by R. S. Sutton
Valerie was unsure how Preston’s driver did it, but just as they stepped onto the pavement outside the hotel, the dark blue Merc appeared.
‘Boss.’ The driver held the door while ushering them in.
Preston let Valerie slide across the leather, then got in beside her. ‘The Riverside, please, Kenny.’
The restaurant, about forty minutes out of town, was perfect. It was a converted mill set by the side of a gin-clear river. Visible by the underwater lighting, white-flowered water-crowfoot wafted around in the current to the side of the wooden walkway. Stopping by the railing, Preston pointed into the slack water towards the tail of some weed. A native brown trout sat patiently, its tail moving slowly as it kept station. After a minute it rose to the surface and, leaving the slightest of ripples, sucked a delicately floating blue-winged olive below.
Reluctant to move, Valerie rested her arms on the wooden rail. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘And deadly,’ said Preston. ‘You do not want to be a fly floating downstream towards the Prince of Darkness.’
After watching another rise, Valerie followed him into the restaurant. ‘Don’t think I want to eat one ever again.’
Spread over three floors, she guessed it could do sixty covers, maximum. As they were seated, she looked around at the machinery that once powered the building and was now decorating whitewashed walls. Every one of the generous tables was taken.
‘Busy,’ said Valerie. ‘How ever did you get us in at such short notice?’
‘Oh, that’s an easy one,’ said Preston. ‘We, or should I say I, own the place.’
‘Well, that would help.’ She smiled as a waitress asked what they would like to drink.
‘Southern Comfort, or something else?’ Preston asked.
‘Erm—’
Before Valerie could say anything else, he said, ‘Or we could order the wine now. Any preference?’
‘Chablis.’ The reply was automatic, said without thinking then immediately regretted.
‘Good choice,’ he said, turning to the waitress. ‘A bottle of Chablis.’
Valerie resolved to take a break from feeling guilty, at least for the evening. The innocent look was accompanied by a finger to her lip. ‘Can I be a peasant?’
‘I think you’d find that very hard, but go ahead. What did you have in mind? Please don’t say you want it with ice and slices of orange.’
‘No, no. Could we have it cold, not just cellar cool?’
‘Oh dear, nearly as bad. That is being a peasant.’ If there was any anguish in his reply, he hid it well. ‘Okay. Make it cold, Janice.’
The waitress, with her nose in the air, left the table as if she’d been invited to take part in something that should only be experienced on a pornographic website.
‘I think I’ve upset Janice,’ said Valerie, hiding behind the menu as they perused the list of dishes. ‘Hope it’s not a capital offence.’
‘Could well be.’ Preston pulled down the top of Valerie’s menu. ‘Janice is a highly qualified and knowledgeable sommelier. She came here straight from Claridge’s.’
‘Ah,’ said Valerie quietly. ‘Better get the food right, or I’ll be floating downstream towards that trout.’
Preston laughed. ‘Well, we’ll try not to let that happen,’ he said as the waiter approached to take their order.
‘So, what about you?’ said Valerie when they had ordered.
‘What about me what?’ he said.
‘Well, you know all about me.’ Placing her elbow on the chair arm, she rested her chin on an upturned palm. ‘What about you?’
‘I know just about as much as you want to tell me, Valerie. There’s a lot more about you than I think you’ll ever tell anyone. But me, I have no secrets. I’m just what you see,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘I, or should I say we, me and my brother, were left money by our father. Not a fortune, but enough to start a loan business… and no, before you ask, not lending to vulnerable people at five thousand per cent.’ He leant back in his chair as the first course of sliced melon with lime dressing was placed in front of him. ‘We were fortunate like you: a guy with a great business idea but no money came to see us.’ He motioned to Valerie’s bowl of fresh tomato and basil soup. ‘Okay?’
‘Yes, perfect,’ she said. ‘I’ve made it myself many times, but always fall a little short. Have to get your chef to come around, show me where I’m going wrong.’
The very cold Chablis arrived and Preston took a sip from the offered glass. ‘Now I’ve got a problem,’ he said, as Janice made no effort to hide a pained expression. ‘Insult one of the finest wine experts in the south or upset my guest.’
