The question needed no answer.
‘I hear that the dinner went well,’ Jeremy continued. Rafi resisted asking whether they’d been bugged.
‘Jeremy, how much do you know of what Rafi and I are doing?’ asked Kate.
Jeremy smiled. ‘Ewan has briefed me. I’m to be your liaison with MI5 and MI6. I’ll be based at the Embassy and will have a desk next to yours in your offices.’
‘That’s great. Anything else I should know?’
‘Don’t tell Emma and Jack yet, but they’ll be part of your support team.’
‘Fantastic!’ said Kate with a big smile. ‘And is there anything more?’
‘I understand last night you had lengthy conversations with the three police officers, but found their partners less than forthcoming.’
‘Yes. They were rather secretive.’
‘Probably best if they bring you up to speed once you start working with them. Basically, Pierre Simmon works for the DGSE, La Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure, which is France’s equivalent to MI6. Then there is Luca Duilio, who gained an impressive track record with the Italian Anti-mafia Investigative Directorate; he’ll tell you in due course what he’s been up to for the past couple of years. Bernhard Michalak is from Warsaw. And at one time he worked for the Stasi in East Germany and then had a stint with the FSB, the Russian Federal Security Service. He is a specialist on the whys and wherefores of organised crime in those former Russian states that are now part of the EU. Oh, and he’s a close friend of Luca.’
Rafi looked carefully at Jeremy. ‘They are a forbidding team, aren’t they?’
‘Yep, I’m glad that they are on our side. Heaven only knows what all of you will dig up!’
Their coffee was finished and they said their goodbyes. Kate and Rafi went off to explore the shops. After lunch, Jeremy had arranged for them to meet one of the Embassy staff.
The afternoon was spent looking at apartments. The first looked unremarkable from the outside, was comfortable and spacious on the inside, but had poor views. The second flat was smaller. However, it was only a short stroll from the office, overlooked a small square and was conveniently located for easy access to the airport. The main rooms were light and airy and the master bedroom was a good size with an impressive en suite bathroom. In the basement there was secure parking for two cars.
They both liked it. It would make an ideal and comfortable home for a couple doing a fair amount of travel. They decided not to look any further.
‘Is it within our budget?’ Kate enquired.
‘Money will not be a problem,’ came the reply. ‘When you’ve settled in, do let me know if you need any changes and I’ll happily organise them for you.’
Four hours later, Kate and Rafi were back in Clapham, sitting in front of her gas fire. They were tired, but elated by the prospects of their new lives.
Lying on the table amongst the post was a smart envelope with a crest on the back. It was addressed to both of them. Their company was requested at a reception and dinner at Windsor Castle, six weeks later, to celebrate a State visit by the President of the European Commission.
Rafi looked puzzled. ‘I wonder why we have been invited?’ ‘It’s probably to do with our new jobs,’ replied Kate. ‘Or perhaps we have gone up in the world following the capture of the terrorists?’
The day of the dinner at Windsor Castle arrived. Rafi and Kate had taken half a day off.
They arrived at Kate’s flat in the early afternoon. She was dithering. ‘It’s alright for you; a dinner jacket is a dinner jacket, end of problem. What am I going to wear?’
‘I thought you’d already bought an evening dress?’
‘Well, that’s the problem!’
‘You’ve left it a bit late!’
‘No, it’s just that I have a couple of options and then there’s what shoes and jewellery to put on.’
‘How’s about you put your choices on the bed and we go through them?’
‘Would you be willing to sit through me changing in and out of things, dithering while trying to decide what to wear?’
Rafi nodded, trying to look enthusiastic.
‘Give me a moment and I’ll get everything out,’ said Kate heading for the bedroom. What seemed like ages later, Rafi heard a call from the bedroom. He sauntered down the corridor, wondering what he’d let himself in for, and pushed open the door. There, standing in front of him was Kate with her hair up in a sophisticated fashion. Around her neck was a most exquisite gold necklace of blue gemstones with diamonds, pointing down to a lacy bra, panties, suspender belt and sheer silk stockings.
