He breathed it all in, and it was so good to be back in the midst of life and to enjoy the taste of freedom, but best of all, soon to be with his beautiful and wonderful, Christiana.
Daydreaming, he idly wondered where she was and what she might be doing.
Christiana was always so busy, and even now on her vacation in the UK she was still living in the fast lane, and what did she say?
She was at Sheverill’s Farm near Sherston, a madhouse and wanted to get out, so meet her in Malmesbury at garage of old friend, Ted Willis.
In the bustle of the bus depot, he found that the one he wanted was already in its slot, and joining the queue, listened as the other passengers told the driver of their destinations, his ears pricking up when he realised this bus went to Sherston on its way to Malmesbury, and when the driver asked him, he said, ‘One way please.’
Ted saw Tara’s gaze flicking everywhere as she watched the market square coming to life, and she smiled so happily as the old town settled on her.
Tugging at his sleeve, she pointed to the curiosities in the market square, but soon they had to leave for the garage, it was almost time to open up and old Len would be arriving on his ancient bicycle.
As the two men brought the garage to life, she busied herself in Ted’s chaotic office, and sang quite happily while the water for tea boiled on the big old wood burner.
She smiled at the clutter of Ted’s filing system, and except for the old black phone, there was a complete lack of technology, no computer, fax, copier, or even a typewriter.
The garage was a relic, lost in time.
Gazing around happily, she suddenly stopped when she saw the calendar on the far wall.
So why was such a beautiful young woman smiling so seductively to no-one at all, and why was she naked except for stockings, and why was she pushing out her lovely breasts to anyone who cared to look?
She cringed when she remembered what some horrible men did to girls dressed like that, and the more she gazed, the more her heart went out to her.
Eyes brimming over, she snatched a pen from the desk and began to write fast and carefully on the glossy calendar.
Dear lady, I know how horrible it must be for you to have to do wicked things like this, and I hope one day you’ll be free, like me. Lots and lots of love, your friend, Tara. XXX
By mid-morning, Ted was ready for a mug of tea, and returning to the office, saw the calendar, and Tara’s message.
It burnt fiercely for a few minutes, and the chard pieces blew away across the yard.
Driving past Hawthorn Cottage, Lucinda parked her sports BMW a little way up the road from the Willis garage, and when she checked her persona in the rear-view mirror, saw a woman dressed in a smart business suit which complimented her shimmering black hair and the half-moon platinum glasses, and her small black leather handbag contained nothing more than a plastic bag with a man’s handkerchief, soaked in Mace.
Watching, she saw an old man cheerfully serving his customers at the petrol pumps, but later her eyes suddenly narrowed in fierce concentration when a childlike figure with tight blonde curls carried a steaming mug of tea out to the old man.
Studying her closely, she cross referred to the Minotaur description, and now there was no doubt in her mind that she was looking at Tara Goodwin.
As she watched the scene she calculated her arrival time at Southampton Water, and her meeting with the yacht, Polyvotis.
While thinking through the possible scenarios of how to steal this girl, the little blonde suddenly walked out of the garage and strode happily up towards the market square.
The square was now alive with all manner of people, mothers chatting while their babies looked around from pushchairs and buggies, the men loading groceries into cars, and then the bus from Bath drew in on the far side of the square and set its passengers down.
With Lucinda following, Tara checked her shopping list and made her way into a pretty little bakery crammed full with pies, fresh bread and cakes.
Looking through the window, Lucinda smiled as the girl took her time to choose jam doughnuts and chocolate eclairs, and paying, wandered out, checking her list.
‘Excuse me, but are you Miss Goodwin. Miss Tara Goodwin?’
Spinning round she looked into the beautiful dark eyes of an elegant professional lady.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Oh thank goodness I found you, Mr Willis said you’d be here somewhere, what a relief.’
‘Why? What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Well he’s been asking for you, and such an unfortunate accident.’
‘Accident? Who’s had an accident?’
Fumbling in the pocket of her jacket, Lucinda drew out her Identity card.
‘Sorry, please excuse my manners, I’m just a little addled today. You see my name is Claudette, Denise Claudette, I’m from Cardinal and I happened to be passing through your area when the call went out to look for you. So was he … I mean, is he a close friend?’
Tara stared in confusion, ‘Who?’
‘My goodness, didn’t I say? So sorry, it’s Mr Lewis, and he’s had a bad fall, at, oh …, something Manor. I can’t quite remember, would it be, Tornby Manor?’
Tara began to tremble, ‘No, it’s Thornley. Thornley Manor. So how is he?’
‘Well I really don’t know, as I said, it was a general call to find you, but Mr Lewis was quite sure you were staying with Mr Willis in Malmesbury, and as I was passing through, I thought it only fair to check, and thank goodness I did.’
‘So where is he?’
‘I understand he was taken by air-ambulance to that specialist hospital near Salisbury, and his office thought you should know because he’s desperate to see you one last time.’
Tara’s eyes brimmed over when she remembered everything he’d done for her.
‘So what would you like to do? Mr Willis said he could take you to the hospital later, or if you prefer, you can come with me now, and he’ll follow on just as soon as he can.
