From Nemesis Island

by Christine Mustchin

  ‘It’s not all work for us medics, you know. We are allowed to have some time off.’

  Trish followed the exchange and joined in the toast to Fi’s success.

  ‘So, going shopping to celebrate, Fi?’ she asked.

  Fi’s last shopping trip to New York had produced a credit card debt of 24K and a request from the Inland Revenue to settle the resulting tax liability.

  ‘Could well be. Haven’t had much chance lately. Too busy.’

  ‘And what’s this?’ asked Trish, holding up an elegant handbag.

  ‘Ah, yes. Gucci bag. Really lucky to get hold of one. Fantastic tip-off from a client: rejected order. You usually have to wait months. Didn’t even have to step foot inside a shop and only 5K.’

  Trish winced imperceptibly. She was well paid but not the stratospheric amounts that permitted Fi her shopping indulgences.

  ‘I think I’ll go to Milan. We had a great trip there a year ago. Cases stuffed full on the way back. Had to buy another one to fit it all in. Still the excess charge was worth it. Thank God we were with a national airline.’

  ‘Did you do anything in Milan except shop?’ asked David.

  ‘Of course. Brilliant restaurant on Saturday night – the concierge made all the arrangements. Got us into the club, no idea of the name now, you know those Italian words. No shortage of anything there, I must say.’

  ‘You’re incorrigible,’ he concluded.

  ‘I know. Let’s have another bottle of champagne.’

  ‘Only if you let the barman open it this time.’

  Fi conceded and went to order it.

  David turned to Trish. She slunk up to him and slipped an arm through his.

  ‘Now I’ve got you to myself.’

  ‘What a flirt you are Trish?’

  ‘Some men are just irresistible,’ she said lightly, only half joking.

  ‘Anyway, how are things with you?’

  Trish laughed at the blatant change of subject.

  ‘What a GP you are David.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. I’ve been put in charge of a prestigious account, so I’m well pleased.’

  ‘Congratulations. By the way what happened about the cosmetic surgery deal?’

  ‘The boss put a block on all new accounts so I had an easy get out and no need to explain anything to him.’

  ‘You always fall on your feet, don’t you? How did Mr Cosmetics take it?’

  ‘Bit cross I think, and he’ll be even more so when he discovers I’ve made sure he’ll have great difficulty finding any PR firm in England to take him on.’

  ‘And what about the photo?’

  ‘Oh that. Had forgotten all about it actually. Probably better that way.’

  ‘Well, if that’s what you’ve decided, it might be best if you destroyed it.’

  ‘Yeah. Good idea.’

  Fi came back with another open bottle of champagne.

  ‘Not much left in this one, I’m afraid. The vultures got at it first.’ She indicated the group of her friends at the bar. ‘Just as well Dick’s not here.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Trish and squeezed herself against David.

  He put up no resistance and gave a smile.

  ‘Come on,’ urged Fi, ‘let’s finish this and then we can all go in. I think we’re all here now. There’ll be more champagne in there.’

  ‘What’s the plan then?’ asked David.

  ‘I’ve booked the room till midnight so you’ve got hours of eating and drinking ahead. Should be good. They’ve hired a protégé of one of the top chefs. You’d know his name Trish. You’re up on these things.’

  Trish smiled happily in anticipation. It wasn’t just the food that she wanted to enjoy. She was a free woman now. She gave David a peck on the cheek and they went into the room together. She could go into the office a bit late tomorrow. She fully intended to maximise her enjoyment that evening.

  22

  The alarm rang at eight thirty am. It was still too early for her body but it would not do to be in work later than ten. She would have to hurry to achieve that. She raised her head off the pillow and immediately dropped it back. It was not exactly a headache but a contradictory feeling of cotton wool and pressure inside her skull. She forced herself out of bed and straight under a tepid shower. The effect was gratifying and, after a long strong black coffee and several slices of toast, she was ready. She phoned the office and then left. The later hour had made the underground journey more pleasant. Emerging into the bright sunlight added to her good spirits but did nothing to help the symptoms of a long, late and alcoholic evening. The day ahead was fairly routine and, if no problems arose, there was a good chance she could leave on time and have a quiet evening alone and a very much desired early bedtime. She smiled to herself as she entered the building. It was a long time since she had indulged herself to the point of feeling this fragile. She wondered how David was feeling. They had spent much of the time last night in each other’s company. He, too, had drunk much more than usual and any hint of seriousness had completed evaporated. They had joked and laughed their way through the evening. He hadn’t even questioned her when she’d gone to the Ladies for much longer than was commensurate with its stated function, returning in high spirits. He had accompanied her home but they had both been too incapacitated by the consumptions of the evening to bring it to its logical conclusion. Instead they said goodbye outside her apartment and he had taken a taxi home after what she rated as a very passionate kiss. Sober now and with her mind directed towards work, she was not too sure how she felt about it all: something to think about later. She arrived at reception.

  ‘Hi, Jane. You got my message?’

