Fox jumped out of the car and ran to an officer holding a walkie-talkie. Welded to their car seats, neither Ruth nor Sophie dared move. The air was so quiet, Ruth could hear the rustle of wind in the trees.
‘Has he got a weapon?’ hissed Sophie.
‘They suspect so,’ said Ruth, seeing the gentle arch of Lana’s back, as if she had the barrel of a gun pushed into it.
A crackly voice through a loudspeaker pierced the silence.
‘Drop your weapon,’ it ordered through the static.
‘He’s going to kill her,’ gasped Sophie, hearing the loud co-ordinated click of the armed officers cocking their weapons.
The facial expression of the shaven-headed man soured.
‘No he’s not,’ said Ruth, watching him drop his gun on to the stone steps with a clatter.
Lana collapsed on to the ground as the police moved in. Two more of Sergei’s men ran out of the house and put their hands behind their heads. Ruth and Sophie got out of the car and ran towards Fox as another officer and a WPC helped Lana off the floor. She had her hands cuffed behind her and she was weeping, her make-up smeared, any hint of the aloof socialite gone.
‘Sophie!’ she cried desperately when she saw the girl. ‘Tell them this is all a misunderstanding; tell them I was only trying to recover my money.’
‘We know everything, Mrs Goddard-Price,’ said Fox bluntly. ‘And I know you killed Nick Beddingfield.’
Ruth expected the woman to deny it, but her face seemed to crumple and her shoulders sagged.
‘It was an accident,’ she sobbed. ‘You have to believe me. Nick was . . . well, we had a few difficult phone conversations, so I flew back from France and checked into the hotel next to the Riverton. When Sophie left him on Monday morning, he called me to arrange a meeting. I went round, we argued . . .’ Her voice trailed off at the memory.
‘You killed him?’ screamed Sophie.
‘He wanted to pull out of our arrangement. I lashed out, grabbed the bottle on the bath. I didn’t mean to hurt him . . .’ She looked over at her house-sitter. ‘You believe that, don’t you?’
Sophie didn’t say anything; she just stepped forward and slapped Lana across the face.
‘Put Mrs Goddard-Price in the squad car,’ said Fox to the detective.
Ruth could still hear Lana shouting as she and Fox walked into the lodge, leaving Sophie with a WPC.
‘Hey, nice place,’ she said. ‘Almost as nice as your flat.’
‘Don’t start,’ smiled Fox.
‘So who are the goons that had got Lana?’
‘Mercenaries for hire, I suspect,’ said Fox. ‘Sergei Kaskov wouldn’t have had time to dispatch his own men to somewhere so remote. And anyway, he’s too clever, wouldn’t want to take the risk when he will have been aware Lana and Sophie were being watched by the Met and the SEC at the very least.’
Ruth nodded; she had heard Fox talking to Hal Stanton on the way up to Manchester, getting briefed about the Russian crime lord and the US authorities’ suspicions about his link to the Asner money.
Through in the kitchen, they could see Josh sitting talking to a detective, giving a statement.
‘What are you going to do with him? He hasn’t broken any laws, has he?’
‘Leave the police work to me,’ smiled Fox.
‘Yeah, right, Sherlock,’ she teased. ‘We’d have wrapped this case up days ago if you’d just shared a bit more information, like I suggested.’
‘At least you got your story,’ he said.
‘Actually, I didn’t just get one story, I got two,’ said Ruth, the truth of the statement only just sinking in. For what seemed like forever, she had been trying to find out who killed Nick Beddingfield. It had consumed her every waking hour, because the future of the bureau, and by extension her career, depended on it. And in pursuing it so doggedly, she had uncovered something else, something even more amazing: Michael Asner’s missing millions. She had solved a high-profile murder and one of America’s biggest financial riddles in one go. Screw you, David, she smiled. See if you can beat that, she thought, knowing, with satisfaction, that she had saved the London bureau.
