Luke Richardson
Hong Kong
Copyright © 2019 by Luke Richardson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Luke Richardson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Dedication
Thank you
Book reviews
Chapter 1
Looking back, Jamie wished it had never happened.
He thumped so hard against the window of time, hoping that his previous self would hear the warning. But nothing changed. The night, unedited, scrolled through his mind, the same events, leading to the same result, leading to the same events, leading to now.
Opening his eyes slowly, he hoped things would be different. They weren’t.
The dark cell, the smell of strong disinfectant, the swirling lights through the dirty glass above his bed. Someone on his block shouting – “No! No! No!” – louder with each repetition.
In his head the memory of the night restarts.
Isobel shivers like the last fruit of the forbidden tree. Delectable, vulnerable, obtainable. She leans against the railing of the bar they’re in, her bare shoulders slightly hunched against the evening’s chill.
He hasn’t noticed how beautiful she is before. Or maybe he has but just hasn’t thought about it.
London lies in front of her, relaxing into the evening. It’s as though even the city knows what’s going to happen and can’t do anything about it. Isobel traces the routes of the taxis below with her fingertips. Slender pale fingers, long red nails. Being ten floors up is enough to make you feel detached from the world; you can watch it without being part of it.
Isobel straightens up. Maybe she’s heard Jamie’s footsteps joining her on the balcony. Maybe it’s the chill of the evening. She moves her right arm around the back of her long, straight, red hair and sweeps it over her shoulder. It falls down her chest, curving over her shoulder, past the swell of her breasts beneath the strapless red dress.
From the door to the balcony, Jamie waits, considering his move. He’s had enough drinks to disregard concerns about sleeping with a colleague. How to make it happen, that’s his concern now.
Inside the party flows. Flashing lights and dancing. Jackets and ties are abandoned as people stomp to the music.
Jamie walks towards her. He lets her hear his footsteps. He wants her to hear his footsteps, so she’ll know its him.
“The city really does look beautiful from here, doesn’t it?” he asks, joining her on the railing. Their elbows touch imperceptibly.
“Yeah,” she says, turning to look at him. “What’s that over there?” she asks, pointing towards the flashing needle of The Shard.
“You’ve been here long enough to know that.”
“Nearly six months.” She turns to face him.
“Where did you live before?”
“A long way from here.” She exhales deeply, her breath is a wisp in the cold night. “Are you playing the game too?”
The game? Jamie thinks, confused. Maybe she’s not that innocent after all.
“The one where you pretend to be enjoying yourself. This totally isn’t your scene.”
Jamie laughs to himself. This IS going to be easy. She’ll talk herself into it.
The rumble of celebration continues from the bar. The DJ plays a tune the swelling crowd agree with. There’s a cheer and singing.
Jamie says nothing. The city turns in its sleep.
She’ll talk herself into this. They always do.
“I like this place,” Isobel says, filling the silence.
Let her do the work. She’s committed.
Jamie turns to look at her, saying nothing.
She wants to talk.
“It’s a nice bar, don’t you think? It’s peaceful up here.”
Silence will make her want it more.
“I’ve not been before.” Jamie appeases the question. He’s not been because it’s tacky. Neon and chrome.
They both stare out towards nothing. Isobel shivers and slides towards him on the railing.
“Parties like this can be crazy, though. Sometimes I don’t even know what the point is. Everyone’s drunk and most don’t even like each other.”
Jamie notices her voice softening with alcohol. He’s heard her in the office, although they’
ve never spoken personally.
“You’ve got to enjoy yourself, or you’re fired,” Jamie says without looking at her.
A champagne cork cracks in the distance.
“I’m not sure,” she replies. “I’ll run that past Tony.” Behind them the managing director staggers around the bar, pouring champagne into people’s mouths.
Let’s speed this up.
“I’m not sure he’d really care right now.” Jamie turns to face her, sliding his right hand to the small of her back.
Something thumps from the door. Two women Jamie recognizes from Finance. He watches them over Isobel’s head as they rummage through handbags for a lighter, cigarettes bobbing between rosed lips.
