‘Who might that be?’
‘Stephanie Doucet; she and I grew up together. I saw her for dinner a couple of nights ago. The conversation touched on the terrorist attacks in London and she mentioned that she had met you. I can see why she said that you reminded her of herself when she was younger. It seems you made quite an impression!’
The taxi came to a halt at the hotel and Jean-Michel climbed out. ‘Perhaps we could have dinner with Stephanie sometime and continue this evening’s conversation?’ was his parting remark.
Kate playfully nudged Rafi in the ribs. ‘Thinking about your dinner with Stephanie, are we?’
‘No, I was thinking about our first night in Luxembourg and hoping you aren’t feeling tired,’ he said with a mischievous grin.
Early summer arrived; Kate and Rafi continued to travel around Europe. There had been a steep learning curve in understanding the intricacies of how the European Union, the Commission and big pan-European businesses operated.
Once every three or four weeks, they spent a weekend in London at Kate’s flat. This Saturday, over a leisurely breakfast, Kate and Rafi were going through a pile of post. There were two smart envelopes; their backs bore the Royal Coat of Arms.
Kate opened her envelope and in it was a formal invitation to a Buckingham Palace Garden Party held in five weeks’ time. In the envelope there was a second gilt-edged card which requested the pleasure of her company at an audience with the Queen an hour and a half earlier.
Rafi opened his envelope and he, too, had two invitations. He recalled how, on his return from Newquay, he had liaised with an enthusiastic SJ at Number 10 regarding the idea of a Garden Party. He had thought nothing more of the conversation.
‘Wow, doesn’t it look smart?’ Kate exclaimed. ‘What an excuse to buy a new dress!’
Rafi looked across at her beaming face.
‘As luck would have it, I shall be in Milan again the week after next. You’re lucky all you’ll need is a smart suit.’
Charlie and Saara phoned during the weekend to say they, too, had received invitations to the Garden Party. They were very excited. After a flurry of phone calls, it was arranged that Kate and Rafi would see Saara and Steve for supper the night before the Garden Party and then meet up with family and friends the following morning.
The date of the Summer Garden Party was fast approaching. Kate and Rafi had become accustomed to their European travels. Over the past couple of weeks they had gone in opposite directions.
Jörg, their new boss, and their paymasters were giving them the freedom to research and delve where they wished. Jörg was first class at keeping people off their backs and keeping the politicians happy.
To the unsuspecting outsider, the team remained a nondescript data-crunching organisation. Progress was being made on a number of fronts. The team was gaining an increasingly useful understanding of how pan-European players operated and the areas into which organised criminals had been drawn. It had not initially been the aim of their investigations, but links between corruption, wealth and certain well-connected individuals were becoming apparent. Rafi wondered how long it would be before they knew how dangerous a can of worms they were opening.
Kate and Rafi’s cosy flat in Luxembourg remained a tranquil haven.
In contrast, their office down the road was a different world. Kate and Rafi had slotted into the team remarkably easily. They worked well with the other members, though they suspected that in the eyes of some they were viewed as the junior partners. This had its benefits, though, as their colleagues seemed genuinely keen to help.
The week leading up to the Garden Party had been tiring. Rafi had been to Paris, Frankfurt and Amsterdam, whilst Kate had been to Prague and Milan.
They were looking forward to their supper with Steve and Saara on the Thursday evening before their outing to Buckingham Palace.
The hour’s time difference meant they could catch the 6.00 p.m. flight to London City Airport and be in Hampstead by 8.00 p.m., London time.
They chatted for much of the flight, enjoying one another’s company. They had learned at an early stage not to talk about work in public places.
During a lull in the conversation, Rafi browsed through an English newspaper where one story in particular caught his eye. It was a follow-up on some of the families made homeless by the Stratford nuclear catastrophe. It described how they had been relocated and rehoused, and the public support that they had received. The little girl whose teddy had become world-famous, and her family, had found a home in Norfolk. If the picture – which showed her with a broad smile clutching her teddy – was anything to go by, she was enjoying her new life. The article went on to report that she was one of the lucky ones; many of the dispossessed had still to find permanent new homes.