‘Now watch this.’ Kate smiled and walked into the evening sunshine. Rafi let out a quiet whistle. The blue gemstones in the necklace and the matching earrings had turned a fiery amber colour, setting off her hair perfectly.
‘Magic, isn’t it?’ asked Kate with a grin.
‘You look stunning… What are they?’
‘Blue amber. I’ve always wanted to wear them but never had the occasion before. They’ve been hidden away since my granny died a few years back.’
‘She had the same colour hair as you?’
Kate nodded.
‘I can see why she gave them to you. They are fabulous. I love how the amber changes colours. You look ravishing.’
They walked back to the bed. Four long dresses were draped across the duvet cover.
Rafi picked up a pale gold dress which had an almost translucent quality. It shimmered as it moved in the light. He wasn’t certain about the colour, but Kate seemed to like it. He suggested she try it on.
‘Do you think the colour is too much with my hair? A little shop in Milan made it and some matching shoes especially for me. I paid them a visit while I was working there a couple of weeks ago.’
Rafi watched as she slipped it on. He was surprised at how much he liked it; it hugged her figure, enhancing her subtle curves, and the colour actually accentuated the beauty of her skin and hair.
‘It’s perfect. There’s no need to look any further.’
‘In which case we have a some time to kill,’ said Kate suggestively, slipping off the silk dress. ‘It’s a bit cluttered in here. How’s about we try the sitting room?’
The taxi arrived outside Kate’s flat on time. The twenty-mile journey to Windsor Castle was good for the hour of day.
Emma and Aidan had also received official invitations to the dinner. Neither had expected the other to be there. The seating plan had them next to one another near the top table. Kate and Rafi sat opposite each other at the other end of the room, with a European Council member, two immensely wealthy Continental European industrialists and a French newspaper editor, Jean-Michel Coeurs.
Kate and Rafi noticed a lot of famous faces as they mingled during the pre-dinner drinks. The Royal family, senior politicians and the movers and shakers of the British economy were out in force.
At dinner, Rafi’s conversation with those sitting around him ebbed and flowed. It turned to international businesses and whether too many were exploiting accounting and taxation loopholes. Surprisingly, it suddenly got interesting.
The industrialist on Rafi’s left explained, ‘As the chairman of a listed company, I have analysts crawling over practically everything we do. I’ve got to play by the rules.’
‘That’s your choice,’ countered the other industrialist. ‘I find life so much easier running a private business. I have a flexibility that gives me a distinct competitive edge.’
‘What about the Commission and its approach to matters financial?’ Rafi asked.
This sparked off a lively debate.
‘Remind me how many millions – or was it billions? – of the Commission’s budgets were unaccounted for last year?’ asked Jean-Michel, the journalist.
‘I can’t answer that question as the accounts aren’t due out for several months,’ countered the bureaucrat defensively.
‘OK, what was the figure for the year before, approximately?’ as
ked Jean-Michel.
‘Roughly, in percentage terms, around… one percent’
This seemed to rankle Jean-Michel. ‘That’s over €1 billion. It would be bad enough if that was the correct figure, but I believe the true figure is far, far greater. Didn’t the European Court of Auditors raise serious concerns about where the €80 billion spent on agricultural and structural projects actually went?’
‘Yes, there are undoubtedly a number of grey areas,’ replied the bureaucrat without any hint of embarrassment.
The topic of conversation continued until the speeches, but the disputed figure still hadn’t been resolved.
Rafi mentally missed most of the speeches. His mind was on the recent conversation. Two things struck him: first, the lack of concern that the bureaucrat had about the Commission’s unbalanced books and the system’s opaqueness, and, second, the opportunities to which the private industrialist had alluded, which enabled him to play the system, make easy money and enjoy being accountable to no one. Then there was the journalist, Jean-Michel; he seemed to know his stuff. Rafi made a mental note that he was a man worth talking to.
