"I know," he said. "When I saw you in that bikini at the swimming pool ..."
"And tried so hard not to stare at me," Lavina giggled.
"You knew!" he gasped.
She nodded. "That's why I stayed away. I thought you might just be a lonely man needing sexual gratification and you'd drift off if I didn't encourage you." Her eyes twinkled. "But it didn't work out that way, did it?"
"No. If it wasn't for Cathy's comments though, I wouldn't have phoned you know. Even then, if I'd really thought about it I would have chickened out."
"But you did, Steve. If you hadn't I would have found some way to contact you, I'm sure."
She kissed him once more and stepped across to the lift that had opened behind her. Steve grinned and walked back inside his apartment. What a night. Never in his wildest dreams did he think it would turn out like this. Never had he been so aroused, even in his early days with Trish. It was like being alive all over again. He smiled and walked into the living room where the computer was playing a colourful spiral pattern. In his haste the evening before, he hadn't even remembered to turn it off.
*
After that day, the world seemed somehow brighter for Steve. Problems at work became minor and weekends at the lodge were an automatic activity. True to her word, Lavina always appeared and would just sit and chat, help do the gardening, or help with the new bunks Steve was making with his late father's gear. Every second weekend when Cathy was home from school she accompanied her mother and would never stop talking.
Physical contact between the lovers was discreetly avoided except for every Thursday night when Lavina stayed with Steve. This was the evening she attended a night class at the local Polytech. Prior to their affair, she had stayed with Alison Watson, a close friend who wholeheartedly supported Lavina's clandestine affair. They more than made up for enforced abstinence during the week with desperate love making from almost the moment Lavina arrived about nine in the evening until she reluctantly left about twelve hours later.
"My husband approves of me extending my education," she said one Thursday evening, laughing. "Mainly because he has a cute little arrangement with Janice Ludlow to do the same thing we're doing."
"What about Cathy?" Steve asked.
Lavina smiled. "She knows about us but we both pretend she doesn't. Mind you, last Sunday after you left she came up to me and said, 'Don't let Steve get away, Mum, now will you?'"
"I like Cathy. Trish had a miscarriage a few years back. That's the closest I've come to being a father."
Lavina looked at him in a strange way. "There's still time, my love," she whispered almost to herself and then kissed him with a passion he was still getting used to. "Cathy's quite taken with you, too, you know. When your firm got the contract to set up those Internet connections at her school and you walked through the corridor she was thrilled."
"Yeah." Steve laughed. "Cathy, Donna and her friends zoomed in on me like bees around honey. I've never been mobbed by pre-teenage girls before."
Friday morning came again too soon and Steve watched as Lavina drove away. He smiled and drove to the office. He felt as though his life was like a rainbow in the sky with the sun shining before the thunderclouds roll in, something beautiful but transitory.
*
Tuesday morning was a quiet time at the Auckland Metropolitan Art Gallery, not that the crusty old building ever really had a busy time. Arts in the city was reserved for the three percent of the population who expected, and received, money poured in from city coffers far in excess of their needs. However, because the academic elite decided this was good for society, the snobs usually had their own way.
Anyhow, that was how Laurie Ellis felt. So why should millions of dollars be tied up in a motley little painting a few hundred years old so half a dozen stupid old ladies could gaze at it each week? The interesting point, though, was that an art gallery in Amsterdam wanted this painting by a guy called Rubens and they were prepared to pay big money for it.
That was what companion Petra Roberts had told him. Everything had been arranged by Petra's associate, whom she'd only referred to as the boss. His part was to steal the painting and get it to an aircraft. The boss had arranged for it to be taken south to a remote area and hidden where it couldn't possibly be found. Once the heat was off eight months down the line, Laurie had to collect it from the same airfield and bring it back to Petra who was going to fly to Singapore to meet up with the Amsterdam collector. For his effort, he would get a cool ten thousand dollars. Not bad for two days work.
