‘Now is that a fact. Well thanks John. Now do something for me, ask around and try to find out if anyone else is shafting her, it might get you off a night shift.’
The Jaguar was halfway to the manor when Frank saw a long since fallen tree, it wasn’t too far from the road but well out of earshot, so he told the driver to stop.
‘Come on Monty, we need to talk.’
Carrying him in a piggy back, Frank took him over and sat him down by the tree.
‘Right then, Monty. So why the hell are you doing this? And spare me the bullshit, we’ve been friends for too long.’
Monty caught his breath, ‘Very well, old chap, I suppose you have a right to know.’
Taking a cigarette, Frank blew smoke while Monty sat quietly and collected his thoughts.
‘Well you see, the truth is, I’m doing this for my Sarah. Do you remember her?’
‘Of course I do. Lovely little Sarah. So how is she?’
‘She’s fine, but not so little now.’ He took out the well-thumbed pages of a letter.
‘She’s in Australia, studying Geology at Sidney University.’
He tapped the letter, ‘She’s just about to go on a field trip to Ayers Rock.’
Frank was puzzled, ‘Yeah, okay, but what has Sarah got to do with you, doing this?’
Monty looked back to his beautiful lady driver, and her powerful, miniature binoculars.
‘Well I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse, because if I had refused our lady of Cardinal, my dear Sarah would have had the most tragic accident at Ayers Rock.’
As the two men sat in a heavy silence, Monty, as usual, must have read Frank’s thoughts.
‘I have come to realise that dear Angela has a certain panache for control by morality, other people’s morality, and by the simple application of relying on others to live by their code of morals, she is then released from the burden of having any of her own.’
Frank stared at him, ‘Now look, Monty, I know you come from those posh schools and you practically wrote the book on psychological interrogation ... but do me a favour and try to speak in plain English, because sometimes you do my head in.’
‘Sorry, I tend to forget, but you see, I believe Angela has already created our future, the only trouble being, I can’t see a future at the end of this game, not for anyone.’
Driving down the avenue, the manor house suddenly came into view and it reminded Frank of that sad old church hidden in the copse of trees, and for some reason it made him think of Monty’s words, because the future had to stop somewhere, and as the car came to a halt, he remembered Angela’s callous words.
'The only link we have is sex and Miss Goodwin, and she should be our starting point.'
The official car came to rest at the foot of an enormous flight of stone steps all worn smooth by the countless use of ages, and looking up over the old house, Frank saw a tiny figure standing all alone at the top of the steps.
She was slim but curvaceous and dressed in a smart charcoal grey suit, cream blouse and high heeled shoes which displayed the erotic curves of her legs, her exquisite elfin face, angelic, and surrounded by a cascade of tight blonde curls.
As Frank gazed at her, he remembered Angela’s, almost bitter, impersonal words.
'So if you were to screw her yourself, you might find out what’s going on.’
Looking away, he opened the door, and as he eased Monty out of the car, she came down, her high heels clicking as she side-stepped in the tight skirt.
‘Gentlemen, good morning, and how nice to meet you. I’m Tara, Tara Goodwin, so won’t you please come in, and there’s fresh coffee if you wish.’
Appearances can be deceptive, and Frank thought this young lady could deceive anyone.
He guessed her age to be roughly early to mid-twenties, and although old enough to be a member of MI5, it was unheard of for someone of her age to be head of security.
His first impression of the diminutive Tara Goodwin was that she was a very clever lady, her eyes clearly shining with a bright and quick intelligence, but the more he gazed into their emerald sparkle, the more something came to confuse him, her eyes stirring up a dark memory, a memory of Emily, all that time ago in the carer’s house.
Pushing the thoughts away, he tried not to frown as he offered his hand.
‘Hello, Miss Goodwin. My name’s Lewis and this is Monty, and yes, thank you, coffee would be most welcome.’