The journey from London City airport to Hampstead Heath was straightforward. The taxi pulled up in front of Rafi’s old flat at 7.25 p.m. Rafi stood in the passageway by the front door to the flats. It was the first time he’d been back since that fateful February morning. It seemed light years away, but he was still uneasy standing there; too many vivid and painful memories flooded through his mind. Kate had thought that returning to the flat would have helped him to slay the ghosts of the past and stop his bad dreams. It certainly gave him the creeps.
Rafi pressed the bell. Saara answered. ‘Do come in.’
The door buzzed opened and they entered. As they climbed the stairs, Rafi recalled his conversation with Kate on their return from Cornwall about where he might live. She had been surprised when he had asked if he could move in with her.
‘But it’s bound to be nothing like as nice as your flat. Jeremy tells me that they’ve done a good job in putting it back together again!’ she had said.
‘Your flat reminds me of you and nice memories – mine has too many ghosts,’ had been his reply.
They arrived outside the front door to the flat. Rafi knocked. It sounded different, very solid. The door opened and there in front of him was his little sister, looking very grown-up.
‘Come in, come in. Sorry about the chaos. We only just beat you here! Steve is dying to meet you, Kate.’
His beaming face appeared from the kitchen. ‘Hi there, I’m Steve. Great to meet you at last, Kate. Can I get you a drink or a cup of tea?’
‘Tea would be nice,’ said Kate, as she and Rafi walked through to the sitting room-cum-dining room.
Rafi saw that his minimalist décor and furniture had been replaced by an eclectic mix of furniture and paintings. Saara and Steve’s clutter was everywhere. Paperwork spread from the table, across the floor and on to the windowsill. It gave the place an untidy but homely feel.
Rafi looked at their faces. Their smiles said it all.
‘We thought that, if it was fine by you, we would eat out at your favourite Chinese restaurant. Mr Cheung is looking forward to seeing you. He says his turnover has hit ‘wock bottom’ since you moved away!’
‘Sounds good,’ said Rafi.
‘Let me show you around,’ said Saara. ‘The MI5 people arranged for the redecorating and the new steel front door. They said your old one had been sold for matchsticks.’
Rafi and Kate followed Saara into the spare bedroom. There were new curtains; the pictures on the walls he recognised from her bedroom in their parents’ house and the duvet cover from her house in Birmingham. The bed and the furniture were new and very John Lewis.
‘I hope your bedroom is OK,’ said Saara. ‘Kate, if you need anything when you get changed, please shout.’
‘It reminds me of you and living with our parents. It’s great,’ said Rafi, who then looked into the bathroom. He recalled the conversation with a man from MI5, apologising about all his furniture and personal effects. He now saw what he had meant. Everything had been replaced.
‘Come on – come and see what Steve and I have done to our bedroom.’
Kate and Rafi were ushered along the corridor and up the small staircase. ‘Shambolic’ would have be
en a good word to describe the look of their room. ‘Cluttered’ could have been an alternative.
‘Isn’t this great?’ beamed Saara. ‘So much floor space! Knocks our old house in Brum into a cocked hat!’
Rafi looked at Saara and noticed she looked a little apprehensive.
‘It’s been a hectic day. We prayed that your flight would be delayed, so we could have done a little tidying up.’
He walked over to Saara and gave her a big hug. ‘It’s great. I’m pleased you enjoy living here. You should see Kate’s flat,’ he added, at which point he received a sharp nudge in the ribs.
Saara looked at her watch. ‘Mr Cheung is expecting us in thirty minutes. And Rafi, thank you – Steve and I love it here. I hope your bedroom is OK.’
Before leaving Saara’s bedroom, Rafi walked over to the window and looked out. The Heath could be seen to the left and central London was in the distance. Rafi glanced down at the road. His heart missed a beat. There, in the evening shadows opposite, was the dark form of a large Mercedes car. Haunting memories rushed back. Kate, who was standing nearby, sensed his apprehension.