Petra had been the kingpin in the planned theft. She was the one who had obtained a position as assistant curator at the art gallery and, over the last month, methodically recorded everything about the art gallery's security system. It was tight but had a few flaws.
Tuesday morning was one such time. Between eleven and noon on that day, the small side bay where the Rubens was displayed had the infrared alarms and pressure pad behind the painting turned off so the cleaning staff could dust the frames and surrounding area. The whole operation took about five minutes before the alarms were turned on again and the staff moved into the next section.
During that time, one security guard stood watch, communicating by radio with the hidden control room in the cellar. It was this one guard who specified when to turn the alarms off and on.
"Okay, switch Bay Six off, Alexis," Griff Turrell muttered into his hand held radio seconds before a balaclava enshrouded man stood at the entrance to the bay waving a revolver and screaming.
Griff reached for his own automatic when there was an explosion of gunfire. Shrapnel ricocheted from a wooden beam behind him and a splinter sliced through his cheek.
"Get down!" screamed Laurie Ellis. "Everyone on the floor! On your stomachs, hands behind your heads!"
He cuffed Griff on the side of the head and the security guard collapsed, bleeding.
The cleaning lady turned white and dropped in a panic. Petra, who had the job of supporting the security guard, couldn't help smiling at the theatrics of it all as she also lowered herself onto the floor.
Within seconds, Laurie had the Rubens painting off the wall and replaced it with the bare frame he'd brought with him. He glared at Petra. The instructions were for the benefit of the cleaning lady who would be able to confirm that she was also a victim.
"Get the alarm on again," he snarled.
Petra played the part perfectly. Acting terrified, she nodded, took the radio from the unconscious guard and spoke into it. "Petra here. Griff's got the trots he reckoned and has gone off to the toilet. You can turn Bay Six back on."
"Right Petra," came the bored reply.
Laurie walked over to the trembling cleaning lady. "If you move before five minutes is up Maureen, my girl, I'll tell your boss about the money you've been nicking from the weekend takings. Get it?"
"How did you know that?" Maureen stammered. Her crinkled face was a picture of misery as the man just glared back. "Okay, I don't move for five minutes. I've got that."
"You're coming with me!" screamed Laurie at Petra and the pair headed for the back door.
However, as they walked through the exit an alarm began to wail.
"Oh shit!" Petra retorted. "I didn't know about this. There must be a triggering device on the painting."
"Now you tell me, you stupid bitch," Ellis hissed.
He tore down the tiny alleyway to where their third accomplice was waiting in a Toyota, stolen for the purpose.
"Quick!" Laurie snarled as he jumped in the passenger seat and slammed the door. "Plan B, Murray." He turned to Petra. "Give us time to get out of sight, then scream blue murder."
"I know," Petra muttered.
The car started moving just as another security guard reached the alleyway and Petra ran up to him. "They're in that car," she sobbed. "I thought they were going to make me go with them."
*
As soon as the Toyota turned into the busy through road, sirens sounded and a police car approached from beh
ind.
"Shit that was quick!" gasped Murray.
"A bloody door alarm we didn't count on went off, " Laurie replied with his face set hard. "Don't lose your cool." He gave curt instructions on his mobile phone. "You know the route."
The driver nodded and accelerated just as a second police car turned in from a side road with screaming tyres. They were now squeezed between the two cars.
"And you said we didn't need this alternative plan," Murray hissed and glared at Laurie.
"Okay, I was wrong. If Petra had found out about that extra alarm..."
"Okay." Murray smiled grimly. "Hang on, we do our sharp turn in the next block."
"Right," Laurie muttered.
Murray ran a red light into the next block and was now almost overtaking the police car in front. However, at the last moment he cut across the inside lane, braked, turned at a right angle, bounced over a road hump and entered a multi-storied car park building.
"The cops are flowing us!" Laurie hissed.
Murray grunted, turned the first tight corner to Level Two and drove to the next level.
"They're just coming up the other end, " Laurie reported.