Valerie waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said dismissively. ‘I’ve been upset before and I dare say it’ll happen again. But not over a glass of wine.’
Janice, on the other hand, didn’t look like she was about to give in gracefully, ever, even if Preston was her employer.
‘Well, there’s no denying that we are losing a little on the taste. But…’ he drew the word out slowly, ‘I can see where Miss Stone is coming from; it has a definite and pleasing way about it.’
‘Very neatly put,’ said Valerie. ‘I’ll settle for that.’
‘If you’d like to have a taste, Janice, take a half bottle out of the cellar and try it cold. Split it with the manager, I’m sure you’d both like to give it a go.’
Leaving the table, Janice resumed her disapproval by putting her nose back in the air. ‘Yes, sir,’ she threw over her shoulder, ‘I’m sure we both burn with curiosity.’
A cheeky smile flickered across Valerie’s lips before she returned to the conversation. ‘So, you lent money for a business start-up and never looked back?’ she said.
‘Yes, but came damn near to losing it all at one go. The guy fell in a big way, along with all our investment.’
‘You obviously didn’t go down, though,’ she said.
‘No.’ Preston waited until the table had been cleared and the main courses put in front of them. ‘My brother had great faith in the business and suggested we bought the guy out with what little we had left.’ He took another sip of his wine. ‘Beginning to grow on me,’ he said, holding up the glass in mock inspection. ‘But don’t tell Janice.’
‘And?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Looking thoughtful, he returned to his story. ‘We took it over and he cleared his debt. We… or rather, my brother, put it into profit in twelve months. I’m afraid the gentleman with the idea took it very badly, threatened us with all sorts, but history is strewn with business opportunities won and lost. He took us to court, but it was a waste of his time. All he’s done is given himself a debt he will never be able to repay.’
‘What was the business?’ she asked.
‘Computers,’ he replied, ‘like most everything else in this world. Can’t pretend to know much about what was so revolutionary with his idea. I’m just glad he put a good team together, because without my brother I’d be lost.’
‘And that was the start of a mighty empire,’ said Valerie.
‘I think “mighty empire” is a little bit of an exaggeration, but yes, once we had that going, everything else we touched seemed to turn into gold. Lucky.’
They continued with the small talk for about forty-five minutes before Preston looked up and nodded to someone behind Valerie. ‘We’ll have to move into the lounge for coffee. Promised the head waiter we wouldn’t be too long. The restaurant has a three-month waiting list at the moment and the manager’s doing what I pay him for: keeping customers happy.’
Once again Preston followed Valerie’s swaying hips into the lounge.
‘Brandy? Something else?’ asked Preston as they sank into large, caressing chairs.
‘Southern Comfort, two slices of orange and plenty of ice.’
‘Is there nothing you don
’t have chilled to death or served with mountains of ice?’
‘Like I said before, just a peasant, I guess.’
‘Change of subject,’ said Preston. ‘You don’t work weekends, do you?’ As all he got in reply was a furrowed brow, he carried on. ‘Having one or two friends over for the weekend, going to take The Sun Dancer out, shake her down, blow away the ghosts.’
Valerie looked at him for a few seconds. ‘Sorry,’ she said, knowing he’d said something that once again rang a bell. ‘What did you say?’
‘Would you like to come out for a sail this weekend?’ he said slowly.
Valerie sat back in her chair, cursing the law forbidding her to smoke indoors. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said, pushing up on the chair arms, ‘I’ll just go and wash my hands.’
‘Sure,’ said Preston, half-rising.
Valerie looked at herself in the mirror as she ran her hands beneath the water and thought, What the bloody hell is this all about? What’s with the friggin’ mystery; if they know each other, why did Ben deny it and look so nervous? She put her hands into the hot dryer and spoke out loud. ‘Well, what now?’
‘Beg pardon?’ Valerie hadn’t been conscious of the door opening, nor the elderly lady now leaning on an ornate walking stick.
