Claude had been born in New York, where the three of them now lived. After much discussion with Sam, Vas had decided to take him up on his offer of Senior Lawyer to Beresford Holdings, saying there was no one he trusted more with his legal affairs. To sweeten the deal further, Sam had given his friend a significant portion of shares in The Company, too, so he also had a vested interest - not that one was needed. Indeed, to work next to his best friend on a daily basis was all the incentive he required.
Nonetheless, Vas also still owned the practice in London, which was currently thriving under a new manager.
One of the main reasons for keeping it was because Alina was not quite ready to completely give up on the English way of life she so loved. Yet New York was proving to be equally alluring and they planned to spend a good deal of time in both cities when Claude was a little older.
Today, though, they were at Sam’s family home in Portsmouth where Vas was to be best man and Alina maid of honour.
The house looked utterly gorgeous after a complete restoration; the inside was now bright and airy thanks to the very contemporary facelift which had been sensitively conceived. In fact, they had been extremely careful to keep all the original character which gave it much of its homely charm whilst also opening it up to make it more conducive to modern living - somewhere much better suited to an affluent young couple.
However, most importantly, it was still the house Sam remembered as a boy and would always remind him of the happy times he had spent there with his parents.
Vas checked his reflection in the mirror once more as Alina adjusted the white carnation attached to his lapel. “You look very smart,” she said, before giving him a little peck on the cheek. “And very handsome,” she added as she handed him his cane.
His ankle did not cause him too much of a problem, especially now he had lost a few pounds, but the stick just gave him a little added support. It also gave him something of a distinguished air, according to his wife and he was not about to argue.
When they were both ready, they went their separate ways; Vas to check on Sam and Alina to assist Miri.
Because today was they were getting married.
***
It was a glorious summer’s day in New Hampshire and the Beresford Estate was in full bloom; the grounds impeccably maintained, the flower borders beautifully tended and the hedges trimmed to absolute perfection.
Chairs had been set out on the lawn for the select group of invited guests, all facing a romantic, flower adorned pergola overlooking the tranquil lake upon which the 15 acre island retreat stood.
With the ceremony about to start, the smartly dressed guests were bustling about, the excitement palpable, as they each set about finding their seats.
In the front row, on Sam’s side of the aisle, was Marcus Ellison, looking extremely dapper in his black tuxedo and silk bow tie and proudly representing his friends, Benedict and Meredith Beresford at the marriage of their only son.
Marcus still played a vital role in Beresford Holdings. Indeed, even though Sam had now assumed his rightful place as the head of The Company, he had asked Marcus to remain as his most trusted advisor. The truth was, there was no one he respected more for their breadth of knowledge and shrewd business acumen and Sam promised him a place by his side until such time when Marcus wished to retire.
However, he was now almost seventy-three years old and there was certainly no evidence of him slowing down anytime soon.
Indeed, his lust for life was never more apparent than when he was in his corner office on the seventy-first floor of the Beresford Building on Fifth Avenue.
Except for maybe today.
Close by, Roper Coyle was also making his way to his seat.
He felt extremely honoured to be invited as he could not really claim to know Sam or Miri well, but they had shared a rather tumultuous past and in doing so had earned a great deal of respect for one another. Miri would even describe it as a fondness, because if not for Roper’s sensitive handling of things and his innate understanding of the situation, then Sam might well have been serving time in a British prison and not getting married on his family estate today.
Nonetheless, society weddings - and this one had to fall somewhere into that category - were not Roper’s natural habitat and he was feeling somewhat awkward in such opulent surroundings. Yet he had been made to feel extremely welcome. Furthermore, Sam had flown him out to The States first class on an open-ended ticket so it seemed only right to attend.
In front of Roper, on the family seats next to Marcus, Vladimir Voronin was bouncing his baby grandson, Claude, on his knee. He was in charge of the little chap during the ceremony as the lad’s mother was attending to Miri and his father was busy being best man.
But Vladimir did not mind. In truth he treasured every moment he could get with the sturdy tike as he was the image of Vas when he was a child.
In actual fact, since Claude’s birth, Vladimir had mellowed considerably and was thoroughly enjoying his new role as Grandpa - or Dedushka - as Mikhail and Pyotr had rather humorously taken to calling him.
They both sat next to their father. The two strapping, heavily tattooed Russians looking uncharacteristically refined in their crisp new tuxes. Yet neither of them were fazed by the occasion and took it all in their stride. After all, Sam’s family home was only a fraction of the size and value of theirs back in Moscow.
But that was not the point.
They would have been there had Sam lived in a shed, a palace - or even on the moon as to them, he was their blood.
Furthermore, Sam did not care how out-of-place they may have looked or how his association with such villainous looking fellows might be perceived because quite simply, they were his brothers and without them there was no way he would have survived to see this day.
