by D Latham
As I left the registry, I was certain I caught a glimpse of a man watching me. I couldn't be sure, it was so fleeting, one moment there, then gone in the blink of an eye. I hurried back to the car, and watched behind us all the way to Welling. By the time we got there, I was convinced we were being tailed by a maroon van. I quickly ducked into the undertakers, and arranged the funeral for two weeks time. I had decided on a cremation at Eltham crematorium, and booked the larger chapel in case Ray got carried away with the invites.
It took nearly an hour to sort all the details out and get them booked. I was nervy, and jumpy, half expecting someone to burst through the door any moment. I thanked the undertaker for all his help, and checked the street outside before jumping into the waiting car. We pulled away, heading towards Shooters Hill, and checking behind us, I caught a glimpse of a maroon van about four cars back.
My hands were shaking as I pressed the speed dial for Ivan's number. He picked up on the second ring. "Are you having me followed?" I demanded. Silence. "Are you still there?" I asked.
"Yes, I'm still here."
"Well?"
"There is a security team assigned to your safety, yes."
"In a maroon van, currently in Welling?"
"You're not supposed to spot them," he said sulkily.
"Call them off NOW," I yelled, "and don't you DARE do that to me again. I nearly had a heart attack. Thought I was about to be kidnapped."
"They're only ensuring your safety."
"I'm perfectly safe Ivan. I don't need creepy men following me around thank you. I suggest you call them now, and tell them to leave me alone. If they persist in stalking me, I'll get this cab to pull over at the nearest police station. I'm not your girlfriend Ivan, you can't do stuff like this."
"Here's the thing Elle, if you'd have actually talked to me this week, you would have realised that most of my actions have been to keep you safe. From keeping Dascha happy, to buying controlling share of Conde Nast, and asking you to go there next week. It's all to keep you safe. We had a specific threat to your safety, so will you just indulge me for once, and let me deal with this?"
"Specific threat? Tell me exactly what that means please."
"A message was sent to us...."
"Keep talking."
"Basically saying you were at risk.."
"Of what?"
"Kidnap."
"Is that all?"
He paused, "no. They planned to hold you hostage."
"Who?"
"Russian mafia."
"Why?"
"Because Dascha cannot bear the fact I left her. She is jealous of you beyond all reason."
"So she's bullying you into fucking her?"
He laughed, "I couldn't fuck her if I tried. My dick does get a say in these things you know. She did the article to provoke me. Now I could have used an injunction and wrapped you in security, but she would have just gone to another paper or magazine, and dragged your name into it. By doing as she asked, I made sure no other publication would touch me. By publicly acknowledging Dascha,, and doing this deal for her, I'm keeping you as safe as possible. This problem should be solved by Wednesday, but until then, I need to make sure you're safe and protected."
"Ivan, this is mad. Give me the note, and I'll go to the police."
"That's the quickest way to get killed Elle. They won't mess about."
"So what does Dascha want? To marry you? To fuck you? You can't just play along with this forever."
"Oh, she doesn't want me. She wants Conde Nast. They wouldn't sell to her. I had to buy it using her father's money, get it sorted, which is where you come in, then give it to her as a goodbye gift."
"So if you don't, I get splatted?"
"Yes. So until this deals done, you're not safe. You're her insurance policy that I won't renege on the deal."
"Why the hell are you sending me in there on Monday then?"
"It's the safest place. She won't hurt you there, but she wants you within reach as an insurance policy. By Tuesday night at the latest, the deal will be done."
"Ivan, this is horrendous, you do realise that don't you? Plus you have lied and lied to me over this."
He sighed, "yes I do, but it's not unusual in Russia. Business is much more....brutal. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth from the start."
"So why am I changing everything over to Retinski, if it changes again Wednesday?"
"You're not. You're changing everything over to a shell company I currently hold. Ownership of that will change to Dascha. That way, there won't need to be further changes. The press will be told that Dascha and I have split, and the media company is my parting gift to her. So I get my freedom, and she gets her company."