It’s up to you, of course, but I did get the impression it’s really quite urgent.’
Tara nodded dumbly as her emotions tried to cope with it all.
Dmitri stepped off the bus, so relieved to be in Malmesbury at last, and shouldering the backpack, looked around and saw a line of shops on the other side of the square.
Making his way across, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out to him from a pretty little bakery, but the pavement was crowded and a woman and girl were blocking the way.
‘Excuse please.’
The woman swung round, and glowering to him, snatched her handbag away.
Dmitri frowned, and pushing on through, knocked the bag from the girl’s fingers and jam doughnuts and eclairs spilled down around their feet.
‘Oh, I sorry. Accident of me. We buy more. Yes?’
Staring at him, the girl seemed confused, but the beautiful Spanish-looking lady flashed anger at him, and easing the girl away, left the cakes on the pavement.
Dmitri spread his hands in apology, but the pretty little girl was soon lost in the crowd as the Spanish looking woman guided her away to a line of parked cars.
With a sigh, he turned back, and seeing a postman, asked, ‘Where is garage, please?’
The postman pointed to a side road leading off from the square, and said it wasn’t far.
Dmitri walked away with lingering thoughts of the sad girl and her lost cakes, but then, down the curving road, the old garage came into view and his mind suddenly cleared.
For some strange reason it was jogging memories, memories of a Spetsnatz operation.
That garage had been like that, just so quiet and ordinary it made the perfect safe house.
He became wary.
Christiana was CIA, Royal Edict Force, so her circle of friends would be small and she’d told him to go to old friend, Ted.
So this man might have his roots in Christiana’s world, international espionage, and if so, this garage could
take him back through the Crystal Curtain where nothing was ever as it appeared to be.
So was this man, true friend, or friend of convenience?
It would only take one phone call to sell him, and he would fetch a good price on the intelligence circuit, because Dmitri Kosakov, the ex-Colonel of Spetsnatz, Alpha Group, KGB Intelligence was the Colonel who’d brought out to the west, the complete file of the Russian Mafia, and the more he thought about it, the less happy he felt.
Something was wrong, he could smell it, and thanks to Licity, he had no documents.
Walking up, he asked the old man serving petrol if he was Mr Ted, but he shook his head and pointed to a pair of legs sticking out from under a car, so he called down.
‘Hello? Mr Ted?’
Grunting, he slid out and looked up, ‘That’s right. So how can I help?’
Dmitri looked down to the big man, ‘A friend of me, say this garage, very good.’
Ted smiled, ‘Well you know what they say, recommendation is the best advertising,’ and getting up, wiped his hands on a rag, ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I buy car, maybe … It need work, brakes not good. I buy, you fix?’
Ted picked his teeth, ‘I might, so what is it?’
Dmitri thought back to the car he’d wanted so badly in London, but Licity said no.
‘It Jaguar, Mk 11, 1964, 3.8 litre, manual, overdrive, go like shit.’
Ted smiled, ‘Yeah, nice car, but it might cost a fortune to sort out.’
‘Money okay, friend say you honest man.’
He grinned, ‘Sounds like I owe your friend a drink. So who is he?’
‘No he. She. Christiana Levett. She meet me here to see car. She here now?’
Ted stood back in surprise, ‘Chrissy is your friend ..? Well why didn’t you say so, but I haven’t seen her since we got rid of a bottle of Scotch, and that’s a while ago.’
Dmitri fell silent.
Christiana not here, and no message.
Was she still at Sheverill madhouse farm?
She say get out soon, she send Valkerie.
So where is Christiana?
3 9
As Lucinda drove quickly out of Malmesbury, Tara began to come out of the shock.
‘I should have told Ted I was leaving with you. Could we go back please?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry, he’ll guess you’re driving down with me, but if it makes you feel better, you could call him on my mobile.’
‘Yes please, I’d like that.’
‘Alright, there’s a lay-by just up the road, we’ll phone from there.’
Driving on, Lucinda smiled when the lay-by came into view.
The only vehicle there was a large truck and it was pulling out onto the main road.
‘The mobile’s in the glove box, so do you know the number?’
‘Oh. No, I don’t.’
‘Never mind. Call directory enquires and give his name and address.’
Tara tapped in the number, and as she waited, Lucinda cruised to the end of the lay-by, and winding the window down, opened her handbag.
The operator was still saying, Directory Enquiries, can I help you when the handkerchief was placed firmly over Tara’s nose and mouth, and as she struggled, thought her lungs would explode while her mind suffocated in a crescendo of fear, and dropping the phone, collapsed back unconscious in the seat.
Smiling, Lucinda switched off the phone, and taking Tara’s face in her hands, thought if it wasn’t for the Mace, how nice it would be to kiss her, lusciously and full on the mouth.
‘My, my, you are a lovely little thing, and it’s such a shame you have to go sailing because I could do things with you, that your mother would never, ever approve of.’
She laughed.
‘But never mind, when they’ve finished with you on the yacht, you might come back to me, and if you’re good, I might even let you sleep in the same box with Chrissy.’
