She was careful not to let her lips tighten. “So you liked India?”
“I’ll always remember that visit and your mother and I have so many plans for other destinations.”
She had no desire to hear Scott talk about Varanasi nor of his plans with Alesha. Not today, not ever. So the candles would light Scott's face more clearly, Kal shifted her position, the light picking out the strong angle of his jaw and the line of his mouth. Time to take the conversation on a different tack.
“I know this might sound strange, but ever since Mum went missing I've had this weird feeling someone's following me.”
She watched carefully. Not a fibre flinched in Scott’s face.
“Are you sure?”
“I'm certain.”
“Goodness, Kal, that's strange and very worrying.”
“Yes, I know,” she leaned towards him, “though this might sound even stranger because I've been wondering if… maybe Mum found something out.”
Scott’s face remained mask-like save for an artery which pulsed at his right temple. The musky scent of his cologne drifted towards her.
“I suppose that's plausible,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking perhaps someone's tailing me to see what I know or because…” she dropped her voice lower, “…Mum hid evidence.”
Scott kept his face still, giving no hint of a reaction. No feelings at all.
He cleared his throat. “Evidence of what?”
His voice suggested disbelief and sounded treacle-smooth. Kal took a sip of water and glanced towards the stage, where the compere now laughed along with the audience. She left Scott’s question hanging and watched as he steepled his fingers, his sapphire cufflinks glittering a beautiful blue in the candlelight. One hundred percent of her attention focused on his next words - they’d tell her so much. She could see him turning it over. What direction would her idea take him in?
“I can hardly get my mind around what you’re saying. What would Alesha leave evidence about? One of her investigations?”
“Mum's work covers a wide field. There are so many possibilities.”
“Very true and do you have any hunches?”
“Not… really.”
She injected the tiniest nuance of doubt. A man as astute as Scott would sense it instantly, just like a piranha senses a drop of blood in a pool of water. Kal took another sip from her glass and dabbed a napkin at her ruby-coated lips. On stage, the film detailing the history of ScottBioTec's rise to fame had begun, and around them, the audience sat enthralled. Scott took his elbows from the table and as he did so, the fingertips of his right hand strayed upwards as if to brush his left-hand side, top jacket pocket.
He’s unconsciously drawn to that pocket, she thought. What’s he checking? What’s he got in there? Does what I’ve said make him think of calling someone?
“I know a little about your mother’s recent discoveries. She confided in me just before she dis… I mean, just before we last heard from her.”
Even a great poker player has a 'tell'. A tiny sign of their discomfort. In a poker game, it signals concealment of a bluff. She watched for tell-tale signs in Scott’s manner. He left the sentence hanging and she allowed a good few seconds before picking up his cue.
“Really?” She noted a sudden spot of tension on the right hand side of Scott’s jaw, telling her he clenched his back molars. It was the only sign of misplaced body language in the whole conversation.
“I know she's been carrying out surveillance on an Arabic businessman called Farouk Assad,” Scott said, “he's a big shot in the capital. A man worth billions.”
“Yes, I think I’ve heard of Assad. Did Mum tell you why she was interested in him?”
“No, although if your mother found evidence of some kind of transgression she could have been in a lot of trouble. Assad's not a man to tolerate interference in his affairs. His business empire spans continents and no one in London circles, in politics or business, would dare to cross him. He has a reputation for being ruthless.”
Ruthless - the ripples spreading out from Scott’s last word were the final touch that burst the dam. A vision of Derick’s body swinging from blue rafters and the implications of the gun shot on the Common, finally tore a hole in her defences.
“Are you all right?” Scott asked.
On the giant screen behind the stage, an image loomed of a hugely smiling nurse tending to a child. Tears prickled the back of Kal’s eyes and the image of the nurse blurred at the edge of her vision.
“Talking about mum, it’s making it all seem so real.”
She didn’t have to fake it. For a moment, Kal went numb, as, at the worst possible moment, a tidal wave of anguish burst its way through. She’d been trying to hold it back ever since Sarah’s first telephone message.
It engulfed her. Threatening to take all her strength. All her breath. Right in front of Scott. Because she’d always thought of her mother as invincible. Unstoppable. Her indomitable mother who’d worked her way up from nothing. Somewhere deep inside, Kal had always understood her mother’s desire to support the underdog, to get to the truth, to expose corruption. She’d never felt truly left. She’d felt inspired. Against all odds, Alesha had made it in a cut-throat profession. Perhaps it was the shock of realising Alesha was vulnerable after all, that made Kal want to cry. But she couldn’t do that here, not in front of him.
“I don’t want to upset you. Maybe it would be best we talk about something else?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just being silly and that won’t help Mum. Please, what were you saying about Assad?”
“I said he has a reputation for being formidable. It’s well known in business circles. I hope you told the police about this, and I’m wondering if Alesha left you any specific information about Assad?”
She shook her head. “I'm as much in the dark as you.”
Scott’s perfect teeth glinted. “That's a shame, it would have given us something to work with. What did the police say?”
