* * *
Around midnight, Leigh was thinking about bed. Across the table, Chris was sitting slumped in his chair glowering at the television. He’d barely said a word since dinner.
‘What is it, Chris?’
He was silent. His face darkened.
‘Come on. I know that look. What is it?’
He stabbed the remote and turned off the television. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’
‘Who?’
‘Him. I remember now. Ben. The old flame. The one you were madly in love with. The one you wanted to marry.’
‘That was fifteen years ago, Chris.’
Chris laughed bitterly. ‘I knew there was something going on.’
‘There’s nothing going on.’
‘No? I heard the two of you whispering before. Alone in the cabin like teenagers.’ He snorted. ‘If I’d known what this trip was really about, I’d never have let you sweet-talk me into it. You must think I’m a real fool, a proper soft touch. Getting old Chris to ferry you and your boyfriend over to France for a dirty weekend. Scared the paparazzi will get wind of your little romance? Maybe I should just turn the boat around.’
‘You’re getting it all wrong, Chris.’
‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me. I haven’t forgotten, you know. All the stories about this guy who broke your heart so badly it took you years to get over him-now you’re running around with the bastard right under my nose, and you expect me to help you? What did I ever do to you? I never broke your heart. You broke my fucking heart.’ He jabbed his finger several times against his chest. His face was turning red.
‘Yeah, when I caught you screwing that bimbo at my birthday party.’
Chris rolled his eyes. ‘One little transgression…how many times does a guy have to say he’s sorry?’
‘I don’t call it a little transgression.’
‘You were never there! You were always off singing somewhere.’
‘I was there that night,’ she said. They faced each other, hostility building up between them. Then she sighed. ‘Please, Chris. I don’t want to fight, OK? We’ve been over this before. You know as well as I do that it wasn’t working between us. We’re still friends, though, aren’t we?’
‘Retired,’ Chris muttered. ‘How old is this guy? What kind of a bum calls himself retired at his age? You know what army pensions are like? How do you know he’s not just after your money?’ He thought for a moment. ‘Did you buy him that watch?’ he demanded.
‘For Christ’s sake. Give me a break. It’s not like that.’
‘So what is it like? Why is he here?’
‘There are things I can’t explain right now. You have to trust me, OK?’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I swear there is nothing between me and Ben. And I appreciate that you care, and that you’re helping me out like this. Really.’ She hugged him, and he squeezed her tight.
‘I miss you, Leigh,’ he said in a plaintive voice. He kissed her hair. ‘I think about you a lot, you know,’ he murmured. Then he moved back a little and tried to kiss her on the mouth. She pushed him away.
Ben had come out of the cabin and stood framed in the doorway.
Leigh abruptly broke away from Chris and they all stood frozen for a moment, staring at one another.
‘Sorry,’ Ben said quietly. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt.’ He turned and headed for the companionway steps to go on deck.
The wind was much stronger than earlier, and he zipped his jacket to the neck. Cold swathes of rain were lashing across the Isolde’s bows from the east, and the sails fluttered and rippled loudly above the groan of the wind and the steady crash of waves. Mick was tending the wheel, wrapped in orange oilskins. They exchanged nods. Ben reached for his cigarettes and offered him one. He shielded the flame of his Zippo lighter from the breeze, inhaled deeply and looked out for a while across the dark, choppy water, narrowing his eyes against the cold spray and holding on to the rail.
The Isolde’s prow rose on the unsettled sea, climbing the crest of a big wave, then cleared it and plunged down into a trough with a huge splash of flying foam. Ben steadied himself against the swell as the deck under his feet sloped and settled. The sails crackled like fire.
‘Bit of weather up ahead,’ Mick said, interrupting his thoughts.
Ben looked up at the dark sky. Black clouds raced across the face of the moon. In the dim light he could see the white water of the breaking crests.
He stood on deck for a long time. There was no point in going below. He wouldn’t sleep. His thoughts were confused and rambling, switching from one thing to another. Oliver. The Mozart letter. The video-clip. The murder. Langton Hall. The call from the police.
But he wasn’t just thinking about the mystery. His mind kept drifting to Leigh. The vision of her in Chris’s arms lingered stubbornly and perplexingly in his mind. Why did it make him feel so uncomfortable that she might still have feelings for her ex-husband?
What were these feelings he was having? Was he jealous? He resisted the idea. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the way it made him feel to be around her again.
She must be asleep now. He imagined her lying on her bunk, just a few feet away below deck, with her hair spread out on the pillow.
He smoked more cigarettes and sipped whisky from his flask, and forgot the rise and fall of the deck under his feet.
He barely noticed the growing storm until the Isolde lurched into a broach that made him stagger. The waves were roaring in with fierce intensity. The yacht hit another crest, climbed steeply and her bows crashed down. A wild turmoil of water and foam blinded Ben for a few seconds as he hung grimly on to the rail. His cigarette fizzled out and he threw the soggy stub into the sea.
In the cabin below, Leigh was tossing and turning restlessly in her bunk, trying to relax her mind. But it was no use. She couldn’t keep Ben Hope out of her head. What was wrong with her?