After the dinner, whilst Kate and Rafi were waiting for their taxi home, Jean-Michel came over and said his goodbyes. He too was on his way back to Central London.
‘Why don’t you join us? We practically go past the front door of your hotel,’ suggested Kate.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was a truly memorable evening. Your Royal family certainly know how to entertain and make guests feel special.’
During the forty-minute ride into London they chatted about various things. After a lull in the conversation Jean-Michel turned to Kate and said, ‘I believe we have a mutual friend?’
‘Who might that be?’
‘Stephanie Doucet; she and I grew up together. I saw her for dinner a couple of nights ago. Our conversation touched on the terrorist attacks in London. She mentioned you, and that you reminded her of when she was younger. It seems you made quite an impression!’
The taxi came to a halt at the hotel and Jean-Michel climbed out. His parting remark was, ‘Perhaps we could have dinner with Stephanie sometime and continue this evening’s conversation?’
‘That would be nice,’ replied Rafi.
The taxi moved off. Kate playfully nudged Rafi in the ribs. ‘Thinking about your dinner with Stephanie, are we?’
‘No, I was thinking about our first night in Luxembourg and hoping you aren’t feeling tired,’ he said with a mischievous grin.
Early summer arrived; Kate and Rafi continued to travel around Europe. There had been a steep learning curve in understanding the intricacies of how the European Union, the Commission and big pan-European businesses operated.
Once every three or four weeks, they spent a weekend in London at Kate’s flat. This Saturday, they had slept in, and were lying on the bed enjoying a breakfast of croissants and coffee while going through a pile of post.
There were two smart envelopes; their backs bore the Royal Coat of Arms.
Kate opened her envelope to find it was a formal invitation to a Garden Party at Buckingham Palace, to be held in five weeks’ time. In the envelope there was a second gilt-edged card which requested the pleasure of her company at an audience with the Queen an hour and a half prior to the Garden Party.
Rafi opened his envelope. He, too, had two invitations. He recalled how, on his return from Newquay, he had liaised with an enthusiastic SJ at Number 10 regarding the idea of a Garden Party. He had thought nothing more of the conversation.
‘First a dinner, and now a Garden Party and an audience with the Queen. Aren’t we moving up in the world!’ said Rafi.
‘Wow, doesn’t it look smart?’ Kate exclaimed. ‘What an excuse to buy another new dress!’
Rafi looked across at her beaming face.
‘Would you believe it, I shall be in Milan again the week after next?’
Major Charlie Stavely and Saara phoned during the weekend to say that they, too, had received invitations to the Garden Party. They were very excited. After a flurry of phone calls, it was arranged that Kate and Rafi would see Saara and Steve for supper the night before the Garden Party and then meet up with family and friends the following morning.
Kate and Rafi had become accustomed to their European travels and over the past couple of weeks they had gone in opposite directions.
Their new boss, Jorg, and their paymasters were giving them the freedom to research and delve where they wished. Jorg was very good at keeping people off their backs and keeping the politicians happy.
To the unsuspecting outsider, the team remained a nondescript data-crunching organisation. However, in reality progress was being made on a number of fronts. The team was gaining an in-depth understanding of how pan-European players operated and the areas into which organised criminals had been drawn. It had not been the aim of their investigations, but links between corruption, wealth and certain well-connected individuals were becoming apparent. Rafi wondered how long it would be before they knew how dangerous a can of worms they were opening.
Kate and Rafi’s cosy flat in Luxembourg remained a haven of tranquillity. In contrast, their office down the road was a different world. They had slotted into the team remarkably easily, and worked well with the other members, though they suspected that they were viewed as the junior partners. This had its benefits, though, as their colleagues seemed genuinely keen to help.
The date of the Summer Garden Party was fast approaching. The week leading up to it had been tiring. Rafi had been to Paris, Frankfurt and Amsterdam, whilst Kate had been to Prague and Milan.