They would be way too easy, although a worthy back-up.
Focusing on Isobel, Jamie watches the smile breed across her lips. Neither move. Jamie takes in her height, her complexion, the sensual shape of her back. Looking down past her gaze, he watches the strapless dress sink lower.
It’ll look good on the floor later.
The moment rests as though drunk. Silence.
Isobel moves, now she’s pushing towards him. He can feel her body enticing him.
There’s a thump again in the distance, lost in the swirl of the city.
Her right hand moves to his left arm, his left to her thigh.
Jamie leans in and kisses her. He’s done this before.
Behind the one-way screen of memory, Jamie thumps and cries. But it makes no difference. Nothing changes.
He leans in and kisses her.
He’s done it now, set himself on the path to the smell of disinfectant, the echoing cries of other men and the swirling lights of captivity.
Chapter 2
Leo ran, he always ran. It made him feel good. It revitalized and energized him. He ran along Brighton’s sea front, as though taking in the world for the first time.
When Leo had a normal job and kept normal hours he would run before work. He would leave his flat, two streets back at the Hove end of the town and run as far as time would allow. Now a man of his own destiny, his own lord, boss and master, he ran when he wanted. Usually around lunchtime he would find himself pulling tight the laces on his faded red trainers and heading down to the seafront.
It was one of those spring days where the world finally seemed to crawl out from hibernation, yawn and sit up a little. The sky was bright and cloudless, the air still. The seagulls were working hard to fly without the currents of wind which had embattled the city for the last few months. Pushing his headphones in a little tighter, Leo tried to dull their mournful, swooping cries.
To his right, the stones of the beach ran down to the water. Emerging from the winter, they were banked in swathes at Nature’s whim. Soon, men with diggers would come and level it all out again - the constant battle to undo the effects of nature.
It was entropy, a word Leo had recently learned watching a TV documentary. Entropy – as far as he understood – was nature’s ability to spread things around, return everything to disorder. Disorder was simple. Disorder was easy.
It was order and organization that was difficult. That’s where the challenge was, and that was where he now made his money. Despite nature’s want to separate, spread and settle, people like Leo fought to find and reunite. He seemed to be good at it.
Pounding the pavements in the still afternoon air, he let the thoughts drift from his mind. Mental entropy – if that was a term. Leo thought it should be. He let things go, settle, spread.
Ahead, Brighton seafront’s endless row of terraced hotels ran to nothing. Some of them gleamed, fresh and new, others grey and tired. Rugged scaffold towers had started to appear in front of those being spruced up for the summer, juxtaposing the waving bay windows and black ironwork.
Leo was pleased to get his fitness back. Six months ago, he had returned from a long working holiday feeling flabby and out of shape. He couldn’t even make it down to the seafront without a strain. Now, if there wasn’t much he needed to do in the afternoon, he could run as far as the Pavilion and back.
Things had been crazy since returning. His life had been transformed. He’d inadvertently found a new calling, one he hadn’t even thought possible less than a year ago. It had all happened so quickly he didn’t even know what the job was called. One of the magazines that interviewed him called him an International Missing Persons Investigator, but that sounded far too self-important. Leo was only doing what he could to help people that needed it.
It wasn’t all good though, he thought, noticing the monolithic Grand Hotel up ahead. That’s where it all started less than a year ago. Before visiting the hotel, Leo didn’t know anything about Kathmandu, or Allissa, or Blake Stockwell. Now he shuddered at the name.
Fortunately, they had missed most of Scotland Yard’s investigation by extending their time away. Although they were warned on their return that it would be easy for a powerful and wealthy man to arrange some kind of consequence.
“Be vigilant, look what’s around you, stay safe, and call me if you need anything,” a detective from Scotland Yard had said, handing Leo a card. After that, Leo saw danger everywhere. A woman with a red hat changing her mind in the supermarket was someone doubling back to follow him. Two passing black cars in the same day was a possible kidnap attempt. A man on the phone was someone watching him, waiting for their time to strike.
After two nights lying awake waiting for the door to be broken down, and the third time searching the flat for recording devices, Leo decided enough was enough and moved into a hotel for a few days.