What is more, no matter their nefarious past, they were two of the most honourable men he knew and he would always have their back. As they would his.
Besides, even though Vladimir and his two eldest boys were certainly no angels, they were making a determined effort to fully legitimise their business interests and Sam would do all in his power to help them achieve that goal.
Across the aisle, Miri had no family in attendance. With her mother and father both dead and all other relatives lost to her over time, she would be the sole representative of the Dufour family.
However, she had invited many of her friends from university and a few others she had met at St. Thomas’ Hospital during her brief time there. Also sitting on her side of the aisle, offering her support, was Celine Sekibo. She was with her three daughters and their husbands; the women all looking brightly resplendent in traditional Nigerien dress.
Additionally, in the absence of her own father and in honour of her dearly departed best friend, Ekon Sekibo would be accompanying Miri down the aisle as acting Father of The Bride.
Indeed, although Ekon’s home was still in Niger, he now enjoyed a freelance role as Beresford Holdings ethical advisor and with his invaluable help, Sam was slowly making good on his promise to help the people of The Congo.
However, today, Ekon would be advising Miri on how best to control her nerves - not that she had even the slightest doubt concerning what she was about to do.
In the past year she had grown immeasurably as a person; her confidence and strength a shining inspiration to all women who had suffered at the hands of violent men, proving that given the right support it was possible to survive almost anything.
In light of this, and with Sam’s help, she had now set up her own foundation dedicated to helping and providing refuge to battered women.
Currently they had opened two purpose built centres, one in London, one in New York but many more were planned - including one in Kinshasa in the very near future.
Indeed, whilst Sam spent most of his days at the Beresford Building on Fifth Avenue, Mir
i devoted much of her time working as a resident doctor in their New York refuge.
Weekends and holidays, however, they spent together in New Hampshire.
***
The intimate ceremony was simple yet very romantic.
Miri looked absolutely stunning in an exquisite white dress; the long, flowing silk fitting her superb figure precisely.
In her hair, which was pinned up for the occasion, was a pretty crown of white daisies and pale blue violets which matched the small bouquet she clutched in her hands.
Alina, her maid of honour, and her other three bridesmaids all wore pale blue gowns to perfectly compliment the hue of the violets in her hair.
Opposite her, Sam stood tall and handsome in a beautifully tailored tuxedo, his blue eyes focussed only on the deep green of Miri’s and his heart bursting with love for her.
At his shoulder was Vas, his loyal friend who had remained faithful to him since the very first day they met back in Cambridge. There was no other person he would rather have standing beside him on this wonderful occasion.
So it was, with the golden sun shining down on the plush green lawns of the private island, beneath the pretty, flower adorned pergola, in the company of their family and friends, Sam and Miri finally exchanged vows and pledged their love for each other.
When the minister declared them to be husband and wife, they kissed to the rapturous applause of the delighted audience.
Their guests continued to clap as they made their way back down the aisle and upon reaching its end, they rewarded them by kissing again.
As they pulled away the newly married couple were both smiling and unbelievably happy.
Then, with their friends still cheering their union, Miri pulled Sam close and whispered softly in his ear, so only he could hear.
“I’m pregnant,” she said with an infectious little giggle.
Sam glared at her, his eyes wide with surprise, his mouth suddenly splitting into an ecstatic grin.
It was the best news ever.
In fact, it was the perfect end to a perfect day.
THE END.
Other novels by Kris Lillyman
Thrillers
Bad Blood
World On Fire: Bad Blood Part II
Finders Keepers
Dance With The Devil
Romantic Comedies
Jam Tops, The Fonz and The Pursuit of Cool
About The Author
Kris Lillyman is based in Northamptonshire, England and has worked as a freelance graphic designer and illustrator for over twenty-five years. He is married with two grown up children.
In addition to adult thrillers, he also writes and illustrates children’s books - to find out more about these, please visit:
www.krislillyman.com
Alternatively, search ‘Kris Lillyman’ in iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble or most other online bookstores.
Read on for an exciting preview of Finders Keepers - another of Kris Lillyman’s action packed books.
PROLOGUE
- 1 -
Berkshire, England 2003
By the time the party was over and the last of the stragglers had gone it was four in the morning but Peter Bearing, whose party it had been, was still clear-headed and focused. He, sipped a glass of ice cold Perrier as he wandered casually around his private gallery in his enormous home, trying to appreciate the great works that hung on the walls but, frankly, just not getting it. Peter was a refined, articulate and intelligent man but try as he might, art just didn’t do it for him.
He was killing time as he waited for the staff to finish up and get off home before he went upstairs. Normally he would let them see themselves out but tonight, or this morning as it now was, he needed to be certain that the house was empty. For what he had planned, there could be no witnesses.
The gallery was sparsely decorated with just two very uncomfortable but extremely stylish black leather sofas placed back to back on the polished, black marble floor in the centre of the large airy room. It had been designed to allow the ideal viewing experience, lots of open space in which to sit or stand and admire Peter’s priceless collection.