They were looking forward to their supper with Steve and Saara on the evening before their outing to Buckingham Palace.
The hour’s time difference meant that they could catch the 6.00 p.m. flight to London City Airport and be in Hampstead by 8.00 p.m., London time.
They chatted for much of the flight, enjoying one another’s company. They had learned at an early stage not to talk about work in public places.
During a lull in the conversation, Rafi browsed through an English newspaper where one story in particular caught his eye. It was a follow-up on some of the families made homeless by the Stratford nuclear catastrophe. It described the public support that they had received and how they had been relocated and rehoused. The little girl whose teddy had become world-famous, and her family, had found a home in Norfolk. If the picture -which showed her with a broad smile clutching her teddy – was anything to go by, she was enjoying her new life. The article went on to report that she was one of the lucky ones; many of the dispossessed had still to find permanent new homes.
The journey from London City airport to Hampstead Heath was straightforward. The taxi pulled up in front of Rafi’s old flat at 7.45 p.m. They stood in the passageway by the front door to the flats. It was the first time he’d been back since that fateful February morning. It seemed such a long time ago now, but he was still uneasy standing there; too many vivid and painful memories flooded through his mind. He had hoped that returning to his flat would help him to slay the ghosts of the past. It certainly gave him the creeps.
Rafi pressed the bell. Saara answered. ‘Do come in.’
The door buzzed and opened. They entered. As they climbed the stairs, Rafi recalled his conversation with Kate, on their return from Cornwall, about where he might live. She had been surprised when he had asked if he could move in with her.
‘But my flat is bound to be nothing like as nice as yours. Jeremy tells me that they’ve done a good job in putting it back together again!’ she had said.
‘Your flat has nice memories – mine has too many ghosts,’ had been his reply.
They arrived outside the front door of his old apartment. Rafi knocked. It sounded different, very solid. The door opened and there in front of him was his little sister, looking very grown-up.
‘Come in, come in. Sorry about the chaos. We only just beat you here! Steve is dying to meet you, Kate
.’
‘Hi there, I’m Steve,’ he said, cheerily as he appeared from the kitchen. Great to meet you at last, Kate. Can I get you a drink? A cup of tea… or something stronger?’
‘Tea would be nice,’ replied Kate, as she and Rafi walked through to the sitting room-cum-dining room.
Rafi saw that his minimalist decor had been replaced by an eclectic mix of furniture and paintings. Saara and Steve’s clutter was everywhere. Paperwork spread from the table, across the floor and on to the windowsill. It gave the place an untidy but lived-in feel.
Rafi looked at their faces. Their smiles said it all.
‘We thought that, if it was fine by you, we would eat out at your favourite Chinese restaurant. Mr Cheung is looking forward to seeing you. He says his turnover has hit wock bottom since you moved away!’
‘Sounds perfect,’ grinned Rafi.
‘Let me show you around,’ offered Saara. ‘The MI5 people arranged for the redecorating and the new steel front door. They said your old one had been sold for matchsticks!’
Rafi and Kate followed Saara into the spare bedroom. The pictures on the walls he recognised from her bedroom in their parents’ house and the duvet cover from her house in Birmingham. The bed and curtains were new and very John Lewis.
‘Kate, if you need anything when you’re getting changed, please shout,’ said Saara.
Rafi looked into the bathroom. He recalled the conversation with a man from MI5, apologising about all his furniture and personal effects. He now saw what he had meant. Everything had been replaced.
‘Come on – come and see what Steve and I have done to our bedroom,’ said Saara excitedly.
Kate and Rafi were ushered along the corridor and up the small staircase. Shambolic would have been a good word to describe the look of their room. Cluttered could have been an alternative.
‘Isn’t this great?’ beamed Saara. ‘So much floor space! Knocks our old house in Brum into a cocked hat!’
Rafi looked at Saara and noticed she looked a little apprehensive.
‘It’s been a hectic day. We prayed that your flight would be delayed, so we could have done a little tidying up.’
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