‘Listen,’ she said, feeling bold. ‘When I’ve filed the story and you’ve made your arrests, how about you take me for dinner to say thank you for all my help? And somewhere nice, seeing as you’re loaded.’
‘I’m the loaded one?’ laughed Fox. ‘You’re going to be so hot after this story, CBS are going to be poaching you for some highly paid Diane Sawyer role.’
Ruth shook her head.
‘Nah, I’m a newspaper girl, not a television journalist. Besides, I like London and I like the bureau too. I think I’m going to be sticking around.’
‘I’m glad about that,’ said Fox, his blue eyes meeting hers. Ruth felt her pulse quicken, surprised by how much she liked this man.
‘Next Tuesday,’ he said suddenly.
‘Next Tuesday what?’
‘That’s when we’re both going to take the day off. I reckon we deserve it after all this overtime.’
Ruth raised one eyebrow.
‘We’re going to take the day off?’
‘Yes, us, together,’ he said. ‘Unless you don’t want to, of course.’
His phone began to ring. Fox didn’t move, his intense gaze focused on Ruth.
‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’ she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
‘It’ll wait. So are we on for Tuesday?’
Ruth laughed.
‘I’d like that,’ she said, adding to herself, I’d like that very much indeed.
47
Sophie was standing on a slope to the side of the lodge, looking out towards the loch, when she saw Ruth Boden approach.
‘How are you doing?’ asked Ruth, putting an affectionate hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m okay, thanks.’ Sophie smiled. ‘It feels weird seeing you again. All this time I thought I was out there on my own, and all the time you were thinking about me, trying to find me.’
‘I always knew you were innocent,’ said Ruth. ‘Although I have to admit, I didn’t guess that Lana killed Nick until right at the end.’
Sophie looked away. She didn’t want to think about it, not right now, not yet. She had held Nick’s body as the life ran out of him, and whatever he had done, no one deserved to die like that. And all for what? Money? Sophie felt sick to think that she had once seen money as the answer to all her problems too. Was that how her father had thought? Was it ultimately his undoing? Sophie supposed she would never know if Lana had been directly responsible for her father’s death – and part of her didn’t really want to know. Lana Goddard-Price had already caused so much destruction and pain, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to unearth anything else.
‘Listen, Sophie, I have a story to write,’ said Ruth awkwardly. ‘I don’t suppose you’d grant me an interview . . .?’
‘I guess I owe you something.’ Sophie smiled, then hesitated.
‘I feel there’s a “but”?’ said Ruth.
Sophie nodded, meeting the journalist’s gaze.
‘Ruth, I know what my father did was wrong. Very, very wrong. But he’s dead, he’s had his punishment. Please, don’t make this any worse for our family than it has to be.’
‘I’ll be sensitive,’ said Ruth, holding up three fingers. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘Good,’ said Sophie. ‘Then you won’t mind me saying this: no interview unless I have final copy approval.’
She saw Ruth’s surprised reaction. Clearly she hadn’t expected little Sophie Ellis, the flighty Chelsea girl, to drive such a hard bargain. But she wasn’t mousy Sophie any more; she had changed. For better or worse, she was a different woman from the one who had run for the taxi outside the Riverton that morning. She knew Ruth would agree to her terms; what choice did she have? Sophie was in control now – that was the difference. She was in control.
‘Let’s talk later, okay?’ she said. Across the field, she had spotted
Josh sitting on a dry-stone wall. When Ruth had gone, he came over.
‘Can we talk?’ he asked.
‘Let’s walk down to the water,’ said Sophie.
They took a path that ran down to the edge of the loch and walked out on to a small wooden jetty. Josh sat down next to her, their legs dangling over the water.
‘Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?’ she said finally.
‘I wanted to protect you, Sophie. From the minute you left my houseboat and saw those Russians, that’s all I wanted to do. I figured the less you knew, the better, at least until I had worked out what to do.’