‘Sorry.’ Valerie rubbed her drying hands. ‘Thinking out loud.’
‘Oh dear,’ the lady smiled as she inclined her head, ‘that doesn’t usually happen till you reach my age.’
Pulling her hands from the swirling air, Valerie looked thoughtfully at the old lady. ‘Ever wondered why someone is lying when there is no apparent reason to do so?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the lady as Valerie left, ‘I have grandchildren.’
Do I come right out with it? Valerie sat back down, her mind preoccupied. It’s all a bit bloody thin. The guy’s just lost his brother and all I’ve got is maybe his brother knew Ben. If he’s dead then he’s dead. An accident and that’s it.
‘Well?’ said Preston. ‘You up for a couple of days’ relaxing?’
‘As long as it’s in a group,’ said Valerie.
‘I do believe you don’t trust me.’
Ten
‘That’s it,’ said Jane, handing the single sheet of A4 to Valerie. ‘Sun Dancer’s been in nearly every port and harbour from Plymouth round to Yarmouth. Most of all the Medway of course, but Poole is used a lot. She was on the entry lists of a few yacht clubs, but nothing at the moment as far as I can find out.’
‘Okay, so where does he live?’
‘He’s on the voting registry in Poole.’ Thoughtfully, Jane tapped a pencil on her teeth. ‘Sandbanks, if you please.’
‘Christ,’ said Valerie, ‘that’s serious money.’
‘And that’s the one we know about.’
Valerie scanned the few lines on the sheet of paper. ‘Think I’ll go along to the Poole Harbour Master.’
‘Stretch out the expenses,’ said Jane, ‘good idea. Any chance I’m in for a bonus?’
In an effort to look stern, Valerie narrowed her eyes. ‘About the only thing that’s going to get us ninety grand is suicide, but I’m not holding my breath. We’re clutching at straws. I think David, er, Preston is going to get his three million.’
‘Twenty-odd, plus a good massage of the expenses, ain’t going to hurt now, is—’ Jane’s musing was interrupted by the phone.
After answering with the normal greeting, her face fell. ‘No way, I’ve told you before.’ She spat the words back at the caller. ‘Get lost! I’m finished with all that; I don’t work on my back anymore.’ Valerie leant back against her desk, knowing that nowadays Jane was quite capable of looking after herself. ‘It’s taken me two years to get back onto this planet, and if you think I’m returning to your bleedin’ sewer you’ve not just got a slate loose, your whole bloody roof is suspect. Now piss off, Vinnie! I wouldn’t work for you for one hundred per cent of my earnings.’ She slammed down the receiver. ‘Fucking arsehole,’ she said while giving Valerie a forced smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, no, very ladylike if he was asking you what I think he was asking you. Is that the first time he… you know… since you…?’
‘No, it bloody well isn’t.’ Anger brought a deep flush to Jane’s face. ‘Been on at me for months, even come around to me flat.’
‘You’ve got those innocent schoolgirl looks back, that’s what it is… can’t wait to get you into a grey skirt and white blouse for the dirty mac brigade.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jane. ‘One of his girls really looks about fifteen; five hundred quid a night. Bastard,’ she blasted venomously.
***
Valerie learnt very little about Preston or Sun Dancer at the harbour master’s in Poole. Except that one of the super-yachts along the quay, looking more like a block of flats on the move, belonged to his brother.
‘Quite something, aren’t they?’ the officer said, looking out the window. And before Valerie could ask, added, ‘Ten million, some of the larger ones like your friend’s.’
Curiosity getting the better of her, Valerie drove off to Sandbanks.
Leaving the Jaguar in the car park, she walked along the sea road until, standing outside Preston’s house, she blew out her cheeks in appreciation. The building, looking out over the water, stood on twin piers so as to accommodate parking under the main house. From the roadside she could see great slabs of smoked glass set into brilliant white stonework.
The main part of the house, resting on the piers, stood two storeys high, and Valerie gauged the whole place to be set on a double plot. To the right and nearer to the road was what she presumed were staff quarters. Guessing that the Merc and a lime green Lamborghini parked between the piers meant Preston was at home, she walked back along the road.