‘Seen an old ghost?’
‘Sort of,’ he said.
‘Come on lazy bones,’ came a shout from downstairs. ‘We don’t want to keep the restaurant waiting, do we?’
Thirty minutes later, after a quick wash and change, they were standing in front of the restaurant. Saara was at Rafi’s side.
‘You first, big Bro.’
He opened the door. The sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks. There, standing in front of him, were John and Jeremy. To their left were Aidan, Emma and the doctor and his wife from Newquay. He looked around the room. It seemed that everyone was there. The commissioner was in deep conversation with Ewan at a corner table. The brigadier and Colonels Turner and Gray were talking to an elderly gentleman whose back was to Rafi. Suddenly it dawned on him; it was his grandfather’s back. He looked across to the other side of the room and saw Kate’s brother and partner. He glimpsed Kate’s parents sitting down, looking very proper, with Air Chief Marshal Sir Nigel Hawser and the back of someone he couldn’t quite place. Ah yes, it was Donald Hollingsworth, and next to him was Kate’s former boss, David. He looked around again; he’d missed many faces. So much had happened since Stratford; he had lots of catching up to do.
Rafi walked across the threshold and was greeted by a cheer. Mr Cheung, who ran this award-winning restaurant, appeared out of thin air.
‘Mr Khan, so pleased to see you this evening. No takeaway tonight, I think?’ he said with a chuckle.
Rafi looked around in amazement. ‘I thought we were going out for a quiet supper,’ he said to Saara. ‘How on earth did you manage to arrange something so big and keep it a secret?’
Saara grinned. ‘It wasn’t easy!’
Jeremy stuck out his hand which Rafi shook energetically.
‘Fancy meeting you again,’ he said with a broad smile going almost from ear to ear. ‘I had a devil of a problem travelling on the same plane as you without being spotted. Good training, eh? When Saara told me what she and her boss, the Chancellor, had planned for your party, I couldn’t resist hopping on a plane. Oh, I forgot, the PM, the Defence Secretary and the Chancellor of the Exchequer send their apologies. They’ve got a meeting which is running late but they should be here in half an hour.’
‘You’re joking. They are not really coming, are they?’ said Rafi.
‘’Fraid so. It seems the Chancellor reckons you deserved a proper thank you – it looks as if you’re going to have yourself some party! Better be on your best behaviour,’ said Jeremy with a grin.
‘What can I get you?’ asked John. ‘Champagne?’
Rafi looked at Kate, who had started to shift into party mode. Her eyes sparkled and she looked fantastic in her summer dress.
‘As this is a very special occasion, champagne would be great, please.’
As if by magic two glasses arrived.
Rafi gave Kate a peck on the cheek. ‘Isn’t this amazing? Did you know anything about this?’
‘Honestly, no. But I should have guessed something was in the wind given the strange phone calls I’ve been getting from Saara and Emma over the past few weeks!’
‘How’s about we circulate? See you in a bit,’ said Rafi.
The evening went by far too fast – so many people to talk to and lots of news to take on board. As Rafi worked his way around the large room, he came across a few faces he didn’t recognise. The retired commander and his wife, their two ‘daughters’, the SBS ‘boyfriends’ and the two SAS soldiers were on good form recalling their escapade and their close call with the Moroccan Air Force.
Rafi was introduced to the crew of the first helicopter to carry concrete to the wrecked train, who by the end of the day had flown more sorties than any other crew. He then found himself talking to Arnold Owen, the data manager from Companies House, and Roger and Steve from the Immigration team. They seemed awestruck by their fellow guests and were standing quietly to one side – conversation with them was an uphill battle.
‘Did you know,’ Rafi began, ‘that if it hadn’t been for you three, we wouldn’t have cracked what the terrorists were planning? I’m so pleased you could come. Whilst you are here, you might like to make the most of it – where else can you meet the head of MI5?’ Rafi surreptitiously pointed out Ewan. ‘Next to him is the Chief of the Defence Staff and shortly we’ll be joined by the Prime Minister. We all owe you a big thank you. And, Roger, you might even pluck up the courage to tell the PM what you think of the system you work under!’