‘Protect me?’ she said bitterly. ‘You agreed to work for Lana.’
‘I only told her I was going to work for her. She asked me on the plane over to New York when you were asleep. I mean, there was the slight suspicion that she might kick me off the Gulfstream mid-air if I didn’t agree, but mainly I figured I would find out more from the inside.’
‘You could have been killed, Josh. We could have been killed. And I assume it was you who told the Russians to go to the shooting lodge? Why the hell did you do that?’
‘The same reason I gave them a copy of I Capture the Castle,’ he said. ‘I had to. If they thought we’d stiffed them, they’d come and kill us.’
‘But you did stiff them.’
‘Not really. I gave them everything we had: first the clues in the book, then when we got to the lodge, I called Sergei and told him that Lana had worked out where the money was, but that he needed to be careful as the SEC, the FBI and the Met were on her tail. His men would have to be clever if they were to get to Lana first.’
‘And you think that’s going to get us off the hook with Sergei Kaskov? You stitched him up.’
Josh shrugged. ‘My guess is that he’s going to stiff me. I asked him for a finder’s fee for telling him all about Lana, because I knew that’s the kind of back-stabbing double-dealing he’d respect. But now the money’s gone up in smoke, I suspect he’ll stop taking my calls.’
Deep down, Sophie knew she believed him. She had spent plenty of time questioning his motives and his morals, but all along the truth was that Josh McCormack had been constant: he had defended her, supported her, even put his life on the line for her. Even so, she couldn’t get that image out of her mind of him following Lana out of the bedroom in the castle. She had thought her heart had been torn in two, and if she was honest, it still hurt, however much he had meant to protect her.
They sat in silence for a while, watching flycatchers swooping over the water for midges. It was so beautiful, so still there, Sophie couldn’t stay angry.
‘You know, I think there might be something going on between Fox and Ruth Boden,’ she said.
Josh smiled.
‘I spotted that too. Maybe they should check into the shooting lodge when they’ve packed the criminals off. It’s pretty romantic.’
‘Says he!’ she replied. ‘I left you for twenty minutes last night and when I came upstairs you were snoring your head off. Not even my most seductive neck kisses could wake you up.’
‘You’re going to have to show me that trick later.’
He took her hand, and suddenly Sophie felt that everything was going to be okay.
‘Listen, Sophie, I’m sorry, so very sorry if I hurt you at the castle, sorry for keeping you in the dark, I’m even sorry for being distant last night. When I realised there was no way to get to the map co-ordinates that evening, I knew I had a few more hours to work out what to do. I had to cover all the bases, juggle Sergei and Fox . . .’
‘Ssssh,’ she said, putting a finger to his lips. ‘None of that matters any more.’
‘Honestly?’ he said.
‘Honestly.’ She looked out over the loch and smiled. ‘All that matters is that we made it through – together. And just look how beautiful it is out here. Even my dad’s castle was just as I’d always imagined it to be.’
Josh gave her a sideways look.
‘Well I’m glad you like it, because it’s yours.’
‘What?’
He nodded.
‘Remember when we were searching the castle looking for the safe? I found a load of paperwork in the library. The title deeds to the castle were there – and they were in your name.’
Sophie wasn’t sure she could breathe all of a sudden.
‘You are making this up,’ she said uncertainly.
‘Really, Sophie, I swear it’s true. And not just the castle but five thousand acres around it. Oak and pine forests, moorland, even part of the loch.’
‘I own a loch?’ she squeaked.
‘It’s owned through an offshore company which is held in trust for you.’
He shifted his hips and pulled something out of his back pocket. It was a pale blue envelope.
‘And there was this,’ he said, handing it to her.
She stared at it for a moment. Her name was written in small, neat handwriting. Her father’s handwriting.
Josh stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to read it,’ he said.