She checked her watch and saw that it was almost four in the morning. She wrapped herself in a blanket and went to make herself a coffee. The yacht was lurching and it was hard to walk.
Chris heard her moving about and came out of the master cabin, looking bleary-eyed and pale. As she drank her coffee he checked the computer for the latest Met Office weather report. ‘This blow should be over soon.’ He shot her a wild look. ‘Where’s your Major friend?’
‘Leave it alone, Chris. Isn’t he in his cabin?’
‘His door’s open. He’s not in there.’
‘Oh, right. And you thought he was in with me. You really don’t trust me, do you?’
Chris grunted and headed up to the deck. As he opened the hatch, a lash of spray caught him in the face and he spluttered. He cleared his eyes, shook his head and watched across the deck. Ben and Mick were working together, silently and doggedly, their oilskins glistening with rain. The Major seemed to know what he was doing, Chris thought. He swore under his breath, slicked back his dripping hair and went below again.
Halfway down the companionway steps, Chris had an idea. The Major was out of the way. An opportunity. He sneaked past the doorway of the saloon and quietly slipped into the open door of Ben’s cabin. He shut it carefully behind him and bolted it, then looked around the room. He lifted the green canvas bag down from above the bunk and started undoing the straps.
Chapter Twenty
Vienna
That evening
Kinski was pacing up and down in his living room. His nerves felt like broken glass and he could feel a migraine coming on. His hands shook violently and his stomach churned.
Where was she? Who had taken her? Was this a reprisal for someone he’d put away? He thought of some of the cold bastards he’d dealt with over the past few months. Ran through their names and faces in his head. He knew what they could do to her. He’d seen what they could do.
If they harmed her he’d kill them. Kill every last one. Kill everybody.
He fell into an armchair with his head in his hands, crying and trembling. Then h
e paced again and slammed his fists into the wall until they bled. Max the dog watched him nervously from his bed in the corner.
The phone rang and he leapt at it. This was it. Ransom demand. He lifted the receiver with a shaking hand.
Somebody trying to sell him roof insulation.
‘Fuck you.’ Kinski slammed it down.
He was startled by the noise outside of a car pulling away, then a moment later he heard the doorbell. He raced to the door and ripped it open just in time to see the black Audi speeding away down the street. He didn’t get the registration.
Clara smiled sweetly up at him from the doorstep. ‘Hi, Daddy. Hey, Maxy.’ The big dog had jumped out of his bed and was all over her, licking her face, wagging the stump of his docked tail. She turned her face away from him, laughing as she trotted into the house.
Kinski pushed Max away. He threw his arms around Clara and clasped her hard against his chest.
‘You’re crushing me.’ She wriggled back and looked at his face, puzzled at his expression. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Where have you been?’ was all he could say.
He sat her down in a chair and made her tell him everything. She didn’t understand why he was so upset, what the big deal was. Franz was nice. He said he was a friend. A cop, like her dad. Dad had asked him to look after her for a while. They had ice-cream in a nice café. Franz was funny He told her stories that made her laugh. No, he didn’t touch her. He never touched her at all, except to take her hand to lead her into the café. No, she didn’t remember the name of the café or the street where it was. It was just a café somewhere. What was wrong?
Kinski listened to all this and his head hung lower. ‘What does Franz look like?’ he asked. He tried to keep the fury out of his voice.
She shook her head, as though it was a silly question. ‘He’s big like you but not so fat.’ She giggled.
‘This is serious, Clara.’
Clara brushed back wisps of sandy hair and looked serene. ‘He’s old. He must be forty. Probably even more.’
‘OK. What else?’
‘He has a funny ear.’
‘What do you mean, a funny ear?’
She made a face. ‘Kind of horrible. Like it was chewed up or something.’
‘Scarred?’
‘I asked him what happened to it. He said a big old parrot landed on his shoulder and tried to pull his ear off. He acted it out. It made me laugh. I liked him.’
He wanted to slap her. ‘Don’t you ever do that again. I mean it, Clara. The only car you get in is our car or Helga’s. Do you understand?’
She lowered her head, sniffed and wiped away a tear. ‘Yes, Daddy.’
The phone rang again. Kinski answered it on the second ring.
‘Herr Kinski?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Just listen.’
‘OK, I’m listening.’
‘This is a warning. Stay away from the Llewellyn case.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Next time that pretty little girl of yours won’t be coming home smiling.’
Kinski bit his tongue and tasted blood. The line went dead.
Chapter Twenty-One
Eve checked her makeup in the mirror and sprayed a little perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. He had her wearing the long blonde wig today. She made a couple of little adjustments to it. Perfect. She emerged from the ensuite bathroom wearing just her silk underwear, and went into the walk-in wardrobe. The racks of expensive dresses had all been tailored for her.
A voice spoke out of nowhere. She knew that the speakers were all around the room. ‘The black one’, said the voice. It was impassive and controlled.
Eve reached over and took down a Chanel dress, beautiful, black velvet. She hated it, just as she hated all of them. She turned round and held it up against her slender figure.
‘No’, the voice said. ‘The satin one.’ Eve calmly replaced the dress, slid the hangers along the rail and took down the low-cut satin dress. One of his more recent gifts to her.
