by Bill Ward
“A scotch would be great, thanks.”
Melanie moved towards a bar in the corner of the room. “Throw your coat somewhere and have a look around, while I fix the drinks,” she invited. “There’s a truly amazing bathroom over there.” She pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “There are two bedrooms as well.”
Tom did his tour of the suite and returned to find Melanie with a faint smile on her face. Probably because his jaw was on the floor.
“That’s nothing like any bathroom I’ve ever seen,” he remarked. “I don’t know what you’re used to in the States but over here we’d consider that more of a leisure centre. Are those taps real gold?”
“I think so.”
“Do you think they unscrew easily?”
Melanie handed Tom what appeared to be a very large measure of scotch in a smart crystal tumbler. He was glad to see she had included a liberal amount of ice. She had poured a glass of white wine for herself.
“I’ve tried a couple of times but they’re not budging so far,” Melanie replied with mock seriousness. “Shall we sit?” she asked, moving towards the centre of the room where two very plush sofas faced each other, separated by a large marble coffee table. He sunk into the sofa opposite Melanie and managed to resist the urge to put his feet up on the table.
“I’m very sorry about the two people who died,” he began. “Had you known them long?”
Melanie sighed. “Carol had been with me years. The bodyguard just twenty four hours.” She seemed deep in thought as they sat silent for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” was all Tom could think to say. “Actually I owe you a large vote of thanks for almost definitely saving my life,” he continued. “I was in over my head with the man you shot.”
Melanie snapped out of her thoughts. “Nonsense, it’s me who owes you the thanks for saving my life. If you hadn’t come along I hate to think where I’d be now.”
“To us then,” Tom toasted, raising the glass to his lips. “Do the police have any new information?” he asked, as he tasted his whisky and recognised it for a very expensive malt.
“Actually I learned more from reading your newspapers. Your police aren’t very forthcoming. Incidentally, did you see this morning’s papers say those two men were known to be members of the IRA? What the hell did I ever do to the IRA?”
“If it was the IRA it’s going to cause a huge political stink,” Tom answered. “Talking of newspapers,” he continued rather sheepishly. “I feel I should tell you that I’ve sold my version of events to the press. Actually it’s why I’m in London today. Frankly, business hasn’t been good and I need the money.” He felt a bit guilty but at the same time didn’t because after all what would Melanie Adams ever understand about being short of money.
“Tom, I have no problem with that. And really it’s none of my business. I hope you got a good price. The way I see it, if it wasn’t for you I might be dead now. At the very least I wouldn’t be sitting here drinking wine. So I’m happy whatever you choose to do.”
Tom felt a certain relief. He knew he didn’t exactly need Melanie’s blessing for what he’d done but he was glad to receive it nonetheless. He recognized his actions could be interpreted as making money out of other people’s misfortune and he didn’t want this fledgling friendship destroyed before it had got off the ground. The truth was he had gone ahead anyway before speaking with her, so the reality was his selfish financial needs were taking priority over everything else.
“Cheers,” Tom toasted, raising his glance. “To the future.” He was feeling more relaxed in his surroundings.
“The future,” Melanie concurred. “Talking of which I hope you’re going to let me take you to dinner tonight? How about The Fig Leaf?”
Tom was struggling to maintain any sense of reality. It certainly wasn’t reality, as he knew it, to be in Melanie Adams’s hotel suite sharing a drink and discussing whether to eat at what is arguably London’s most exclusive restaurant. He normally existed on a diet of takeaway cholesterol or the occasional homemade pasta dish. He decided he would stay in town to celebrate. His cheque would take a few days to clear but his credit card would just about sustain a night in a hotel, though not of the calibre of the Imperial.
“Don’t you have to book The Fig Leaf weeks in advance?” Tom asked.
“They always manage to squeeze me in,” Melanie replied with a slightly mischievous smile.
Foolish of me, Tom thought. Of course they would always find space for Melanie Adams.
