Deception!

by Elizabeth Ducie

  I flashed her another smile, sketched an ironic salute to her miserly companion and jumped off the train as the whistle blew and stewards started banging the doors shut. I watched the train depart before strolling back to the concourse and taking up a position outside the first class lounge once more.

  For the rest of the day, I did a steady trade. Sometimes I picked up a few coppers; sometimes a shilling or even more. By the end of the day, I had a pocket full of change and was beginning to think about finding somewhere to stay for the night. But as I walked off the platform, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into a corner behind a trolley loaded with luggage.

  ‘We want a word with you, boy,’ said the large youth holding my arm. I glanced around and realised we were not alone. There were several others crowding behind us or hidden in the shadows. ‘Who are you and what gives you the right to pinch our business?’

  I stared at them for a few moments, my heart thudding. Surely not. I was tired and I’d worked hard for the cash I’d earned today. I couldn’t lose it all at the last minute. I swallowed and held out my hand.

  ‘Hawkins,’ I said, ‘Michael Hawkins. Very pleased to meet you.’ My captor looked nonplussed at this gesture and didn’t react; but someone behind me repeated my words in an exaggerated Yorkshire accent and one or two of the others chuckled. I needed to do something quickly, or this was going to end very badly. ‘I’m glad to meet you all. I need some advice on where I can find a bed for the night.’

  ‘That’s all very well; but you can’t just dive in here and pinch our trade,’ my captor said. I smiled at him, trying to show a confidence I didn’t really feel.

  ‘I’m sorry if that’s what you think I’ve been doing, but I can assure you it’s not how it looks.’ He didn’t look at all convinced, but I felt his hold on me slacken slightly and I took my chance. Twisting sideways and using his grip against him, I pulled his arm behind him and backed us against the wall so we were protected from that side. At the same time, I whipped my knife out of my pocket, flicked the blade out and jabbed it against his neck. There was a growl from some of the others in the crowd, but I pushed the point of the knife into his neck just enough to break the skin, and a thin trickle of blood appeared below the blade. He shrieked and everyone else froze.

  ‘Right,’ I said, ‘now everyone calm down and we’ll talk about this in a civilised manner. Agreed?’ There was a silence and I pushed the knife just a little harder into his neck. ‘I said, do you agree?’ I asked quietly.

  He nodded, then when I opened my eyes wide in question, he swallowed and said in a high-pitched voice, ‘Back off everyone. We’ll listen to what he has to say.’

  My captor’s name was Enoch. He was African, a few months younger than me, although taller and stronger. He was kind-hearted, saw the rest of the group of kids as his responsibility, but didn’t really want to hurt anyone. Over the next few months, we grew to be good friends. Once I’d told my story, they accepted me into their number and helped me find somewhere to stay. It was small, not particularly clean, and I shared it with two of the others, but it was dry and safe. It would do for now.

  They were impressed with my tactic of stalking the first class passengers. They’d been used to working the platforms for the arriving passengers. They hadn’t thought of starting at the other end of the chain with the departing ones. Together, Enoch and I worked out a rota which gave everyone a turn at the different places on the station.

  They’d been sharing their tips before I arrived and I agreed to throw mine into the pot as well. At least some of them went into the pot. The kids never realised just how much I was earning through carrying cases and running other errands for the wealthy travellers, and although I think Enoch might have suspected I wasn’t being completely honest with them, he never said anything. Maybe he too was keeping a little on the side for himself. But I would never find out.

  Eight months later, Enoch’s family decided to move back to the countryside from where they’d originally arrived to make their living, and we never saw him again. But by then, I was the acknowledged leader of the railway porters and life was starting to look up. I had a place to live, somewhere to work, and friends who trusted me and would look out for me. I was a few weeks short of my sixteenth birthday.

  CHAPTER 11

  When Charlie strolled into the now open clubhouse, it was nearly lunchtime and the place was packed. The club was on the edge of a busy suburb and it looked like quite a few of the staff from the local businesses were members.