"Good!" Murray snorted, turned the next bend and headed towards an opened door with the words Private Park painted in yellow letters across the top. He screeched to a stop inside and the door closed behind them just as the police car appeared.
At the other end of the floor, an identical Toyota, driven by two little old ladies employed by Petra, disappeared around the corner with the police car close behind.
"Quick!" snarled Laurie. "The place will be sealed within minutes."
The two jumped out and hauled the painting into a small red van. The garage door opened and they drove out sedately, found an exit and reached the street just as two more police cars screamed to a halt in front of the white Toyota.
"Shall I head to the airfield?" Murray asked in a calm voice.
"My bloody oath," Laurie replied, wiping his brow. "We just about stuffed it up." The two men turned and grinned at each other.
*
Twenty minutes later, the red van pulled into a small airstrip, sixteen kilometres south of the city well away from the main commercial airport to the west.
"Drive up to the aero club hanger," Laurie ordered. "You'll see a high winged single engine Cessna with the registration ZK HTG there."
The van pulled to a halt and a man ambled towards them. "You're late," he muttered, holding his hand out. "Name's Grant Ryland. Have you got the package?"
Laurie shook his hand. "There was a minor hitch but we came through okay. Petra said you own a high country sheep station a few hundred kilometres south and will be looking after our package for us."
"Yeah." Grant grinned. "I've got a little wine cellar at home. It's perfectly dry and is never used. In fact, I don't even think Lavina, the wife, knows it exists."
"Good," said Laurie. "You know the whole plan, I take it?"
"Yes, I store it and fly it back up to this airport in about eight months after I receive a coded letter from Petra. For that I get my second half of the twenty thousand." He sniffed. "Talking about the money..."
"Okay," Laurie snorted and handed Ryland a small cardboard package. "Ten thousand is there. Count it if you wish."
"No need, " Grant replied. "After all, I have the painting now."
He watched as the painting, now covered in the brown paper, was placed in the back of the Cessna. He shook hands with the pair again climbed aboard and started the engine.
"I don't like him," Murray complained as the tiny plane lifted into the air. "He seemed a bit slick for me."
"He must be reliable or the boss wouldn't have hired him." Laurie said.
Murray frowned. This was the first time Laurie had mentioned somebody other than Petra. He stared at the other man but decided to ask no questions.
"Okay," he said. "Now let's get you across to Auckland International Airport."
Laurie nodded. "I had my face covered and the cleaner lady was shit scared but Petra said I should fly south for a few weeks." He shrugged. "Who am I to argue?"
*
CHAPTER 4
The expletives reached Steve before he saw the speaker.
Grant Ryland stood at the open door of the first classroom with a face like thunder.
"Excuse me?" Steve replied and stretched up from where he had been sanding a new table.
"I said no upstart young bastard from the city can keep fucking my wife and get away with it!" the man screamed and moved his right hand to show a hideous looking weapon like a Very Pistol, one of those used to fire distress flares, rather than a revolver.
Steve swallowed bile. Thoughts rushed through his mind and for that fraction of a second he was sure he was about to be shot. His mind raced. Should he dive for cover, charge the man, plead innocence or scream that this bastard had mistreated Lavina for a dozen years? He gave a shrug and fixed the man with a firm stare.
"Do you have a problem, Grant?" His calm voice, in no way reflected the inner turmoil.
Ryland glowered and hesitated. The barrel of the weapon lowered slightly but the eyes were still wild in almost uncontrolled fury. "You're having an affair with Lavina," he stated in a quieter voice.
"And I believe your activities with Mrs. Janice Ludlow are not altogether innocent," Steve retorted as anger replaced his initial fright.
"You leave me bloody out of this." Ryland's voice rose again and Steve regretted his statement. The last thing he needed was to further aggravate the man.
"Okay, Grant," he forced his voice back to calmness. "What say we talk about this rationally? Put that very pistol, or whatever it is, down. Shooting me is going to solve nothing."