“I told them about being tailed and Spinks is on to it. The rest is only a hunch.”
“I’ve got to be honest with you Kal, my first priority is to keep you safe. I couldn’t bear you to be in any danger. I’d imagined Alesha had simply gone undercover, or… I don’t know what.” Scott ran his fingers through his hair. “I can arrange a bodyguard. Consider it done.” And he reached to his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone.
Kal held up a hand to stop him. “No, I don’t want that. I mean, thank you, only it’s not necessary.”
“I must insist. It’s for your own safety.”
So she gave him one of her most beautiful smiles. “No need to fuss. Like you said, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure and Detective Spinks will handle it.”
“I’m not convinced. If anything happened to you, your mother would never forgive me.”
At that moment, a waiter deftly slid the starter plates in front of them. Despite her scrutiny, Scott had passed the test. He seemed sincere even though he guarded himself closely. The clenching of his molars was the only indication out of place. If Scott were faking it, he was one hell of a master trickster.
“This looks delicious.”
“Well I’m glad you like the menu.”
Kal took a bite of seafood terrine, though she tasted nothing, still channelling all her awareness towards Scott. He didn’t pursue his bodyguard suggestion and instead picked up his fork to begin eating, and it was at that moment she noticed a tiny shift in him, like a tension creeping into his physique. The shift was significant, because when most people start eating, their body unconsciously relaxes.
“Your mother told me a lot about you and as I said before, she's very proud of you.”
Kal pretended to be engrossed in her food. It was Scott who took charge of the conversation.
“Alesha told me about you signing up at age eighteen to study journalism without telling her, and about how you junked the course in favour of hitch-hiking around the world.
”
Scott said it as if he recounted a family anecdote, with a smile and a light tone, his fork poised in the air.
“Oh gosh, that was ages ago, surely Mum didn’t bore you with all that?”
“After months of travelling, she told me you started taking photographs to earn money to get back to London, and those first photographs sparked your interest in photojournalism.”
Kal found Scott’s snap-shots intrusive. It annoyed her Alesha had shared details with this man. But why shouldn’t she? It was natural to talk about your own daughter, wasn’t it? Jealousy was getting the better of her. She gave a small laugh to hide her discomfort. To her own ears, it sounded far from convincing.
“I know too about the time you got arrested concealed with illegal immigrants. They were trying to cross the channel from France to England and you documented their story.”
Scott was well informed. The illegal immigrant project had been her first successful assignment. An inflexion in Scott’s tone told her that, though this was the point any polite conversation would stop, he meant to continue.
“Mum told you that? I'm surprised.” She took another bite of starter, careful to keep herself steady.
“Alesha told me all that and much more.”
Was she wrong or was the resonance in his voice ambiguous? Not just humour. Not just camaraderie. A prickle ran down her back and the warning registered, making her go cold.
“I know about when you were accused of stealing and took the blame even though you weren't the culprit, and how the head teacher threatened you with criminal proceedings to get the truth out of you.”
She wanted to tell him to shut up. Surely her mother wouldn’t have told Scott that?
“Goodness, I didn't know Mum had such a good memory.”
“What about the national Championship kung fu semi-finals? You were fifteen and you'd been up all night vomiting with a stomach bug then you lied to your trainer so he'd let you compete. You collapsed in the third round.”
Very few people knew why she'd collapsed - Master Yeung, Marty, her mother, the medic team on site. Her blink rate had picked up. It was one of the hardest reactions to control. Scott would notice and she mustn’t let him know he'd got to her. She brushed her eyelashes with her fingertip, pretending to check non-existent mascara, and then reached for her glass of wine. Was Scott toying with her? Was she imagining it, or was he purposely trying to undermine her? The wine tasted like vinegar. Be very cautious, said the voice of her father. The warning made her over-grip the stem of her glass.
Scott smiled. Kal stared at him and had the momentary illusion of being caught in the gaze of a predator. A few angry words almost slipped out. Unwise words that would’ve revealed how much he disturbed her. Except she was saved, because at that point, the public relations film finished to loud applause and the rear curtain lifted to reveal a backing band. Kal sat back and joined in the applause as a male singer walked to centre stage and launched into a jazz number.
“Quality entertainment as well, gosh, you know how to throw a celebration,” she said, and somehow she managed to keep the façade going and drag up a smile.
At that moment, the Russian guest joined them. He was noisy, proclaiming how he’d been caught in traffic. Though well over six-foot tall, he had a poise about him. Dressed in a dinner suit jacket and bow tie, his dark hair and dark eyebrows contrasted with his porcelain white complexion. As a waiter pulled out a chair for the Russian, his entrance broke the remains of the spell, snapping the strands of the spider's web Scott had been spinning.
“My apologies for being late, especially to the lovely lady,” the Russian said.
“Not at all, Boris,” Scott said, “make yourself comfortable and may I introduce you to a good friend of mine, Kal Medi.”
Kal didn’t bother to finish her starter. All her appetite evaporated. She was a very private person and he’d touched on times of her life that no one except those closest to her were allowed to know about. He’d exposed her with a flick of his fingers. If she’d have brought a shawl with her, she’d have wanted to wrap it tightly around her body.