  As she queued at the drinks counter, she glanced around her. There was a real mix of ages and nationalities in the place and her brief concern that she might stand out as a stranger was soon allayed. Having bought herself a black coffee, she took a seat near the window, where she could observe both the crowd at the counter and the people wandering around outside. She settled herself down, expecting to have a long wait, or even to be out of luck altogether. I’ll just keep coming back until I see her, she thought. But someone somewhere must have been looking down on her and showering her with good fortune, because less than ten minutes later, she spied Mercy Gove Hawkins arriving.

  Mercy’s height and athleticism were emphasised by today’s outfit. She wore black leather trousers and a jacket, and carried a motor cycle helmet. She was alone and didn’t acknowledge any of the people milling around her. Charlie realised she’d not seen her talking to anyone other than Hawkins during the race meeting either. Maybe the girl had difficulty making friends. Or maybe she had no wish to mix. Would this make Charlie’s job easier or harder, she wondered.

  After Mercy bought her lunch, she stood at the edge of the crowd, looking around for somewhere to sit. Walk this way, thought Charlie, walk this way. And once again, Charlie’s luck held. Mercy started moving towards the window, where a small table had just become free. As she passed by, Charlie stood up suddenly, stepping into the other woman’s path and ‘accidentally’ nudging her elbow.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘how clumsy of me. I hope I didn’t spill your drink.’ Mercy smiled thinly and shook her head.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she replied, then tutted in exasperation as a couple grabbed the table she was heading for.

  ‘Crowded, isn’t it?’ said Charlie. ‘Look, why not sit here,’ as she indicated her own table. ‘There’s plenty of room—and I did make you lose the other table, after all.’ Mercy looked at her as though considering whether she wanted to share space with this clumsy stranger, then shrugged elegantly.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ she said and settled herself across the table from Charlie who resumed her seat.

  ‘I’m Rose,’ she said, ‘Rose Fitzpatrick.’

  ‘Mercy Gove Hawkins,’ was the cool reply. She didn’t seem keen to start up a conversation and stared over Charlie’s shoulder out of the window as she began eating her salad. This was going to be a tough nut to crack. Just as Charlie was about to have another go, maybe talk about yesterday’s marathon, her phone rang. At least, she thought it was her phone, but as it was at the bottom of her rucksack, she wasn’t sure.

  She stuck her hand into the bag and started rummaging around. But there was so much rubbish in there, she couldn’t find her phone. So she upended the lot onto the table, taking care to avoid Mercy’s tray.

  By the time she’d found the phone, it had stopped ringing. The display showed Damien and she wondered why he was trying to phone her. Was it just a casual call about lunch, or more serious? Ever since Suzanne’s kidnapping in Africa, Charlie was wary of unexpected phone calls. Should she ring him back?

  But before she could hit redial, she glanced across at Mercy and what she saw made her freeze. Among the assorted junk she’d tipped from her bag was her bunch of keys; keys to the flat back in south London, their office on the Thames Embankment, and a couple of odd ones she’d collected over the years and could no longer remember what they opened. The whole lot was held together with a brassy enamelled keyring in the shape of
Africa, which she’d found in a street market in Zambia two years before. A keyring which Mercy had picked up and was stroking gently. As Charlie caught the other woman’s eye, she realised there were unshed tears in their deep brown depths.

  ‘I bought that in Zambia; beautiful isn’t it?’ she said softly and was rewarded when Mercy’s face lit up.

  ‘You’ve been to Africa?’

  ‘Yes, a couple of years back; Zambia and Kenya.’ She didn’t think it was the right time to explain why she’d been there—but there was no need.

  ‘I miss it so much,’ said Mercy. ‘I love it here, it’s a wonderful country and everyone is really friendly, but it’s not Mozambique. It’s not home. Does that sound silly?’

  ‘Not at all. It doesn’t matter where you were brought up, and where you end up, there will always be a part of you that yearns for home.’

  And just like that, the barrier was gone and Charlie found herself chatting away to Mercy—a very different person from the cool, aloof one who had first sat at the table. They talked about Mercy’s home in Mozambique, about the weather, the people and the music. Charlie introduced herself as an author visiting Brazil to carry out research for her next book. She didn’t have to explain why she’d been in Africa; she merely mentioned she’d been working and Mercy accepted it without question.