Sophie watched him go, feeling numb and sick at the same time. She turned the envelope over in her hands, not knowing what to do, excited that her dad had left something for her, yet terrified of what it might contain. Steeling herself, she tore it open and pulled out a letter.
My darling Sophie,
So you’ve found your castle. You were always such a clever girl, I knew you would. You have always been so much more resourceful, brilliant and beautiful than you ever knew. Now you’ve discovered it, never forget it. Never doubt yourself. Be the best person you can be, because Sophie, I know you are capable of anything. Maybe you realise that too now. I hope so.
If I haven’t given this letter to you personally, then I fear it means that I’ll be off sailing Iona in the sky. I knew there were risks, so I’m sorry if I disappointed you and your mother, but hopefully my business transaction with Michael might make up for it. Or perhaps it will disappoint you more. That’s why I left the clues for you to follow, so that you could do with the certificate what you will. It represents a $100 million fund, the money we siphoned from Michael’s main investment pot – what we called our ‘rainy day fund’. If it’s in your hands, I guess it means it’s raining for Mike too. So it’s up to you now. Keep it and be richer than you ever dreamt you could be, return it to Miriam Asner who knows nothing of this money, or hand it over to the government. Perhaps you will want to do a little of all three.
Don’t judge me for what I have done with Michael. For many years I felt a failure. I was never good enough for your mother, she made that pretty clear. But there are no excuses. Michael gave me an opportunity to help him. I had the choice to turn it down, but as our money was in his investment fund, a Ponzi scheme as it turned out, I took it.
Either way, the castle is yours, just as I always promised you. Every penny it took to buy it was legitimately earned over forty years, saving and investing. I don’t expect you to live in it. But keep it. Be inspired by it. Come and write the poems and the stories I know are inside of you. Find someone you want to share your life with and enjoy it together.
I love you always.
Dad x
Sophie gulped and folded the letter carefully back into the envelope. She closed her eyes and let a thousand emotions pinwheel around her.
She felt Josh come up behind her, threading his arms about her waist and kissing her neck.
‘I love you, Sophie Ellis,’ he whispered into her ear, and she leant back against him, feeling his strength, his warmth. Feeling at home. She opened her eyes and she could see more clearly now. There was no point looking towards the past. There was no place for regrets. There was just the future. She turned round, grabbed his hands and kissed him back.
‘I love you too,’ she said. It was the only thing that mattered.
Acknowledgements
Continued thanks go to my agents and wise counsel Eugenie Furniss, Claudia Webb and Dorian Karchmar. To the terrific tea
m at Headline, especially Sherise Hobbs (welcome back!), Imogen Taylor, Lucy Foley, Jane Morpeth, Vicky Cowell, Jo Liddiard, Emily Furniss, Laura Esslemont, Aslan Byrne and the lovely Sales team – you are all such a pleasure to work with. To the talented design team Patrick and Yeti, to Jane Selley, Penny Price and Rebecca Kerby, who copyedited and proofread the novel, and to Darragh Deering and all the Headline teams overseas – you might be a long way away but your efforts to get my books sold in far-flung corners of the globe are much appreciated!
A big thank you to everyone who helped me with the research for this book, especially corporate-wizard Andy who helped me sort out a crucial plot hole. Thanks also to my school-gate medical advisor Ranil, Ian ‘Minty’ Johnston, and to Kathryn Rowe for making sure Fin had fun when I was right up against my deadline. Thanks to Penny Vincenzi, Kay Burley, Alison Kervin and Polly Chase for lovely suppers and book chat. To Big Davey Jones for his digital design flourishes and to Claire Taor and Dina Belemlih who parlez francais much better than I do. To Mum, Dad, Far, Digs and Dan: thank you, thank you, thank you. To my son Fin for the smorgasbord of artistic delights that brighten up my writer’s garret. And for your ideas! Six years old and already a master storyteller! Last, but not least, thank you to John. For everything. I never felt magic as crazy as this.
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