Scott and Boris talked together and Kal played along with joining in, dividing her attention between their conversation and a presentation on stage where ScottBioTec scientists portrayed their work. The first up was Christina, Head of the Technical Unit, responsible for developing the micro-electrode array and chip technology which allowed the patient's own brain waves to control their artificial limb. The second presenter was Dr Mark, Head Surgeon, who summarised his work in brain surgery procedures. Successful implantation of the pea-sized array had taken several years of experimentation pioneered at ScottBioTec in Kolkata. By the time the waiter cleared their plates, the two scientists had given a full overview of their work.
“They're fascinating, aren't they? Both brilliant in their own fields,” Scott said, “though I advise you the next guest is the real star of the show.”
“Oh? Who is it?” Boris asked.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
After a musical interlude, desert was served, then there came a dramatic drum roll. The audience craned towards the curtains at the side of the stage where the material swayed. Then, the backing band played a fanfare and out came the compere followed by a small girl. The child wore a skirt, clearly displaying her artificial leg as she walked to centre stage.
Scott and Boris rose to their feet applauding, and Kal joined them, as did the rest of the audience.
“Wonderful,” Boris said.
Scott continued clapping. “Her name's Rani. We flew her in from India for the occasion.”
The girl spoke a few words into the microphone and explained that due to her disability, she'd been living on the streets, begging for food, until ScottBioTec offered her the opportunity of a replacement limb. Now she had the chance for a brighter future.
“You're a mastermind,” Boris said, “this is a truly marvellous, public relations moment.”
After her turn on stage, Rani came to their table. The spot light followed her steady footsteps down the flight of steps to the dining area and, as the lights dimmed again, Boris patted his lap indicating for Rani to sit on his knee. Scott turned his face away from Kal and, though out of her direct view, she imagined Scott throwing a look of disapproval at Boris. She could guess it from his profile. Her instincts snapped to red alert.
“Come and sit next to me instead, Rani,” Scott said, “and tell me what’s your favourite ice-cream. Let me guess, is it strawberry?”
As Rani left Boris's lap, the Russian's hand slid down the girl's back. The motion lasted a couple of seconds and to a casual observer it would signify nothing. To Kal, it gave a warning. The quality of the gesture was wrong. The girl had said she was eight years old but Boris didn't display a fatherly touch, rather, there was a feeling in his hand that was unmistakably tactile. His hand lingered too slow. Too sensual. As if his very skin were attracted to that of the girl. As if he longed to keep his touch on her.
Kal suppressed a shiver. The atmosphere around their table closed in, turning sinister and contrasting with Rani’s bright laughter and the colourful scoops of ice cream that sat in the bottom of her bowl. How do you recognise a paedophile? That's the problem, you can't. Only their behaviour in private will give them away. Any signs in public will be concealed.
Now Kal observed the Russian more closely. Unlike many people of height, he moved with an awareness of space around him. On his right hand, he wore an ornate gold ring on his thumb and a second on his first finger, inset with a massive diamond. On the middle finger of his other hand, he wore a huge signet ring embossed with a symbol which resembled a Celtic cross. Aside from that, he appeared utterly ordinary. He threw a disarming smile at her across the table, which she returned.
The male singer came back on stage. He was surprisingly good, however, after a couple of songs, Scott pushed away his untouched desert.
“It's a habit of mine to leave before the other
guests. Will you accompany us, Kal?”
She’d been considering her strategy. Though all her instincts screamed to get as far away as possible from Scott, she’d no alternative except to manoeuvre closer and he’d handed her a golden opportunity because Rani had given her an idea to buy her way in. It riled Scott to have his event spoiled by hecklers. Here was a man accustomed to behaving like an emperor. Kal picked up her camera.
“Yes, I’ll come with you, only let's not scurry out the side door like rats, let's go out in full glory.” She winked at Scott. “Rani can help us, trust me on this one.”
She gave it a good injection of confidence and that, coupled with his own arrogance, allowed Scott to be won over. Kal told Scott to hold Rani's hand and their fellow diners got to their feet with some even giving polite cheers as Rani walked past them. The four of them left the ballroom and headed straight for the lobby. When the security chief tried to intervene and usher Scott to a side exit, Scott ignored him, and at the sight of the four of them, the doorman hustled his staff to swing open the main, glass doors. Out in the cold air, a bunch of people still waited and now they roused themselves. Kal saw the pinched faces of people ready to hurl abuse, except when they spotted Rani it stopped them in their tracks. What protesters would shout down an eight-year old, disabled girl? Scooting to the side-lines, she took shot after shot of Scott's triumphant face and Rani's beaming smile with the banner-holders awkward and confused in the background.
Once free of the crowd, Kal showed off the shots to Scott.
“That's a powerful media opportunity you created and you've captured it wonderfully. You've certainly got a talent.”
Scott's limousine rounded the corner. As the valet leapt out and held open the door, Scott turned his back on the man as if he were an insect.
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