  ‘So what brings you over to Brazil?’ asked Charlie when they’d exhausted for the moment their conversation about the wonders of Africa.

  ‘I’ve come to live with my father,’ she said. ‘My mother died when I was a child and I was all alone. Friends took me in and looked after me, but it’s not the same as having family, is it? Then out of the blue, my father came looking for me. I didn’t believe it at first; my mother told me he’d died before I was born, but then I saw the marriage certificate and other papers to prove who he was, so I thought I would come over here. What did I have to lose?’

  As the woman talked about the death of her mother and the reappearance of her father, the light went out of her eyes and she seemed to withdraw into herself once more.

  ‘So is your father from Mozambique originally?’ Charlie asked. Mercy shook her head.

  ‘No, he’s British. My father’s name is Michael Hawkins. I don’t really know what he was doing in Mozambique. I’ve asked him, but he doesn’t want to talk about it.’

  Charlie surmised all was not well in the Hawkins household. Was this the opportunity she needed to get a hold over their old enemy? But, she decided that would be for another day. She didn’t want to raise Mercy’s suspicions by asking too many questions today. She looked at her watch and jumped up.

  ‘Is that the time? I have to go. I’ve got an appointment to see the secretary, arrange my temporary membership.’ She reached over and shook the other girl’s hand. ‘It’s been good chatting to you, Mercy Gove Hawkins. Maybe I’ll see you in here again; I’m going to be around for the next few weeks.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ said Mercy, smiling. Charlie turned on her heel and walked away, her mind buzzing with possibilities for the next step.

  CHAPTER 12

  As the sun went down over the tree-lined tennis courts, Suzanne, Charlie and Damien sat on the terrace sipping their drinks and catching up on the day’s events. Suzanne put down her orange juice and looked across at their client.

  ‘Well, I have to admit, after spending the day with Mr Nigel Atkinson, I’m beginning to think your suspicions about Sunshine Supplements’ new wonder product might be well-founded.’

  ‘He didn’t rumble you, did he, sis?’ Charlie said anxiously.

  ‘No, nothing like that. In fact he was charm itself.’

  ‘That bad, eh?’ The sisters exchanged brief smiles, then Suzanne turned back to Damien.

  ‘I can’t really put my finger on it, and I certainly don’t have any evidence yet, but I’m sure he’s hiding something.’ She went on to describe the locked room, and the way in which Atkinson avoided her question about its purpose. She listed some of the chemicals she’d seen in the warehouse, chemicals she wouldn’t have expected to find in a food supplement factory. And she described the elderly man from Saturday night, a man she was sure she’d seen before.

  ‘I couldn’t show too much interest in any of this. After all, I’m supposed to be a freelance hack, not a pharmaceuticals expert,’ she concluded. ‘But I’m having lunch with him tomorrow and we’re starting the interview proper, so maybe I can steer the conversation in the right direction then.’

  ‘Well, at least you don’t think I’ve dragged you all this way on a wild goose chase,’ said Damien. ‘And I got an email today from my friend back home; the one who’s a chemistry post-doc.’

  ‘The analysis of Super Fit?’ asked Suzanne.

  ‘Yep. Although I’m not sure it’s much help to us. All he found was a couple of vitamins, caffeine and the yerba maté herbs.’ Damien drained his glass and stood up. ‘Right, ladies, I’m meeting some of the other US runners for dinner. I would invite you, but I don’t think it’s going to be the sort of evening you would enjoy.’

  ‘You’ll be letting off steam, will you?’ grinned Charlie. ‘Just my sort of evening.’

  But Damien was adamant.

  ‘No, I really think you guys would be better off eating elsewhere tonight. Besides, we don’t want to risk anyone from Sunshine Supplements seeing us together and getting suspicious. See you in the morning!’ And with a wave of his hand, he strode off across the foyer towards the noisy sports bar.

  ‘Well, looks like it’s just you and me, Suzanne,’ said Charlie. ‘Still, it will give me a chance to tell you how I got on today. And we can do some more work on your questions for tomorrow’s interview. Where do you fancy eating?’

  After another chat with Charlie’s new best friend on the concierge desk, they jumped in a taxi and gave the driver the address of the best comida gaucha restaurant in town.