Sitting in the car, Valerie closed her eyes and let the sunshine warm her face before picking up the mobile. ‘Take an early weekend,’ she said. ‘I’ve been invited on a cruise-cum-party.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Jane, ‘anyone we know?’
‘Well, I know him,’ said Valerie.
‘Oh, it’s a him, is it? Can only be Nigel or Preston.’
‘David Preston, okay? Weekend on his boat.’
‘Going at a bit of a break-neck speed, aren’t we?’ said Jane. ‘You’ve only known him a week. Anyway, thought you were signing holy orders, giving up men for good? Well, except for Nigel, but I don’t think that poor sod counts.’
‘Well, nothing seems to be making much sense… I can’t see Preston being involved with anything dodgy, but I’m pretty sure he knows Ben and yet he’s keeping shtum for some reason. And he was away at the time. So maybe he’s protecting his brother… smuggling? I don’t know. Hold on.’ She stopped and took a cigarette from the pack and tried juggling it along with her phone and lighter. ‘Damn, hold on, Jane.’
‘Allow me, Miss.’ The man moved his plastic mac to the other arm and, hanging it over his shoulder, reached in with a lit match. She hadn’t time to exhale the smoke before he was gone. Valerie twisted around but only had the vague impression of someone disappearing behind a four-by-four.
‘Sorry, back again. Some of his friends will be coming as well, so don’t get the idea we’ll be rolling around the ocean in a frantic forty-eight hours of wild passion. Anyway, it’s been so long I’m not sure if I can remember what to do.’
‘Don’t worry, it’ll come,’ said Jane. ‘Like riding a bike, if you’ll forgive the expression.’
‘Thanks, Jane.’
‘Just don’t fall off.’
‘Not sure holy orders wouldn’t be simpler,’ said Valerie quietly as she hung up.
Satisfied he knew where she was going, the man took a cold mineral water from under the car seat and, taking a sip, pulled out his phone.
***
The yacht had been moved from the marina where Valerie and Ben had
left her. She was now moored alongside the quay, the last in line of five other boats, all looking like they were about to go out to sea.
This side of the complex appeared a lot more affluent than where Valerie had walked off the floating jetties. Bentleys and Audi R8s stood side by side, along with the occasional Ferrari, the green Lamborghini among them. Two cafés and a chandlers’ store bordered the car park and, further along towards the river mouth, dinghies were pulled up outside a yacht club. The club burgee, fluttering above the clubhouse, was at half-mast.
‘One of the hierarchy must have gone for a final beat down the channel,’ Valerie breathed quietly.
Dressed in white shorts, a blue La Martina polo shirt and Ralph Lauren deck shoes, Preston looked every inch the successful entrepreneur as he waved from the foredeck of Sun Dancer. ‘Valerie.’ He walked down the short gangway and onto the pontoon. ‘So glad you could come.’ He risked a peck on the cheek as he took her grip. ‘Yours?’ he said as she locked the car.
‘Yes.’
‘Early sixties?’
She nodded.
‘It goes with the watch.’
‘Will it be safe here?’
‘Safe as houses; we’re in a locked compound. But you can put it in the store house over there if you prefer.’ He pointed to some blue double doors to the side of the chandlers.
‘No, here’s fine, as long as we’re in a secure area.’
Preston waved her in front, following Valerie’s shapely bottom and hips. ‘Jesus,’ he said quietly.
‘Sorry to be a bit precious about the car, it’s just that—’
‘No, no,’ he said, skipping a couple of steps to catch up. ‘I’d be precious about something like that.’
***
Two days later, Preston walked her back across the car park.
‘Lunch tomorrow?’
Valerie reached into the pocket of her jacket and took out the worn fob and keys. She’d gone onto the boat, forty-eight hours earlier, still firmly rooted in the past. Now she was happier than in a long time. Was it time to move on, take a step away from the past? All on just a weekend? She’d had four years with him and now four years without him. Could she let him go? Break the ties? Jump ship and land, if not in paradise, then another place?