"And I get to keep my face in the same order it is now? Oh great Ivan. I cannot believe I've been dragged into this. I'm appalled. I'm supposed to be away this weekend, I suppose you're going to want to lock me inside my flat now."
"Where are you going?"
"Lady Golding has invited me to Conniscliffe for a mini break."
"Actually that's a great idea. At least you'll be safe there."
"How do you know?"
"They keep billions worth of art safe there, so I'm pretty sure it's secure. I will give Oscar a call and let him know. He may want to increase the security."
"Ivan, I'm disgusted with you. This is not how I live my life you know."
"I know. I'm sorry. Are you going straight home, or back to work?"
"Home."
"Security will be waiting, headed by Roger. They will check your flat, and guard you until Oscar gets there."
"Ok." Ivan cut the call. I sat reeling in the taxi, a million questions racing through my head.
Back home, Roger and another man, who was introduced as Nico, accompanied me up to my apartment, to do a sweep before I was allowed in. When they were happy everything was ok, they waved me in, told me to lock the door, and that they would be just outside.
I had a quick shower, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, before packing my weekend bag with two cocktail dresses, and a selection of casual wear. I made a latte, and sorted out my handbag, taking out the paperwork relating to mum, and her funeral. I checked that I had my phone charged up, and some cash in my purse, before slipping my novel in my handbag in case I had some spare time. At five, there was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" I called out.
"Oscar." I opened the door to see a scowling Oscar, flanked by Roger and Nico. "You ready?"
"Yep. Can you take my bag please, and I'll lock up." I carefully double locked the door, and Roger promised he would check on the flat over the weekend for me.
"Follow me for the first five miles please. Make sure we're not followed by anyone else." Oscar said.
"Certainly sir." Roger replied, as he opened the door of Oscar's Range Rover. "Lock the doors when you are both inside please."
They followed us until we were on the A21, and heading through Kent. Both Oscar and I breathed a sigh of relief when the Mercedes peeled off the road behind us.
"Ivan called me, although I already knew what happened. We have some extra security at the castle, although given that it’s a castle, it's pretty safe."
"I'm horrified by the whole thing. I wish I'd never set eyes on Ivan. I'm sorry you've been lumbered."
"I haven't been lumbered Elle. I'm delighted to have your company for a weekend. I'm sorry that you got dragged into Ivan and Dascha's drama. I think he's genuinely upset and worried that you're in danger. Dascha is a really toxic and unpleasant girl. She only asked me to that ball to try and convince me to front that bid for her."
"So how come you didn't do it?"
"She had no leverage over me. I didn't want to sleep with her, she had no idea about you and I, and there was no way of her getting a hold over me. No Achilles heel.... that she knew about anyway," he added.
"So she went for Ivan."
"Yep. Knew he'd do if it she threatened you. She has some unpleasant connections I gather."
> "I'm surprised they didn't go after his dogs, they're the girls he loves most in the world."
"You haven't seen the size of their security team. They have more bodyguards than Ivan. Dascha, or her thugs, wouldn't be able to get to them."
"All this to buy a magazine. It seems....mental."
"I agree. Dascha wants to be a fashion leader, to be a Queen Bee in the fashion world. At the moment, nobody gives a hoot about her. She thinks as owner of Vogue, people will give her the respect she craves. She's a spoiled little rich girl, who's daddy will indulge her every whim. This is costing him nearly five billion quid. He must be mad. Conde Nast is a large luxury brand, not just Vogue magazine, and she won't have a clue how to run it all. I don't think she's thought about that."
"Why wouldn't they sell to her, or her father? I don't get why it had to be fronted."
"I gather there's been some bad blood in the past. The family consortium that owned it refused to even speak to Dascha or her father, he has quite a reputation as a thug. They sold to Ivan based on the fact he was no longer with her. When she showed up after the sale and told the reporters she was his girlfriend, well, they weren't happy."
"I bet. That's his reputation shot then."