"Yeah!" Ryland grunted, raising the weapon so it pointed directly at Steve who felt sick inside. He wanted to rush Ryland, knock him to the ground and scream that a bastard like him didn't deserve someone as kind and loving as Lavina.
However, Ryland was still talking. "I've been no angel, I guess. That's why I'm giving you all a fighting chance."
"What do you mean?" Steve's face paled. It appeared this was more than an angry outburst of a man who had just discovered his wife had been unfaithful.
"You'll see." Lavina's husband grunted. "Do one thing wrong and, I promise you'll never see your mistress again; her daughter either if it comes to that."
"What have you done?" Steve spat through clenched teeth. He moved a step forward with clenched fists and eyes blazing. He knew he was a decade younger than Ryland and could easily match him if it came to a fight... if it wasn't for the gun.
"Simmer down, boy," Grant Ryland was now the calm one facing an irate opponent. "They're quite safe, but unable to communicate at the moment." He grinned and wiped his unshaven stubble, "
"Why you..." Steve stopped when the man clicked back the safety catch on his weapon.
"That's enough talk. Just do as I say and nobody will be hurt. First, pack up here and lock up like any normal Saturday afternoon. You'd better get your jacket on, too. It's cool out there."
Steve did what was asked and within a few minutes was driving his jeep Wrangler to Ryland's place. The sheer frustration of not knowing or being unable to retaliate made Steve's blood pressure boil. As his thoughts turned to Lavina and Cathy, he crunched through a gear, something he never normally did and turned into the driveway of the white house.
"Go around the back. Next to the woolshed is an implement shed with one door open. Drive in and stop but leave your hands on the steering wheel," Ryland directed. "One false move boy..." His blue eyes cut right through Steve.
"Okay," Steve said. "I get the message."
The shed was a long corrugated iron structure with four large roller type doors along the front. The one, second to the right was open. Steve slowed and drove into the semi-dark interior. He found himself next to a single engine high wing monoplane. The door on the near side was open. Steve searched the aircraft for somehow he knew it was extrem
ely important. At the back of the cockpit, he could see a blob of dark hair leaning against the glass. It was not moving!
"Lavina!" he cried in anguish.
"Observant of you," Ryland grunted. "Welcome to my trusty old Cessna."
Steve wasn't listening. In one frantic leap, he was out the jeep door and running the ten meters towards the airplane without any thought to his own safety. He almost made it.
Grant Ryland stood beside the jeep, raised his pistol and fired.
Steve felt as if an express train had hit him, a red-hot needle pierced the back of the thick windbreaker he was wearing as he staggered forward. His arm reached a support bar of the aircraft's wing; he grabbed it, swung around and could see the interior. Lavina and Cathy were both slumped in the back. Steve blinked as a cloud of purple shot across his vision. Lavina and Cathy appeared to be asleep but not injured.
Steve soon realized that he'd been hit by something that was not a bullet. He felt woozy but in a last desperate effort, he reached behind his shoulder and yanked a small dart from his shoulder blade, staggered and dropped to his knees. The scene went out of focus as he turned to see a distorted vision of Grant Ryland grinning at him.
"An anaesthetic dart, my friend," Ryland snorted. "Used to bring down the big stags in the deer paddock. Works well on humans too, you see."
Steve heard no more as everything shimmered white and he collapsed onto the wooden floor. The last thing he remembered was the smell of straw, cow dung and other farmyard aromas engulfing his senses.
*
The car engine was so noisy and what a bumpy road! They must be on the back road to the school. Would Lavina be there today? Steve hoped so. He could see her gentle smile, but it wasn't real. He was dreaming. His eyelids felt like lead. For some reason it was important to wake up but he couldn't remember why. He forced his eyes open and the memories rushed back.
He was in an airplane flying over a dense valley of bush. He'd been kidnapped and Grant Ryland was sitting beside him piloting it. He shuddered, shook his aching head and pulled himself up.
Like Twigs in a Storm Page 3