He was pleased with himself for having decided to wear his only smart suit to London for his earlier meetings. Somehow he’d hoped it would convey an image of success and increase the price he received for his story. He reasoned that if they knew he was desperate, they would be tougher negotiations. As he would happily have accepted half what he received, he reckoned his suit must have done the trick. In future he would refer to it as his lucky suit. He wasn’t overly superstitious but like most gamblers he didn’t mind giving lady luck a helping hand. Of course it would eventually lose its magic so he would wear it sparingly when he really needed a big win. Then again, maybe with his new found wealth such occasions would no longer arise. That thought only stayed in his head a second. He didn’t try to delude himself there wouldn’t always be occasions when a run of bad cards or horse results would leave him in need of a win. It was his karma to live life this way and he accepted it as such.
As Tom sat on the sofa contemplating dinner at The Fig Leaf, he felt he was stepping across the threshold into a new and exciting world. One inhabited by the likes of Melanie Adams. His suit was okay for mixing with the rich and famous but he gave himself a reminder to be on best behaviour over dinner. He knew he had a tendency to drink a little too much wine given the opportunity, especially if someone else was paying. Alcohol in turn often had the effect on him of fancying the nearest reasonably attractive woman. He had no delusions that Melanie Adams would be remotely interested in his charms, so sensible drinking would be the order of the night. Embarrassing behaviour was definitely not on the menu. On which thought he smiled inwardly that at least he’d so far managed to resist the urge to ask for her autograph.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sam Murphy had never been arrested for any crime in her twenty-three years of life. Thus she had been able to move confidently through passport control, without fear of her name coming up on any computer screen. She gave her best smile to the man seated at the desk, who returned the smile slightly half-heartedly, like someone who is overworked and still has a long shift ahead. The bad weather had caused her flight to be delayed two hours and she was just pleased to have landed, before any further deterioration in the weather caused Heathrow to shut down completely.
She remembered how as a kid once a year they would take the ferry to Holyhead as a family and after three hours feeling sick on a ferry rolling around in the sea, they would spend hours longer getting to their destination, whether it was Liverpool or London. She’d hated those journeys. Thank God for being able to fly, even with delays. On her previous visits to London she’d been able to stay with cousins but given her current circumstances decided she needed to keep away from anyone with ties to back home. Otherwise her father would soon get to learn her whereabouts and that could cause a right stink.
The previous afternoon she’d booked into a small and shabby hotel in Ealing, which though on the west edge of London, is served by good mainline train and underground connections. The hotel was cheap and met the minimum requirements of having a working shower and a Television. She had asked to see the room before agreeing to take it, not wanting to part with her money till she was sure of what she was getting. The young man on reception had reluctantly shown her the way to the second floor room, making no attempt at conversation and probably expecting her to have wasted his time, once she saw the small room and drab furnishings. But after checking the shower and telly worked she said she would take the room and they returned downstairs to register.
At which point, his demeanour completely changed and he seemed to notice her properly for the first time. He managed a smile and asked if she knew the area, offering to take her for a drink later when he finished, to show her around.
She thought it was probably an approach he regularly tried on young single female visitors. Although how many of them there would be in a year was questionable. She might have been up for it on another occasion but was genuinely feeling knackered and needed some sleep. She had done a bit too much partying before she left. Downstairs there was a small breakfast room and an even smaller bar. Everything she needed in fact. She initially paid for two nights in advance. It wasn’t the type of place that gave you credit.
Then she’d visited a local hairdresser and had her shoulder length blonde hair cut in a new shorter style. The male stylist had renamed her “darling” and asked several times in a very camp manner whether she was sure she wanted to cut so much off, which had made her smile. She hoped it wasn’t because of any concern on his part about his ability to do a good job. She thanked him for his concern and assured him she knew what she was doing. She’d decided on the flight over it was a good idea and once her mind was made up, it was rarely dissuaded from a course of action. Next she’d found a chemist selling a hair dye that would transform her into a brunette. The end result was that she doubted her own father would recognise her if they passed on the street. She liked her new image. Even if she said so herself, she looked hot!
