‘No, I’m not. We live on a boat. My husband gave up full-time work five years ago and bought a motor yacht. Now we go wherever the fancy takes us.’
‘Nice one. Like where?’
‘Waters of the UK, Europe, Greece, Spain, France. Wherever the fancy takes us and the sun is.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘It is. He was brought up in Conwy, but he still has some work round here.’
‘Which are?’
‘This and that. He started out in the fishing industry, but now he’s in tourism. Hotels, apartments, high-end accommodation’ She was briefly silent and then asked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Seb.’
‘Seb. As in Sebastian?’ He nodded. ‘Mine’s Ella. Pleased to meet you.’
He stood up, ‘Got to go.’
She looked surprised. ‘If you wait while I finish this, I won’t be long, it’s only a snack, I can show you our boat. That’s if you’re interested.’ He gave her a look. She was coming onto him, big time. She was bored and she wanted a diversion, possibly sex. Was he up for it? He mentally undressed her. She was okay, but a little too skinny for his taste. She noticed his scrutiny. ‘It’s just the boat, I’ll show you. That is, if you have time? We’re rather proud of it. ’
He looked away. He was suspicious. He was being drawn into something. What, he didn’t know. On the other hand, why not? No harm would be done. He was tired of living like a monk. Ella would know the score. It wouldn’t be her first time and it certainly wasn’t his. He said, ‘Okay. Lead the way.’
The Marina was a short drive away. She offered him a lift, but he insisted on driving himself. He followed her into the car park, parking his Toyota a little distance away from where was waiting. She led the way along a pontoon, passing through lines of luxury ocean going yachts, all carrying an impressive range of radar equipment. He knew very little about boats but it was obvious; there was some serious money to own any one of these. She came to a stop by a large, white, sleek boat.
‘This is it. Tom’s pride and joy. A twenty-metre Princess with a flying bridge. He’d always wanted one of these.’ She turned to look at him, ‘What do you think? Do you know much about boats?’
‘Nothing at all. I’m impressed. He’d have to have saved his pennies for that.’
She laughed. ‘Well, as he says, you can’t take it with you, so if you’ve got it, spend it. I’ll show you inside.’
They walked to the stern. Taking a torch-shaped gadget from her bag, she pressed in a code. The back swung open and after they’d entered, she pressed another button which operated its closure. He followed her up a short flight of stairs into a large saloon. Sleekly designed, the fittings were made of ash. Opulent was the word that came to Seb’s mind. He took in the clean lines of the fittings, the cream leather seating, the large windows on all sides, and the wall-mounted, framed photographs of the Welsh National Rugby Union. The only discordant note was a small, untidy, pile of books on a side table. Everything was electronically controlled by a press of a gadget. She put on the light. The blinds on the windows swung down.
‘I have to do that,’ she said. ‘People are nosey. They haven’t got enough to do… and there’s thieves hanging around the Marina. Won’t you sit down?’ He sat down. ‘Like a drink?’
‘No, I’m fine thanks. I’ve had enough. I have to drive back.’
‘Where to?’
‘Oh, somewhere in the mountains. I know the way, but not the name.’
She didn’t seem to notice his evasive answer. ’Well, I’m having one. I won’t be a minute.’
She disappeared. While she was gone, he wandered over to the books, and picked one up, called Blessed Unrest. He flicked through the pages. It was about the environment and the global protest movements. Surprising, he thought, it’s the type of book Matt might have on his shelves but not one he’d expect to see on a millionaire’s yacht. He sat down to wait for her. She reappeared with two glasses and a bottle of champagne which with a practised gesture, she opened, half filled each glass and pushed one in front of him.
‘Champagne. I know you said you didn’t want a drink, but I can’t drink on my own so I thought maybe you’d like just the one.’
She sat down opposite him and smiled. A version of Carole, he knew what was coming, but right now he didn’t care too much. ‘Okay. If you twist my arm.’
She watched as he took a sip. ‘Like it?’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ He was back at Canary Wharf, remembering how he used to drink champers, always a prelude to bedding a woman. This time he was on the receiving end. ‘It’s good.’
‘Have another.’
He did, and another, and after his third, he leant back. It was time to take the initiative.
‘Ella, we both know why you invited me here.’
‘What?’ She looked surprised.
‘So where’s the bedroom. I presume there’s more than one.’ She didn’t reply. He continued, ‘I haven’t got much time. I’ve got to get back. I prefer not to see the dawn break.’
She stood up, turned her back on him, picked up a book and looked at it closely, before she answered. ‘You’re nothing if not brutal.’
‘Brutal? It’s about being straightforward, don’t you think?’ He looked intently at her, ‘You picked me out in the restaurant because, if you excuse the pun, I looked like a ship passing in the night. Nothing more than that.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that… I was hoping, that at least, you might stay the night.’
‘No chance.’
‘Don’t you have any romance in your soul?’
‘No, it’s not my nature. Besides, you’re a married woman and you’re hardly looking for something long term.’