  ‘Yes. No problem. You’ve got a clear day today. Just one thing. A chap called in about half an hour ago. Left this at Reception and said he’d like to see you today and that it wouldn’t take long.’

  She handed Trish a striking black and red business card.

  ‘Did he say what it was about?’

  ‘No, ‘fraid not. He just said that it was very important.’

  Trish looked at the card. He was a lawyer of some sort and there were two addresses on the card. One was curiously in Harley Street and the other foreign. She recognised the name of the city she’d just visited with Jalbis Zachion.

  ‘Are you all right, Trish? You look a bit green.’

  Trish looked up.

  ‘Just had a bit too much to drink last night. I need a coffee.’

  ‘What shall I do about this guy?’

  ‘I’d better see him today.’

  ‘I’ll get onto it and I’ll get you a coffee.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She spent the morning making a huge effort of concentration on the Downing Street account, and managed to put her anxieties to one side. By lunchtime, her stamina continued to be tested by the effects of her hangover, and she had a sandwich and a chocolate muffin at her desk. She tried to summon some rational thought concerning the situation she was about to face, but her attempts at reflection didn’t prove helpful and she was glad when his appointment time arrived.

  He proved to be a distinctive looking gentleman with greying hair and an old fashioned manner. He wore an immaculate suit with a perfectly co-ordinated shirt and tie. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him. They shook hands and faced each other across the desk. The more she looked at his face, the more she was sure she had seen him before.

  ‘How can I help you,’ she volunteered cordially.

  ‘It’s a small matter and will not take up too much of your time but it’s important to my client. You’ll have received my business card so you know I’m a lawyer.’

  ‘Yes. Are you here then on a legal matter?’ she asked in an even tone which she hoped disguised her anxiety.

  ‘In a sense, but I don’t think my professional services will be needed in this case. My client prefers to keep things simple.’

  Trish didn’t find h
is words at all reassuring and continued to clench her hands under the desk. There was a coldness about his demeanour that she found threatening. She had few resources at her disposal for protection so she kept calm.

  ‘And who is your client?’

  ‘Jalbis Zachion.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He has asked me to collect something for him. I believe you have a photo of his that he would like to be returned.’

  Trish was finding it difficult to stay cool now. The man continued.

  ‘He’s prepared to overlook the matter of theft if he gets back the property that you took without his consent, but he wants reassurances that no one else knows about it.’

  ‘I see.’ Trish stalled.

  ‘Well. Do you have the photo?’

  His tone was becoming overtly menacing now and Trish thought to call Security. She changed her mind. She had a chance to clear this matter from her life once and for all, with no likely repercussions. It was worth a little discomfort.

  ‘Yes I do and I’d be happy to return it.’

  ‘And my other question?’

  Trish decided this was not the moment for the truth. She hadn’t gone to the police, David had very much left matters up to her and Richard had completely washed his hands of the affair. In any case, she would in no way wish to involve either of them at this point in the sorry little saga.

  ‘No one knows about it,’ she lied, with easy conviction.

  ‘You haven’t told your head of department?’

  ‘No the boss knows nothing about it. He had vetoed any new accounts by the time I’d come back from my trip with Dr Zachion so there was no need to mention anything about my visit.’

  ‘And you have told no one else?’

  ‘As I said before. No.’

  ‘What about your professional colleagues?’

  Trish quickly performed a mental scan of the relevant email communication. Nothing specific cited, certainly not about any photo. That would have been foolish.

  ‘They know nothing,’ she confirmed.

  ‘That’s very reassuring. Then please bring it to my London address at six pm tomorrow. Are we agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘I’ll send a car to collect you.’

  ‘There’s really no need.’

  ‘But I insist.’ He stood up. ‘Until tomorrow then.’

  They shook hands again. Trish was relieved at the conclusion of the meeting but more than a little anxious about the plans he had made for their next encounter. Thank God she hadn’t got round to destroying the photo. She watched as he left the room and, as he closed the door, she remembered where she had seen him. He had lost the goatee beard but she had no doubts. She could picture him in the slow moving queue to passport control on that visit to see Richard. He was the man who had given her his business card, in case the car hire was shut. It was a different business card that she now held in her hand, of that she was sure. However, his connection to Jalbis Zachion was unquestionable. She had seen the man leaving Jalbis’s office in the hospital. Add to that a clear memory of him at the airport as she left to return to London, and she knew she was right to feel apprehensive about him. There he had been with a young attractive girl, ushering her into a black four by four vehicle with a silver logo on its bonnet. In the vehicle were two young men with blood red ties. It had recalled, all too precisely for coincidence, the escape that she had engineered only a short while before.