The rest of the day had been spent in fruitless phone calls trying to establish where the filth was holding her brother. She hadn’t expected them to tell her but every time she irritated one of the coppers she spoke to, she saw it as a small victory. She was assured that her brother was in good health and being held at a secret location for his protection. She was eventually given the name of the solicitor appointed to defend him and had arranged to meet with him this morning.
On the way down to breakfast she stopped at reception to pick up a newspaper. They were laid out on the desk and one immediately caught her eye. The headline read; EXCLUSIVE – THE MAN WHO SAVED MELANIE ADAMS. There was a picture of a smiling man underneath. She took the paper into the small dining room and studied it while drinking coffee and eating some toast, although it made it difficult to digest her breakfast. Sam stared at the photo loathing the man and burning an imprint of his features on her memory. She had no problem with Melanie Adams she realized. She had done nothing wrong. In fact she quite liked her films. What the hell had they been thinking of, trying to kidnap her? That bloody fool Maguire had been leading her brother astray again.
She drank more coffee and thought about her brother. How he must be feeling all alone at the moment. He was going to have to spend a lot of years in prison, maybe his whole life. There would never be any chance of amnesty for this. She needed to see him so he knew he wasn’t alone. She returned to the photo in the newspaper. Think you’re so bloody clever don’t you Mr Tom Ashdown, she said to the picture. When will you lot ever learn to keep your noses out of our business? The article did all but give his address. He’d be easy enough to find and when she did find him, she would make him pay. Of that she was certain.
Sam’s thoughts turned back again to her brother and happier times. She loved her brother but she’d be the first to admit he wasn’t at the front of the line when they came to handing out brains. But he was there for her when she needed him. She remembered the time aged seven when she came home from school crying because Micky Rourke had taken her sweets and when she tried to stop him, he’d pushed her over and she’d grazed all her leg. It was her big bruv who had gone straight round to Mickey’s and come back home with some new sweets and a promise Mickey would never hurt her again.
She’d seen Mickey on the way to school next day and he’d crossed the road to avoid her and from then on she always felt safe, knowing she had a brother who would protect her. What her brother never discovered was that she made Mickey’s life hell for the next three years of school. It had been subtle, not Mickey’s style of brazen bullying. No, she had gained her personal revenge on Mickey every time she stole one of his books from his satchel or passed rumours amongst her friends of his disgusting habits. The best time was putting a large fly in his sandwich. It didn't matter he never discovered the additional filling. She had sat staring at him with a huge smile fixed on her face as he enthusiastically munched away. Poor Mickey had never really understood why he became so friendless and continually so unlucky.
Sam knew she was different to her brother. Everyone always said so. She was used to hearing, “you’re the smart one in the family.” Growing up she’d thought to be a nurse when she left school but changed her mind and after studying languages at University, she’d found she had a passion for travel but no real idea what to do for a career. A succession of short-term jobs confirmed she couldn’t face getting up every day to go to an office and spend eight hours behind a desk. It was her brother who suggested there were opportunities within the organization for someone to travel, who could speak fluent Spanish and French. Her Da hadn’t been happy when she went to him and told him she wanted in. But he knew how stubborn she could be and eventually agreed to make the necessary introductions. For the last two years she’d travelled to Spain and South America to make arrangements for shipments of everything from arms to drugs. She never carried drugs herself and didn’t count an occasional joint as really using them. She knew the money they made was put to good use and under the guise of working for a travel company, she finally got to indulge her passion for travel.
Sam finished eating and took the newspaper to her room. She tore out the picture of Tom Ashdown and folded it in two before placing it inside her purse. In truth his image was already irrevocably implanted on her mind. She knew from the article he lived in Brighton and ran a betting shop. After her meeting with her brother’s solicitor, she’d hire a car and pay a visit to the seaside.