Things had got better since Stockwell was charged. Then when he was sentenced and sent to prison, Leo started to feel safe again.
Now, Leo tried to run as often as possible, but the work was demanding. In the last six months he had gone away three times, once for over three weeks. With that in mind, it was a victory every time he made it out in the rain or shine.
He would have to turn around soon, he had a busy afternoon. A client was trying to get him to go to Edinburgh to find her son who had disappeared with his girlfriend.
“We never liked her anyway,” the woman said by way of explanation when they had spoken on the phone.
For Leo, the challenge was now deciding which cases he wanted to take. Many people offered to pay him, but he knew the work was hard, time-consuming and unfortunately, in many circumstances, fruitless. After six months of daily requests, he was having to say no to those that he thought were better suited for someone else.
For the Edinburgh case, Leo was talking to a local private detective who he hoped would do the legwork for him, meaning he shouldn’t have to leave Brighton at all.
Back at the flat, Leo got straight to work; he’d change later. A run always got him fired up, ready to make things happen.
Shaking the mouse, the two screens of his computer flickered to life. Behind them, through the bay window of his top floor flat, the slate rooftops ran down to the sea somewhere beyond.
Leo had been tempted to move from the tatty flat when work started going well. But with the increasingly small amounts of time he spent there, he didn’t see the need. Plus, in many ways he liked it, or at least was used to it.
Re-reading one of the e-mails from the lady whose son had supposedly fled to Edinburgh, Leo began to compose a message to his contact there. The more information he could pass on the better.
Enthralled in the process, copying words from one page to the next, Leo didn’t hear the footsteps climbing the stairs. Leo had to get this right. If this model worked, his business could be viable. He could work from his flat and move around the world with the speed and agility of an e-mail, but it had to be done correctly.
Leo didn’t hear the door behind him swing open either. Nor did he notice the footsteps start to cross the room.
It just has to be done right, Leo thought as the intruder came closer.
Chapter 3
Jamie hates Monday mornings. As a man who enjoys his weekend, M
onday signals a return to drudgery and imprisonment. To him it seems as though the colour of the world starts to drain on a Sunday afternoon. Only a sepia tone wreckage of responsibility and regret remains by the time the alarm sounds on Monday morning.
It’s alright though, he reminds himself, slipping from the car and into the office’s damp smelling car park, he’s leaving soon.
He’s not just leaving though he thinks, stepping into the lift, pressing the button for the sixth floor and waiting for the doors to close. He’s not just replacing one tired firm with another. He’s not even leaving to set up his own firm of architects. Jamie is going to Hong Kong.
Ever since completing the drawn-out education process students of architecture must endure, Jamie has wanted to travel. Although his thirst for adventure has been sated a couple of times with extended holidays to Asia, South America and the Far East, his real aim has always been to live in and help design one of the world’s leading cities. An afternoon spent walking between the crystal-glass towers of Hong Kong’s financial district three years ago put the city firmly on his list.
Jamie knows he’s been lucky to have worked on some exciting projects in London, but there’s only ever going to be so much you can do in such a sprawling and historical city. In London, each square inch is owned, legislated and accounted for. Hong Kong is different. There’s opportunity, excitement and the ability to play with the city in ways he wouldn’t get elsewhere. The opportunity to design buildings that truly inspire. The Burj, Shanghai Tower, Taipei 101. The sort of buildings that cause people to stand in the street open-mouthed, gawping skywards. Testaments to human will, creativity and power.
Two weeks. Just two weeks and he’ll be off.
There’s no sound that represents the lifestyle of the battery human better than the ‘mail received’ tone Jamie hears as he opens his laptop. Sitting down, he starts to scroll through the messages; he’ll need a coffee before getting on with any real work.
He deletes four e-mails straight off, forwards two to his P.A. to be actioned, and stops to read the last.
Isobel Clarke
Sunday morning, 10:13
Last night was so nice, it was a shame you had to leave early. It wasn’t until you’d gone I realised I don’t have your number. Spending the night together was great. It turned out to be a pretty good party in the end.
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