And with a dark chuckle, threw a travel rug over her.
Dmitri had turned down Ted’s offer of a brew.
Something was obviously wrong and he knew instinctively that his Christiana would never have sent that Valkerie note if she hadn’t intended to be waiting for him at the garage in Malmesbury.
Striding back up to the market square, he remembered she’d only spoken of that farm because she wanted to leave, she said it was crazy, like Licity.
And she’d sent the note, so she would know he would travel to Malmesbury.
It made no sense. Unless she hadn’t been able to leave the farm.
Pushing through the crowded market square, he saw just what he’d been hoping for.
The shop was old and had just about everything a countryman could wish for, the shelves and counters overflowing with spades, wrecking bars, forks, galvanised pots, pans, kettles, wheel-barrows, buckets, hurricane lamps, tins - and good strong knives.
Choosing carefully, he selected a hardened steel blade, just perfectly balanced with a leather handle, and though it wasn’t as good as his old Spetsnatz knife, it would do.
Back on the market square he found a phone box, and calling a taxi, said to pick him up outside the little bakery and take him to Sherston.
The colourful squashed mess of trampled cakes was still on the pavement when he walked into the bakery shop and bought four, fresh meat and vegetable pies, and he’d just finished the second when the taxi arrived, and settling himself, gave the address Christiana had mentioned in Glastonbury.
‘Sherston, please. Sheverill farm.’
As the taxi sped along, he knew he was leaving a trail a child could follow, let alone Licity’s people, but what choice was there, if he couldn’t find Christiana, it was all over.
As the taxi swung into a lane of high trees, he saw the sign in the hedge.
Sheverill’s Farm. Organic Produce.
Telling the driver to stop, he got out, paid the fare, and the taxi drove away.
The air was warm and heavy in the lane, and as he walked on, the road noise faded away and he realised he was heading into a dead-end.
Walking round a curving bend, the sight of a Dacha suddenly brought him to a halt.
He’d expected to find a working farm, but this was more like a grand old house with everything shouting money and power.
The grounds spread out in all directions, with stables and a horsebox, and in the courtyard stood a bright red Ferrari, but the tyres looked nearly flat, so why should that be?
As he scanned over the scene, an uneasy, creeping sense of awareness came over him.
This house looked sombre, mournful and brooding, and when his intuition kicked in, he stepped quickly across the lane, jumped over the ditch and walked deep into the cover of the woodland, and drawing closer, saw a path running all the way around the old house.
Everything was as silent as the grave as Dmitri made his way along the sheltered path, and coming to an area of seats, gazed at the erotic ornamental fountain, and thought only the British aristocracy could combine the beauty of sculpture with the decadence of undisguised pornography. So what kind of people lived here?
A path to the right led to a cottage, but there was no sign of life, and ahead stood only glass buildings glinting in the sun, but beyond a herb garden he saw the door and windows of a large room set at the back of the house.
Approaching silently, he peered through the window and saw an enormous kitchen, but trying the door, found it firmly locked.
Moving on, he came to a curving line of bushes, and pushing through, stepped onto a terrace and saw a hammock swinging gently in the breeze, but the cushions had been thrown and scattered all over the terrace. Looking across, he saw a pair of French doors and one of them was standing slightly open.
So was someone inside?
Peering into the room, he saw it was large, comfortable and empty, and stepping inside, no sound came to him as he moved on from room to room, and seeing the disappearing steps of a wide carpeted staircase, began to climb,
but the heavy wood of the banister was splintered and shattered as if hit by a heavy calibre weapon.
So had there been a battle here?
Holding the heavy knife, lightly in his hand, he went carefully.
There had been trouble here, but not instantaneous, it takes a while to let down four tyres. So had something been planned and it went wrong, if so, what else might he find in this sinister old house.
Reaching the landing he saw corridors disappearing away into the gloom, and as he stood there listening, heard a soft moan of pain drifting out through the shadows.
Ted had fitted the new prop-shaft and almost finished tightening the bolts when he stopped with the spanner in mid-air.
Tara had been gone too long.
At first he’d tried to ignore it, wanting to give her space to be herself, but he couldn’t pretend any longer.
She’d been gone for far too long.
Sliding out from under the old truck, he wiped his hands as he walked up through the workshop, and saw Len, his face worried as he walked in from the forecourt.
‘Alright, Len, don’t say it, I’m going to look for her now.’
An hour of searching and asking questions all over, had only proved three things.
Tara had been happy when she’d bought cakes from the bakery, and then was seen talking with a beautiful Spanish looking lady, but had just disappeared leaving the cakes squashed in a mess on the pavement.
He walked back to the garage in a daze. How could he have been so stupid?
Jesus Christ, hadn’t he learnt anything, and hadn’t Lewis made it clear she was in danger.
He thought he’d won the game when he’d brought her safely away from the tavern.
But he should have known better, at this level, the bastards don’t give up, and now they’d obviously taken her.
Len could only stare when he saw Ted walking back alone, his eyes dull and shiny wet, and knew in his heart that something bad had happened to that beautiful little girl.
Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) Page 40