It was comprised mainly of contemporary pieces, or ‘modern art’ as Peter rather disparagingly referred to it, by artists such as Pollock, Lichtenstein and Warhol. There was also a Matisse, which he thought was vile, a Monet, which was just about bearable, and a couple of extremely hideous Picasso’s which Bearing just couldn’t understand. There was a Lowry too which, in his considered opinion, might as well have been painted by a child. Hanging uncomfortably alongside these, and much to the chagrin of Peter’s art advisor, he had a Rembrandt, a Vermeer and a Constable, which he thought of as ‘proper art’. The advisor felt that even though these were masterworks, they did not sit well with the rest of the collection, giving it a haphazard appearance. Peter disagreed, if Rembrandt was considered ‘haphazard’ then the art world really was beyond his comprehension.
In truth, Peter didn’t really care about any of the paintings or the names of the artists they were painted by for that matter. All he knew was that they were highly valuable, very sought after and, most importantly, his. And it pleased him very much to have things other people wanted.
Of course, no one from the party that night had been allowed into the gallery as this was reserved for only the most influential guests, those who could appreciate the value of the collection or those he was trying to impress. Mostly those he needed something from in return for his hospitality. Only one person fell loosely into that category tonight, but a look at Peter’s paintings or indeed a weekend at his fabulous home wouldn’t be enough to secure what he needed from that one. Other, more extreme methods were required for that. Bearing glanced at the shiny silver Breitling on his wrist and judged that by now, those methods should be well and truly underway.
The party had not been arranged for fun, not for Peter at least. It had been purely for business, the key part in a plot he’d been hatching for several years and tonight’s entertainment had been for the sole purpose of achieving his goal. This was the moment when everything finally came to fruition.
He drank the remains of the glass of water, pressed his right palm against the small screen of the digital palm scanner by the door then, after hearing an approving ‘beep’, punched in his four digit security code. After that, he snapped off the light in the gallery and shut the thick metal door behind him as he entered the wide hallway that ran adjacent to it. He waited a second for the whir of the heavy-duty locking mechanism to kick in. A second ‘beep’ and three short red flashes of the tiny light above the handle told him the gallery was now completely secure.
The hallway was again very sparse with scrubbed wooden floors, plain white walls, conceptual leather seating and abstract sculptures. Very desirable pieces is how they had been described. Ugly monstrosities is how Peter saw them but again, they were highly valuable and greatly sought after, so he liked them.
The head of the catering company, who doubled as the head waiter for the evening, passed by and collected Peter’s glass. “Nearly done now, sir,” he said, “They’re just finishing off in the drawing room and then we’ll be off - shouldn’t be long.” Peter nodded his approval and the waiter went on his way.
Bearing gave the man and his team a little longer than had been estimated, just to be certain, but after ten minutes he took the stairs down to the kitchens to check that they had finished.
Years ago, the area ‘below stairs’ used to be the old staff quarters but only a couple of the small rooms had escaped the complete remodelling of the lower level when Peter took over the house. The huge kitchen had been entirely redesigned and modernised and now instead of staff quarters there was a full size swimming pool, a luxury spa and a private cinema that could seat over fifty people. The staff quarters, if ever any were required to stay, were now in the converted s
table block at the back of the house. Modest accommodation but comfortable nonetheless.
However, Peter only hired staff by the event now, very few ever stayed the night, unless the occasion specifically required it and even then only those who were absolutely necessary such as maids and kitchen staff. However, Peter always hired the same people, from the same agency who had all been scrupulously checked out and who he paid very well to ensure their complete discretion.
The only permanent staff were the husband and wife team who stayed at the house whenever Peter wasn’t using it, just to manage the day to day running of the place and the ten strong security force who had a permanent base in the grounds - even though the house itself had a state-of-the-art security system that made it as impregnable as Fort Knox.
“That’s us done, sir. Goodnight!” Called the head waiter, who now had his white jacket off and his anorak on.
“Right. Thank you,” said Bearing, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sir,” hopefully see you next time.” Said the waiter as Bearing locked the door after him.
Bearing’s house was magnificent, built two centuries earlier in over three hundred acres of beautiful Berkshire countryside. Its landscaped gardens and lakes were breathtaking with a mile long driveway that meandered its way leisurely through the estate from the grand gated entrance to the grandly designed eighteenth century residence that stood regally at its end. On the outside the house was very much of its period, rich and exquisitely ornate, but on the inside it was a hi-tech, ultra modern palace with every luxury money could buy. No expense had been spared in creating the chic clinical lines and smoothly elegant curves that were a running theme throughout the highly contemporary inner space which made it an utterly breathtaking vision of style, design and elegance. The perfect advert for success, power and wealth that Bearing intended it to be.
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