Tom wasn’t entirely sure why he was surprised he’d had such a great evening. As he awoke in what was called the Royal suite at the Imperial he felt sure he must have been dreaming. The suite wasn’t the size of Melanie’s but it had all the same grandiose style and quality. This last couple of days was certainly creating unforgettable moments.
He recognized the signs of a near miss of a hangover. He had a dry mouth and tiniest degree of queasiness in his stomach but was thankful for the absence of a headache. He put it down to the quality of champagne they had drunk all evening. When Melanie had first suggested champagne and he’d readily agreed, he hadn’t anticipated them drinking two bottles of Cristal. Perhaps the way to avoid a hangover was always to drink very expensive booze. Only drawback was that you would be bankrupt in very quick time. Then he remembered more clearly that they had had two bottles of champagne at the restaurant but when they came back to the hotel they had enjoyed nightcaps in the bar, which in his case extended to almost half a bottle of vintage port.
He’d enjoyed being able to have a really fantastic gastronomic experience without worrying about the cost. And he’d felt no pangs of conscience that Melanie was paying for everything. In fact with his new found wealth, it was probably the first time in his life he could actually have afforded to pay a bill of such magnitude. She didn’t let him see the total but he knew it was more than a thousand pounds as the champagne alone was five hundred pounds a bottle though it was by no means the most expensive bottle on the wine list. He had been handed the list, which was many pages long, by the waiter, and was perusing it very unsure what to order when Melanie suggested champagne. He liked a bottle of bubbly, especially when he was celebrating as he was tonight so was quick to agree and turned to look at the list of champagnes. It was again a long list and he was pleased when she asked if he would be happy with Cristal, as it was her favourite. He’d never tried it but knew it was very popular with celebrities and concurred it was a good choice. Of course, he would have agreed that anything Melanie Adams suggested was a good idea.
It had bee
n an eye opening experience to accompany Melanie to dinner. More a case of how the other point one per cent live rather than the other half! From the moment they had arrived at the restaurant they had been treated like royalty. Melanie took it as the everyday occurrence it undoubtedly was for her. To Tom it seemed there was extra warmth in the greeting “it’s good to see you,” which was extended to her by all and sundry. When she informed the Maître D’ that Tom was as she put it, “the knight in shining armour who came to my rescue,” he also was quickly elevated to superstar proportions.
Tom had been pleased to see she enjoyed her food. He hated picky eaters and had half wondered if she would be on some trendy Californian diet or perhaps a vegetarian but she matched him course for course. He had a theory that women who ate heartily were best in bed. It didn’t mean he particularly fancied large women. In fact quite the opposite. It wasn’t so much the quantity of food they ate but not being fussy that made them in his experience a great lover. A good appetite was a good appetite whether it was food or sex. He wondered what Melanie Adams would actually be like in bed? Well he was never going to find out so decided it best not to dwell on the thought too long. He already knew from her films what she looked like naked. Some of the images that flashed in his mind were slightly disconcerting.
Tom had visited great restaurants from time to time including with Colin but The Fig Leaf with its three Michelin stars was probably the best place he’d ever eaten. The combination of the surroundings, service and food was unsurpassed in his experience. Of course, having Melanie Adams as his dining companion had also made the evening very special.
Before leaving the hotel for the restaurant they had mutually agreed to ban any further discussion of the events that had brought them together. A cloud would naturally enough hang over the evening. Melanie had lost her good friend and it would be at the forefront of her mind for a long time to come but they had set out to enjoy a dinner that was a celebration of life, in a way that perhaps only people who have recently escaped death can do. So they wouldn’t dwell on those innocents who had been killed. They were not being callous or disrespectful to their memory. Tom had thought of the saying, life goes on. A somewhat tired cliché that he wasn’t going to repeat out loud but ever since losing his parents, he had understood that to be the case.