Lifting Monty in a piggy back, he carried him up the steps while Tara’s high heels clicked beside them, and when she discussed the weather with Monty’s bobbing head, just as easily and naturally as if they were riding to hounds, he couldn’t help thinking this young lady was either super cool or she had all the innocence of a child.
Reaching the top, she skipped on ahead to open the huge front door, and following her, Frank sat Monty down in a leather armchair, and gazing around, saw oak panelling everywhere along with fabulous paintings and rich colourful carpets, and on either side of the reception area, a pair of grand curving staircases swept up to a huge balcony on the next level, and beneath was an archway of stone, and a carpeted passageway of wood panelling that seemed to disappear into the rambling depths of the enormous old house.
As Frank marvelled at the dedication required to build a place like this, he became aware of Monty who was now wheezing heavily, and looking down, saw his face was etched with pain while his chest fought for every breath.
He seemed in a bad way, and looking at him, Frank couldn’t help wondering if the effort of moving around in this enormous old house might just be the finish of him.
Tara watched the scene through bright eyes, and walking off across the reception area, pulled open a door in the hallway and brought out an old fashioned wheelchair.
‘Would this be helpful?’
Frank swung round, ‘Oh yes, Miss Goodwin, it certainly would. Thank you so much.’
Taking a soft cushion from an old armchair, Tara patted it down until it fitted perfectly, and looking up, gently and softly told Monty that a service lift travelled to each floor.
As Frank watched, he saw nothing in her eyes except the caring sadness of a child.
Pushing Monty gently in the chair, Frank followed as she led them down the hallway, and couldn’t help wondering if Angela’s assessment of this young lady was complete.
There had been no mention of her soft, caring side, only of her as a willing MI5 whore, so if the assessment was incomplete, what else had been left unsaid about her.
Taking them into a side corridor, Tara opened a large door, and as Frank pushed Monty inside, saw it was furnished in the same way as the reception area, with fine paintings on oak panelled walls, leather armchairs and antique furniture, and in the middle of a curving bay window, French doors led out onto a sun drenched balcony, and as Tara poured coffee, Frank left Monty to catch his breath while he wandered outside to smoke a cigarette.
The view was from the front of the house and it was quite spectacular, with box hedges and gardens of a dozen colours, and a lake with an island, and lazy trees that spread their boughs to give dappled shade while magnificent peacocks strolled around unhurried.
As he idly gazed around, he heard Tara offering coffee and biscuits to Monty, then her high heels came clicking towards him over the expanse of the flagstones, but she stopped abruptly when she saw his cigarette.
‘Mr Lewis, it’s quite permissible to smoke out here, but please, never inside the house, there are smoke sensors everywhere. So how would you like your coffee?’
He asked for black, no sugar, and bringing it out, she joined him to look over the view, and while they drank, he thought his guess was probably correct.
She could be no more than twenty-two, although when the light caught the angle of her tiny angelic face she could be anything from twelve to sixteen, and in different clothes, even younger.
11
The more he thought about it the more it bothered him that she had this job, and it didn
’t matter if she was good enough, capable or intelligent enough, the fact remained that she was just too young to be head of security.
As he studied her more closely there came a clattering of crockery from inside the room, and swinging round, they saw Monty leaning forward. Scattered all around him was a mess of crockery, spilt coffee and broken biscuits.
Moving quickly, Frank knelt down beside him, ‘Are you alright?’
Monty’s cage-like chest wheezed as a thin apologetic smile passed over his face.
‘Yes, my old friend. So sorry. Clumsy of me. I seem to have made quite a mess.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, I do it all the time.’
Tara edged over to Frank’s side, and kneeling down, gazed wide eyed to Monty.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Montague, it’s all my fault, I should have given you a tray.’
Monty wheezed, ‘That’s alright my dear, you’re too kind, but it wasn’t your fault.’
She bit her lip, ‘I’ll send for a cleaner and make some fresh coffee.’