They visibly grew in stature and headed off to mix and chat with the other guests.
At that moment the PM and the Chancellor arrived with their entourage. Saara did the introductions, from which it became apparent she now had friends in high places.
The PM was apologetic. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought along a couple of gatecrashers. My last meeting overran and, as a penance for them talking too much, here they are.’ He introduced the leaders of the two main opposition parties, who were now high-ranking cabinet ministers. They spoke briefly before the PM moved off to work the room as only a top class politician can.
The Chancellor was greeted by Steve and Saara. He was in ebullient form. The flak he had feared following the Stratford disaster had not materialised. His initiatives had worked their way through Parliament and were having a rejuvenating effect on public sentiment.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you a question, if you don’t mind?’ said Rafi. ‘How close were we to joining the Euro?’
The Chancellor put his arm on Rafi’s shoulder and ushered him to one side. ‘Between you and me, it was close – very close! In the House, I was almost more worried when waiting to receive the message from the Bank of England which would tell me whether they’d done a deal with the Central Banks than the messages telling me if the terrorists had been captured. When I stood up we only had a couple of smaller Central Banks offering to support Sterling, but it was at an unacceptably low exchange rate and contingent on others getting involved. The Governor of the Bank of England did a fantastic job.’ His voice went quieter. ‘I am told it was a senior individual at the Hong Kong Monetary Authority who we should thank. He realised how intertwined Sterling, the City of London and the international financial markets were. Anyway, within forty-five minutes he had three of the top twenty countries with the highest foreign exchange reserves agreeing to support Sterling. Then Japan, the US and India came on board and the rest is history.’
The Chancellor smiled, ‘I was overjoyed when I read the message saying how much support Sterling had. I could scarcely believe my eyes. I must tell you how much I appreciate all you have done. Your foresight of what was going on in the financial markets and your and Aidan’s team’s proposals got me out of a very nasty hole. Thank you.’
Saara and Kate joined them. Rafi sensed that his conversation with the Chancellor had come to an end and he
and Kate went off to mingle.
Food appeared. It was Mr Cheung at his best and Rafi told him so.
Plate in hand, Rafi was standing in the middle of the room, enjoying the atmosphere and taking in the scene around him, when he felt a soft squeeze around his waist from behind. ‘When you started dating me you forgot to tell me that you were this well-connected. If I’d known perhaps I’d have taken you a bit more seriously,’ said the seductive voice. ‘Who would have guessed that so many of my friends are friends of yours . . .’
The sentence was interrupted by the restaurant door swinging open. There, filling a substantial portion of the frame, was a well-built man and behind him were a well-dressed man of indeterminate age and a stunning dark-haired young woman.
The deep voice rang out. ‘Have I missed all the fun? Look who I met at the airport – a Dutch generaal! Someone should have told me Heathrow is further away than your City Airport; and whoever put in those bloody bus lanes should be told they screw up the traffic when you’re in a hurry!’ This was followed by a booming laugh. ‘They tell me this is where we can find DCI Adams and an air chief marshal,’ rang out the deep voice, ‘and if I’m lucky, a Mr Khan might be hiding here, with some vodka – if he values his life!’ The colonel paused. ‘If not, I’ve brought some best Estonian Türi.’
Beaming, Rafi went over to meet Colonel Matlik and his two companions.
He stuck out his hand as Rafi approached. ‘I hope you don’t mind I’ve brought my daughter, Kristina, with me. She knows nothing of the English ways. I thought if Emma and Kate were here to keep an eye on possible suitors, she might just be safe,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘And we have an invitation to see your Queen for tea tomorrow afternoon – such a nice surprise. Kristina has been impossible for weeks, fretting about what to wear. Now, where did you say the vodka was?’ And off he strode as if he were a man on a mission.
Rafi looked across towards Saara. She was smiling. He sensed that the guest list was complete. Standing behind Rafi was the Air Chief Marshal, flanked by the Prime Minister.
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