‘Put it on’, said the voice in the same unemotional tone. She did as he said.
‘Now the pearls’
She turned away from the racks of dresses. On the opposite wall of the huge wardrobe was an antique glass-fronted cabinet lined with blue velvet and displaying a row of open jewel boxes with glittering gold chains and diamond necklaces. She drew out the long string of pearls and placed it over her head. It hung low down between her breasts, cool against her skin.
‘No. Double them up’, the voice said. ‘And put on the matching earrings.’
She obeyed mechanically.
In another part of the house, Werner Kroll reclined back in his padded chair. He sat with his hands on his lap, his tie as straight and tightly knotted as always. His eyes were fixed on the flat-screen colour monitor in front of him. She turned round to let him see her, the way she knew he liked. He nodded approvingly. ‘Good,’ he said into the microphone. ‘Now go to the room.’ He reached out slowly and pressed a button on the console in front of him, switching cameras. He watched her come out of the bedroom, walk down the long corridor and climb the stairway.
Eve had made this journey more times than she wanted to remember. What did he want from her? It was always different, but each time it got a little worse. She walked up to a heavy door, turned the gold handle and went inside. The room was elegant, the ceiling high. The soft lighting cast long shadows on the green silk-covered walls. The furniture was sparse but expensive and the carpet felt deep and spongy under her feet.
She walked to the middle of the room, glancing around her, feeling uneasy. She caught a glimpse of herself in the high mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, and looked away quickly.
Someone moaned at the far end of the room and Eve turned in the direction of the sound. Lying on the broad bed was a woman. She was young and pretty, semi-conscious and almost naked. She was spread-eagled, tied to the bedposts by the arms and ankles.
The voice spoke again from hidden speakers in the corners of the room. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling every inch of air. ‘Take off your dress’, it said. ‘Slowly.’
Eve hesitated a moment, then reached behind her back and started undoing the fasteners.
‘More slowly’, the voice warned. She obeyed. The straps slipped over her shoulders and the dress slid smoothly down her body. She stepped out of it and left it lying in a satin pool on the floor.
‘Good’, said the voice. ‘Now go to the table and open the case’
Eve did as he said. Her legs felt heavy as she approached the gleaming tabletop. She flipped the catches of the soft hide briefcase, raised the lid and stepped back. When she saw what was inside, she caught her breath.
She looked across at the mirror and shook her head. ‘Please, I can’t do this,’ she said. ‘Don’t make me.’
The voice was silent but she could imagine the look on his face as he sat in his chair behind the two-way glass.
‘This is going too far,’ she said more firmly, and shut the case.
He spoke quietly. He told her why she had no choice. What he would do to her if she didn’t obey him. She listened, her chin on her chest and her eyes shut.
When he finished talking, Eve opened the case again, swallowed hard and reached slowly for what was inside.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The English Channel
Towards dawn
The coast of France was a light-speckled haze against the dark blue horizon. The storm had finally blown itself out and the sea was smooth and grey. Gulls screeched around the Isolde’s tall mast as Ben peeled off his waterproofs and made his way below. Mick clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. The skipper looked drawn. It had been a long night.
Leigh met Ben at the hatchway, looking concerned. The smell of frying bacon coming from inside made his mouth water. ‘I’m making breakfast,’ she said.
‘Where’s Chris?’ he asked, trudging wea
rily down the steps.
‘I think he’s still in bed.’
‘Some captain,’ he muttered. Leigh ignored the comment and handed him a steaming plate of bacon and eggs. He sat down to eat it while she pulled on her jacket and went to take another plateful up to Mick on deck.
As Ben lifted the first forkful to his mouth, the door of the master cabin burst open. Chris had a twisted look on his face as he stepped out.
Leigh was coming back down below. She saw Chris and stopped halfway down the steps.
‘Don’t move,’ Chris said. In his hand was one of the Para-Ordnance pistols, and he was pointing it straight at Ben.
Ben stared at the gun.
‘Pretty surprised, aren’t you, Major?’ Chris gave a tense little laugh. ‘Leigh, this is what your boyfriend’s really about. Look what I found in his bag. Three of them, and ammunition.’ Keeping the gun trained on Ben, he reached behind the door of his cabin. He brought out the haversack and chucked it on the floor between them. ‘Not to mention something like fifteen thousand euros in cash in there,’ he said. ‘All tied up in neat little stacks. What’s the game, Major? Gun-running? Dope-dealing? Bit of both?’ Chris grinned triumphantly at Leigh. ‘Either way, he’s in the shit now. This is a citizen’s arrest. I’m calling the police and the coastguard.’
‘Chris!’ Leigh moaned.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t mention your name. It’s nothing to do with you-is it?’
‘You’re being so stupid,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this. I’ll explain everything to you another time. Trust me, all right?’
Chris ignored her and waggled the gun at Ben. ‘Not so tough now, are you, Major?’
Ben went on eating. ‘You don’t know about the three conditions, do you, Chris?’
Chris flushed, and his triumphant grin faded a little. ‘What are you on about?’
The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET Page 43