Watching Tara walk out, Frank pushed Monty into the fresh air of the balcony.
‘Monty, I’ve got a problem - right now I’m finding it hard to buy into all that bad stuff we’ve been told about Miss Goodwin.’
‘I quite agree, but the trouble is, there’s no smoke without flame.’
‘That’s right, and although Miss Goodwin and Sheverill could simply have been lovers, that business with her uncle, Bromsgrove, is just too weird to even think about.’
‘And that, I fear, is the problem, and although we might not want to believe it, Angela might just be right, so when we do find the truth, I wonder what it will be?’
Monty entwined his fingers as various random thoughts came tumbling into his head.
Her sexual involvement with Sheverill and Bromsgrove seems to have convinced Angela that Tara Goodwin is nothing less than a nymphomaniac wild child, but that argument falls apart because MI5 placed her here as head of security when clearly they should not have done so.
As Monty’s thoughts sank ever deeper, a dark feeling of unease slowly began to grow, and then an ugly possibility, reluctantly, but insistently came upon him.
Everything seemed to centre around the fact she was too young to be Head of Security, but maybe that logic was upside down, and if one considers the Chaos Theory, the logic of the madhouse could apply, and she might not be too young at all, but almost, too old.
It was a terrifying thought, but if true, it meant that someone had a hidden agenda here that involved a tiny and beautiful, extremely young looking woman.
But why? And for what purpose?
Tara returned with a cleaner, and making fresh coffee, said she would take them into the house, but Frank wasn’t sure, and something was telling him he needed more time.
‘Monty, let’s calm things down, and anyway, half an hour won’t make any difference.’
‘I quite agree, and if the meeting with Mr Dudley could be put back to twelve o’clock, I feel keeping the gentleman waiting might be good for us.’
‘Okay. I’ll give Miss Goodwin something to do, and we can talk in private.’
‘Miss Goodwin, Monty needs to rest for a while, so would you tell Mr Dudley we’ll see him at twelve, and also, could you run off the details of everyone that works here, you know the sort of thing, name, age, job description, length of service, and anything personal you may have discovered. Oh, and by the way, you’d better include yourself.’
Tara almost dropped the cup she was fiddling with, ‘Me?’
‘I’m afraid so. No exceptions are allowed.’
She shuddered, ‘Very well. So is there anything else?’
‘Not that I can think of, I guess the rest will sort itself out.’
She nodded, straight faced and began to move away, but faltered and slowly turned back.
‘It would save time if you let me have your Section ID cards now, and I can arrange for the issue of your internal security passes.’
Frank stared at her. She’d said, Section ID cards, which meant Angela was playing both ends against the middle, and this young lady was now in for a nasty surprise.
Handing over his ID, Tara became rigid as her gaze fixed on the word, CARDINAL.
She’d been led to believe the Section would be handling the investigation, and as an MI5 officer, her handlers would have been there to protect her, but no-one would help her now, not if there was even the slightest chance of offending Cardinal.
Walking stiffly across the room, she fumbled with the door, and stepping outside, felt hot and sick, nausea churning at her stomach, her thoughts spiralling down in utter disbelief, because after everything she’d done for them, they would disappear and leave her alone.
Monty had watched everything through sad eyes, ‘Oh that poor girl.’
Frank sighed, ‘Yeah. Well someone sure has taken her for a ride.’
Monty agreed, ‘But at least we know it can’t be her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well it seems three Cardinal secondments were authorised to cover this operation, our two, and one secret other, so although that thankfully rules out Daniels and Coogan, we simply don’t know who the third Cardinal is.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same, and that ghost watcher is there for a good reason, and with Sheverill and Bromsgrove both dead, we’ve lost two players already.’
Monty looked up, ‘Three, dear boy, if Carole Sanderson was involved.’
‘That’s right, but she’s the odd one out. They all died in roughly the same time frame, but the other two had been having regular sex with Miss Goodwin.’