"Not really. He didn't say who he was or wasn't seeing. They just assumed. That's what he told me." I thought about my almost-lunch with Joan Lester.
"Oscar, what if he reneges, and lets them get me? He might have only asked me out to set this deal up."
"Do you believe that?"
I thought about it. "No, but I wouldn't put it past him."
"I would. He wouldn't be breaking his neck to keep you safe if he was planning to let them have you."
We drove on in silence. I watched Oscar drive, handling the large car smoothly and confidently. It struck me how solid and dependable he had proved himself to be, despite the fact that I had left him, and gone out with someone else.
Oscar broke the silence. "How did it go at the undertakers today?"
"Yeah, all organised for two weeks today. It was horrible seeing her death certificate though, very surreal. I'm having her cremated rather than buried. Ray's organised the wake, which sounds as though it'll be horrific. He's having it in the pub, with sandwiches laid on."
"It doesn't matter Elle. It only matters that people pay their respects, and say goodbye. Don't get hung up on it."
I glanced across at Oscar. "How would you know? I bet you've never been to a working class wake."
"You're right, I haven't. I have experienced losing a parent though. In my case I felt so sad for my father having spent his life acquiring, looking after, and collecting 'things'. He never actually had any fun. He couldn't dance, he was so stiff and repressed that he could barely move. His life was stifled by his great wealth, and the need to preserve it. I swore that I would enjoy my life, and enjoy the money, rather than be its slave.
When he died, the funeral was held in the chapel in the grounds, and it was all business people and fellow aristocrats. All frozen in fear. A bit like my mother, so fearful of being common that she never actually experiences much happiness."
"You're a superb dancer. I loved watching you."
"I made sure I could. Practiced a lot as a teenager. Even took classes at one point."
"All I did was dance to Top Of The Pops, and visit the youth club at the end of our road. I never did the tap and ballet classes when I was little. Too busy sticking my little nose into books for all that. Every week, mum would take me to the library to choose our books for the week. She'd get some historical romances, and I'd read Just William or Mallory Towers, and dream of going to boarding school."
"Well I went to one, and I can assure you it was nothing like Just William. It was always freezing, horrifically brutal, and the food was swill. Not so much midnight feasts, more late night crying and masturbation contests. I credit Eton for fucking me up emotionally. Lots of the old boys never manage to achieve happy marriages, most of them are too screwed up."
"Why do public schoolboys have a reputation of being emotionally stunted with women?" I was curious.
Oscar thought for a moment, "I think it was drummed into us that we were superior, both in terms of lesser men, and all women. Plus of course, girls were forbidden fruit. Touch a girl, you got expelled, but bugger each other, and you got a slapped wrist. I suppose if you're told in your formative years that sex with a woman is the worst thing you can do, it kind of stays with you."
Chapter 9
When the gates closed behind us at Conniscliffe, I breathed a sigh of relief. The castle looked solid and safe, rather like Oscar at that moment. Jones took my bag, and we followed him in.
"I put you in the room next door to mine, just in case," said Oscar, steering me into the drawing room. "Mothers gone to a women's institute meeting, but said to tell you she'd see you in the morning."
"Ok, so what's the plan for tonight?" I asked. Oscar looked quizzical.
"Whatever you like. I can show you more of the castle, we can play billiards, watch a film, you tell me what you'd like."
"I'd love to see more of the castle, if that's ok."
"Sure. I arranged to eat quite early, so I'll take you on the guided tour afterwards. Now, glass of wine?"
"Please." Oscar went and found Jones to ask for our drinks. "Do you want me to get changed for dinner?"
"Not tonight, it's only the two of us, so no need to stand on ceremony."
"Do you eat in the big dining room when you're here alone?"
Oscar laughed, "no, I eat in the snug with a tray on my lap, watching television. Did you think I put a suit on and sit in silence at the table all on my own?" I shrugged. "Is that where you'd like to eat this evening?"