  23

  Trish sat at her desk watching the minutes click relentlessly towards six o’clock. After the meeting yesterday she had called David at the surgery for advice but he had been away on a course for two days. She had even called Richard’s home number but there had been no answer and she had left no message. She guessed he had already gone abroad. She had tried his mobile but that was not even switched on. She thought of contacting Fi and quickly rejected the idea. The option of consulting her boss didn’t even enter her head. She’d just have to decide for herself. She was reluctant to step into the car that had been arranged as transport. After her experience of what she believed, without doubt, to have been an attempted abduction on the way to the airport, and the sighting of the so-called lawyer next to the vehicle that, most likely, had followed her, she viewed his reappearance with great suspicion. She paced around the office. She felt guilty. That was it: guilty of taking the photo and perhaps guilty about not doing anything with it. She tried to convince herself: too late for any regrets now. It was five to six. She took out the business card and put it on her desk with a hastily scribbled note. It was the only safety net she could think of.

  The car was waiting for her. With a shudder she noticed it was a black four by four and that, in the front two seats, sat two young men wearing black suits and red ties. It had to be coincidence. This was England. The car had an English number plate. She tried to commit it to memory but her concentration failed. One of the men opened the door for her and courteously invited her to get in. She did so, trying to smile, aware that she was trembling a little. The men did not speak and all she could do was wait. They travelled down side streets, avoiding the main roads and, at every turn, she expected them to stop and bundle her into an unknown building where an unknown future waited for her. When they did stop, it was with relief that she knew that Harley Street was indeed their destination. She almost shouted out with joy. She hadn’t noticed earlier that the address on the business card indicated the building where she had first met Jalbis Zachion. In fact it was to those very rooms that she was now directed. The thought of facing him was unpleasant but she would do it for the sake of bringing things to a conclusion. The receptionist was about to leave and smiled as they went straight into the office. Where once books and files of notes had characterised a doctor’s room, now it was completely bare, and, where Jalbis Zachion had once sat, the lawyer had taken his place. He stood up and dismissed the two men.

  ‘Do sit down,’ he said politely. His voice was welcoming. ‘This won’t take long. May I have the photo?’

  She handed it to him.

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  The question was abrupt and unexpected.

  ‘No.’ There was nothing to add to the blunt denial.

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘I’m not accustomed to lying.’ Trish bristled, despite her discomfort.

  He softened his manner.

  ‘Forgive me. I am acting under instructions. It’s not always pleasant for me to ask certain questions. There is just one more thing though. I have a paper for you to sign.’

  He pushed a document towards Trish who began to read it as quickly as her nerves would permit. It was brief and consisted of a declaration of her agreement not to mention the photo to anyone. It also asked her to verify that there were no copies of the photo in her possession.

  ‘Do I have to sign this?’ She wondered what possible legal validity it would have anyway in England.

  ‘It would be in your best interests to do so.’

  She had no intention of refusing at this stage and she signed the paper and pushed it towards him.

  ‘Is that all, now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. A successful conclusion to the whole business. Will you join me in a drink now?’

  Trish felt in need of a strong brandy but had no desire to search for a solitary bar stool in order to satisfy her requirement. She accepted his offer and he left the room briefly, returning with two glasses of French cognac, as though he had read her mind. He raised his glass.

  ‘My client has asked me to wish you every success in the future. He is sure you will not forget him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said and, in response to the strange toast, took a large gulp of alcohol. It effects flooded through her with an immediacy that surprised her. Her mood calmed and the tension in her muscles dissipated. She took several gulps in succession. The effects increased disproportionately to her expectations for she did not register as having drunk more than a relatively small amoun
t. Her limbs were becoming heavy and already felt as though she had a severe hangover. The room around her began to blur and then she lost consciousness.

  24

  The alarm sounded. Trish heard it from a distance. It continued for a full minute before stopping. Trish opened her eyes slowly. It was eight thirty already. She must have forgotten to alter the alarm last night. Last night! She tried to recall. How had she got back to the flat? How had she got to bed? She had no memory of either. No matter, she must get to work. She tried to sit up and failed. She felt weak and unable to move. She tried again and gave up. Something viral no doubt. She reached for her mobile and noticed it had not been switched off as was her custom at night. She rang the office. A day in bed would sort things out and she pulled up the covers. What had happened last night? The last thing she remembered was drinking a glass of brandy and feeling as though she had drunk a whole bottle. She could still see the face of that creepy so-called lawyer. After that, everything was blank. She fell back to sleep until midday. She woke with a tremendous thirst and a great desire to get out of bed to satisfy it. She successfully manoeuvred herself to sit on the edge of the bed, wondering if she could manage to stand. At her first attempt she slumped back on the bed and gave up. She resorted to crawling on her hands and knees into the kitchen and helping herself to some mineral water from a bottle in one of the cupboards at floor level. She drank nearly the whole bottle and then felt a sudden urge for the bathroom. She crawled towards it, pushing open the door and dragging herself with difficulty onto the toilet. Her lower abdomen had become painful and she badly needed to pee. Very little seemed to be happening despite the urgency. She sat as long as the pain would allow and then crawled back to bed. She fell into a restless sleep for a few hours and woke from the intensity of the pain which had reached a new peak.

  She’d have to call the doctor now. For once she had no problem persuading the receptionist. Trish’s distress was all too clear from her voice and her inability to speak for any length of time.