the cords, to remove his influence, she would have to go much further.

  The housekeeper was still lurking outside the door when Luz emerged.

  “I’m sorry, Carmina, I’m just not hungry. In fact, I still have a headache. Maybe it’s best if I have a lie-down in my room. Papí’s right. I got a bit over-emotional. Do you know where he’s gone?”

  The relief on the housekeeper’s face showed she’d been prepared for a battle.

  “The airport. He’s going to Madrid. He has meetings today and a television interview this evening. We’re all going to watch it.” She gave a proud smile. “He wants you to stay indoors till your mother gets home. I think a rest will do you good. Do you need anything?”

  Luz shook her head, tempted to check the front door to see if the old bastard had locked it, but she stuck to her role and made her way quietly up the stairs. Halfway up she stopped.

  “Carmina, which channel is the interview?”

  “EITB. Eight-thirty.”

  “Great, thanks. So he’ll be back very late this evening?”

  “No, he’s not coming back until tomorrow. He has a room in the Hotel Ritz, you know, all paid for by the TV station. He’s a real VIP, your father!”

  Luz smiled and continued upstairs. Father in Madrid, mother in Burgos. Looked like she had some time on her hands.

  Her laptop was missing from the bedside table, where she’d left it last night. And the reason she couldn’t find her mobile phone? Because it wasn’t there. Luz called it twice from the phone in her room, before she realised it was probably ringing in the depths of Marisol’s handbag. Her mother had made it as difficult as possible to contact Tunçay. A clean break, she would say, you’ll soon forget all about him. Why hadn’t she memorised his number instead of relying on technology for everything? She clenched her fists in frustration and glared at herself in the mirror.

  A clean break. Yes. She inhaled deeply. Tunçay wasn’t expecting her till Sunday. He might send her a text or two, but by this evening she’d be with him in person. The priority now was the break.

  Clean, yet irreparable. She rummaged in her bag f
or her pencil case. Inside were two memory sticks, one partly filled with notes on EU Food Safety legislation for her second-year project. Notes she could afford to lose.

  Back in the corridor, she checked the window. The only vehicles now on the forecourt belonged to the caterers, the event managers and a cleaning company. The household was busy restoring order after the party. If nothing had changed, the spare key to her father’s office would be in his bedside table. A creature of habit, he never expected an enemy within.

  Her parents’ room was pristine. The bed had been made, the rugs vacuumed and the flowers changed. Just as if they lived in a hotel. Luz padded up to the Emperor-size bed and opened the cabinet on her father’s side. Several business books, an English-Spanish dictionary and a tube of haemorrhoid cream. In the drawer lay a notebook, various ballpoint pens, a box of tissues and a set of keys. She released her breath. The only obstacle now would be the password. He always used the same system, so all she needed to know was how to spell it.

  At 11.22, Luz plugged her memory stick into the USB port and saved the Alava Export files, copies of relevant emails, Excel accounting sheets and personnel details of people who never appeared on the payroll. She printed everything out and also emailed them to herself as attachments. Then she flicked through her handbag until she found a card. She checked the email with great care and sent everything to that address. She wrote nothing in the body text. Even if she had no opportunity to explain, any half-decent brain could work it out. And this recipient’s brain was above average. Luz cleared the browser history, shut down the machine and rifled through the drawers for cash. She collected 270 Euro. Then she listened at the door for over two minutes. Satisfied, she locked the office, returned the keys, slipped back to her room and prepared to leave. She shook her head with a smile. KLAUDYNA. How could he be so stupid?

  She emptied her room of everything valuable. The dress, the heels and the diamonds she took. Sentimental gifts from her mother and sisters she left behind. Unless she could sell it, it was of no use to her. The suitcase, stuffed with clothes, jewellery, watches, paintings and shoes, weighed three times as much as when she’d arrived. She heaved it down the stairs, stopping frequently to check no one was around, and dragged it through to the library, the least used room in the house. This place had been her sanctuary as a teenager. When she tired of her sisters’ incessant bickering or her father’s continual booming oratory, she would nestle into the wing-backed chairs and let the words fly her far away. And should she hear approaching feet, there was always the door into the old conservatory, where she could hide behind any number of potted plants or rattan sofas. The newer, larger ‘Wintergarden’ had taken prominence so that now, only she and the staff ever used this largely forgotten room.