"That would be lovely. I feel like I've not relaxed all week. A soft sofa, and some trashy telly sounds wonderful"
"Your wish is my command madam," said Oscar with a smirk. "Besides, I like Friday night TV." He took my hand, and led me down a corridor, and into a small sitting room, with three large, slightly scruffy sofas, a big, low, coffee table in the centre of them, and a flat screen TV perched on a cabinet, which looked decidedly non antique. It was the cosiest, most informal room I'd seen at the castle. I curled up on the sofa, and sipped my wine, as Oscar flicked through the channels, before settling on the one show.
Before long, Jones arrived with some food on a trolley, along with two lap trays, and a bottle of wine. It was quite comical seeing a butler serve dinner on trays as if he was serving at a dinner party, but I kept quiet. If it was Oscar's idea of relaxed, I didn't want to mock.
Our roast chicken was delicious, and I was starving. "You pack it away don't you?" Oscar remarked, "I don't know where you put it. I like a woman who eats."
"I was starving. I've not eaten at all well this week. With James away, I've lived on ready meals and sandwiches, plus I've been a bit stressed."
"Can't you cook?"
"Oh yes. I'm quite a good cook, but I've not had much in the house, no time to shop, and I hate cooking for just myself. James is really good at keeping the fridge filled up, and he loves to whip up nice meals. It's a sort of hobby of his. What about you? Are you domesticated?" I'd never asked Oscar how he managed during the week in his apartment before.
"I'm not bad, can manage simple stuff. My cleaning lady usually shops for me, so considering I grew up with servants, I'm quite housetrained really."
We were interrupted by Jones, who cleared away our plates, and served profiteroles for desert, with a small glass of desert wine to accompany, then returned twenty minutes later with coffees. I decided having a butler was extremely cool. After dinner, Oscar showed me around the wine cellars. I had kind of expected one room, with some wine racks and bottles, but the cellars were vast, and lined with thousands of bottles.
"Why are there so many bottles down here? You couldn't drink them all in a lifetime," I said, marvelling at the sheer scale of it.
"Investment mainly. A lot of these wines appreciate in value, s
o it's just another way of holding assets. My father built a lot of this collection. I add to it every year by buying fine wines, and laying them down. It means I get to drink good vintages, plus add to the family fortune, so it's a win win." He took my hand, and led me back up a small, stone staircase to the back of the cellars. "These used to be the dungeons. I used to love it down here when I was little, although my sister refused to venture down here again after I dressed up in a bed sheet and jumped out at her. It's quite a spooky place at the best of times."
I shivered slightly. Even in the heat of mid June, it was dank and chilly. "I wouldn't fancy being locked up down here, it's eerie now, let alone in the days before electric lights."
"I would have thought the entire castle was spooky back then. It's a bit scary even now. We have several resident ghosts, and lots of the servants have reported strange happenings over the years."
"Have you ever seen anything?" I asked. Oscar nodded.
"I used to see a young girl, dressed in a sort of maid's dress when I was a child, but not recently. My sister used to see her too. Some of the staff have seen a Tudor man, but I've never seen him. I hear odd noises all the time, but I suppose I'm used to them, so they don't bother me. It's such an old place that it's bound to knock and creak a bit."
"Thanks for that Oscar. I'm gonna be sat up all night with the lights on now." I said, shoving him gently.
"You're not scared of bumps in the night are you Elle?" Oscar smirked. Bastard.
"Course not. I'm far too rational for that."
"Good. In which case, I can show you the west wing."
I followed Oscar through myriad corridors, lined in ancient wood panelling. "This wing is pretty much disused, so it's really creepy." He opened a door, and stepped aside to allow me to enter. The furniture was covered in dust sheets, and in the twilight, it looked like the setting for a horror film. He lifted a sheet to reveal a cabinet full of stuffed animals, their faces frozen forever, and their bodies posed stalking, sitting, or mid flight. I shuddered, feeling a chill despite the heat outside.
We explored more of the rooms that made up the west wing of the castle, Oscar explaining what the rooms would have been used for in the days when a vast extended family would have lived there, with dozens of servants. "So is it freezing in the winter?"