  ‘I fancy playing the carnivore this evening,’ Charlie said. ‘A spot of Brazilian barbeque will go down just fine.’

  Suzanne unwound sufficiently to let her sister persuade her to try the Brazilian cocktail, caipirinha. ‘Although I’m definitely sticking at one,’ she said. ‘Something tells me I’m going to need a very clear head when I’m dealing with Mr Atkinson.’

  As they sat sipping their drinks, they reminisced about their trip to Africa and, in particular, their visit to the barbeque restaurant on the outskirts of Nairobi.

  ‘Well, this one’s just as noisy as Game Park,’ said Charlie. ‘And the joints of meat on swords look just as big, although I doubt if we’re going to get any giraffe or bison steaks here today.’

  ‘I think we need to try some of the meat before we decide which is the best,’ Suzanne replied. At that moment, the doors from the kitchens burst open and one of the waiters bustled through pushing a huge wooden trolley in front of him to a round of applause from nearby tables. On top of the trolley sat a whole roast pig, complete with thick, crispy crackling.

  ‘Okay,’ said Charlie waving over a passing waiter, ‘I guess you’re right. Let’s eat. But’ she went on, gesturing the passing trolley, ‘I suspect it’s game, set and match to Brazil, if that pork is anything to go by!’

  And so it turned out. After eating their fill of chicken, beef and the wonderful pork, while working on tactics for the next day, they agreed their current location just about pipped Game Park to the post.

  ‘But, talking of Africa,’ said Charlie, as they finally stopped eating and decided to take a break before hitting the sweet trolley, ‘I’ve had an interesting time today as well.’ She brought Suzanne up to date on her visit to the running club, mentioned briefly her intention to return and go running with Felix, shrugged off her sister’s concerns about her running with a strange man in a strange city, and grabbed her attention fully when she talked about her lunchtime meeting with Mercy.

  ‘So her name isn’t just a coincidence?’ asked Suzanne. ‘And that really was Micha
el Hawkins we saw with her the other day?’

  ‘That’s right, and better still, she’s his daughter, so we now have a direct link back to him. Mercy puts on the appearance of being strong and independent, but if you could have watched her stroking my little keyring this morning, you’d have seen a different side to her altogether. I reckon Mercy’s lonely. And that being said, she’s going to welcome the chance to chat with someone who knows her home continent, if not her home country.’

  ‘So, what’s the next move?’

  ‘Well, I said I’d probably see her again, and she looked pleased at the prospect. So I thought I’d pop back there tomorrow lunchtime, see if I can bump into her,’ she used her fingers to mime speech marks in the air, ‘and maybe find out a bit more about the set-up with her father. I got the distinct impression it’s not all sweetness and light on the home front. Maybe Mercy’s regretting leaving Africa and coming to live with a father she’d never met, here in Brazil.’

  ‘I do hope you know what you’re doing, Charlie,’ said Suzanne. ‘Remember what happened to me when I got too close to Hawkins’ operation. We don’t want you getting caught up in anything dangerous.’

  ‘I reckon it’s a bit too late for that,’ muttered Charlie, ‘and it’s not as though this is the first time.’ But seeing her sister’s anxious look, she patted her arm. ‘Don’t worry, Suzanne, I’ll take care. It would never do for another Jones sister to get kidnapped, now would it?’

  ‘Don’t even joke about it,’ Suzanne said, suppressing a shudder. Charlie put on her most reassuring look and directed it at her sister.

  ‘You really don’t have to worry, Suzanne. I’m only going to chat to Mercy; it’s not as though I’m going to visit her at home, now is it?’ At least, not straight away, she thought, but kept that to herself. ‘After all, Hawkins has never met me—and probably doesn’t even know Suzanne Jones has a sister. He certainly can’t know she’s here in Brazil, looking to bring him down. He probably won’t have thought about you for ages.’ She looked around the restaurant and waved over the waiter once more. ‘And anyway, I didn’t give Mercy my real name. So would you care to join Ms Rose Fitzpatrick in sampling something from that sweet trolley? It would be such a pity to visit this famous restaurant and not try out everything it has to offer!’