‘Exactly. So we need to find out if the young lady has been giving her favours to anyone else here, and sadly, sex and Miss Goodwin is the only link we have.’
‘It seems that way, but what I’d really like to know, is who placed her here?’
‘And why? Why, is the key to it all.’
Ambrose Dudley stood at his office window, but for all of the beauty around him, all he could see was the desolation of a bleak future.
Someone had managed to destroy his life, and in these private moments of reflection, it still seemed inconceivable that after all the years of his unstinting attention to detail, that most precious of jewels in Thornley’s crown, the Leonardo da Vinci wing had somehow been compromised, invaded and raped.
And now, in its turn, the inevitable course of official retribution would come to him.
The accusers were here, they who would trample their disgusting feet all over the manor, and having peered into his life, would say, ‘You, Ambrose Dudley, have failed.’
He sighed.
And the final degradation had come when he’d been told by her to stay here in his room. So what right had she to wander free, had the filthy little slut seduced the accusers as well?
Frank saw Tara nervously enter the room, and watching, leant down to Monty.
‘She’s back, and we’ll be seeing Dudley soon, so how do you want to play him, knuckles and wine, or just forget the old routine and concentrate on the sex angle, because if he’s been playing games with her as well, he might be next in line to get slotted.’
‘That’s true, and it almost seems that to have a sexual relationship with Miss Goodwin, could be the same as inviting a death sentence, and I wish I knew why.’
Tara walked across the balcony, ‘Gentlemen, this is the information you asked for.’
Monty took the folder, but Tara was staring at Frank, her eyes moist and accusing.
‘And I think you’ll find I’ve included everything you need to know, about me …’
As Monty began to cross-refer all the various pieces of information held in the folder, Frank was wondering where she’d lived before being inserted here at Thornley Manor.
‘Miss Goodwin, it’s very quiet here, so don’t you miss the bright lights of the city?’
‘No, I never have, the traffic and congestion gets me down, and anyway, I
much prefer the countryside with its flowers and fresh air, it suits me so much better.’
He smiled, ‘Well I can’t argue with that, and to be perfectly honest, I’d rather count the scabs on a tramp’s arse than sit in traffic fumes every day.’
Tara was taken by surprise at his wicked sense of humour, and feeling the tension lift, looked down and couldn’t help but smile.
Frank grinned back, ‘So where do you live, is it around here, somewhere local?’
She looked up, ‘But I live here, I have an apartment on the third floor, No 3.’
Monty stopped reading, and softly closing the folder, gazed up intently to her.
‘Miss Goodwin. Do you actually live here, permanently, I mean?’
She nodded, ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘But don’t you ever get bored? Living over the shop, so to speak?’
‘No, not at all. I have plenty to occupy my time.’
‘I see, and Mr Dudley, does he have an apartment here as well?’
‘Of course, and as head of station, he has number 1.’
‘And does he live here permanently?’
‘No, not as such, but he does stay over sometimes, and usually on a Thursday night, what with Friday being the busiest day of the week.’
‘Really, how interesting, and does that also apply to his secretary, Mrs Carthwaite.’
‘Yes, it’s the same for her, her apartment is next to mine, number 2.’
Monty slipped into thought, ‘And would you say, Mr Dudley and Mrs Carthwaite are in anyway, romantically involved?’
Tara frowned, bemused, ‘Hardly.’
‘Oh, and why so?’
‘Because Mr Dudley is homosexual, I thought you knew.’
Monty flipped the folder open again, his mouth tight as he scanned through the lines.
‘It doesn’t say so in your file, and as his sexuality could be considered a security risk, isn’t that omission rather regrettable.’
‘I didn’t feel it necessary, his dedication to duty is beyond doubt, and anyway, half of the offices in the civil service, if not to mention MI5 itself, would be deserted if homosexuals and lesbians were persona non grata.’
Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) Page 12