‘You seem to know the score.’
‘If you mean that I’ve been propositioned by a married woman before, then you’re right. The game’s familiar, but the rules don’t suit. Not anymore.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘Curiosity, boredom, the same as you, I presume. Nothing more, nothing less.’
She threw back her remaining drink, walked towards the door, and said, ‘Okay, if that’s how you want it. I’ll be five minutes.’
She was longer than five minutes. In fact, she took so long he had to go and find her. She was sitting up in a double bed, with a sheet wrapped round her, and was smoking, He hesitated before he walked over and removed the cigarette from her mouth. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he said. He walked across to an ashtray, and ground it to a small pulp. ‘Why smoke?’ he asked. ‘It’s a disgusting habit.’ She shrugged. He slowly took off his clothes.
He went through the motions, but he felt little desire. There was zilch chemistry between them. She was passive, unresponsive, almost like an automaton, and afterwards, she turned away from him, and fell asleep. It must have been the drink but that suited him. It had been a mistake having sex with her. He regretted it. He’d rather have been with Nixie. He lay on his back, his arms behind his head, waited for half an hour until her breathing was deep and slow and then left, climbing down a small ladder he found hanging down the side of the boat.
He’d reached the end of the pontoon when he heard her. She was calling his name. He quickened his pace, didn’t look back. He reached the Marina car park, identified where he’d parked his car and walked rapidly towards it, his feet crunching into the loose gravel. He glanced across Two men were sitting in a car, watching him. Coppers. They had to be, even though their car was unmarked. He pretended not to notice them, taking extra care to walk confidently as he passed them, aware he might have had one too many. Being pulled up for drunken driving wouldn’t go down too well, not with Gimp or his hosts.
But he felt rattled and sat in his car for a moment, thinking through what he should do to get them off his back. He’d wait. He’d see which way they went and whichever way that was,
he’d go in the opposite direction. He took out his mobile and pretended to make calls. He looked up. Fuck, they were still there. Maybe they were monitoring the comings and goings of visitors and had no interest in him. After all, she’d mentioned the thefts from the boats. He was feeling more and more suspicious but if he continued sitting in his car, and they were coppers, there was a good chance they’d get out and ask what he was waiting for.
He pulled the car door open and walked purposely towards the pontoon, as if he’d forgotten something. He was halfway along, when to his horror, he saw Ella. She was in some kind of white dressing gown, standing on the stern, looking out over the Marina and smoking. She hadn’t seen him. He did a rapid turnaround, and made his way back, just in time to see the coppers pulling out of the car park. They took a left-hand turn and disappeared down one of the side streets. There was no time to hang around if he wanted to avoid a further meeting with Ella.
He climbed back into his car and turned right heading towards what he thought would be the A5 to Capel Curig. He was wrong, it wasn’t. It took a while to find the right way, but after a series of stop signs, traffic lights, wrong turns and roundabouts, he eventually reached the right road. It was almost two a.m.
During the day, especially over the summer period, he’d been told the A5 was usually nose to tail with cars, but he was relieved. At this time of night there was little traffic about. He put his foot down, intending to put the car through its paces, but the A5 wasn’t built for speed. Narrow, old, and randomly fenced, it passed by numerous vertiginous drops and through some of the wildest and loneliest landscapes of Snowdonia, including the Ogwen Valley. A mountain area, it was notorious for its foul weather and climbing accidents. He slowed down, half opened the side window, enjoying the stillness of the night. The drive was lonely, the skies dark and the massive bulk of the rock-strewn mountains standing each side of the road seemed to close in on him.
He’d covered three miles when he saw headlights. A car travelling at speed, it soon reached him, but annoyingly, didn’t pass. It was so close it was almost tailgating him. He watched its headlights in the mirror; he had no reason to be suspicious. Not at this point. He slowed down assuming it would pass. It didn’t pass. It remained behind. He briefly pulled over into a passing place, waiting for the driver to overtake him, but the car slowed right down, and stayed behind. That’s when he got suspicious..
He pulled back onto the road, and put his foot down. The driver accelerated behind him, his headlights on full. Seb glanced at the mirror. The headlights were blinding. The intention was clear. No mistake, no error. The driver behind was either drunk, insane, or out to get him. He wasn’t about to find out which. Adrenalin kicked in. He reached for his chewing gum, stuffed it into his mouth, spat it out, the wrapping was still on. Putting his foot hard down to the floor, the car surged forward. The car, a GT86, was sleek, fast and responsive, and in its element when driven hard. Like now. Seb moved the mirror so it reflected back onto the driver. He’d outdrive his pursuer.
The two cars raced along the deserted mountain road. Flying over humps, tyres screaming on bends, sometimes driving so close to the edge, it was luck that neither went over. The road stretched ahead into the darkness. A steep hairpin bend lay ahead. On one side, the granite side of the mountain, on the other, rocky moorland. Seb took his foot off the accelerator, pulled hard on the steering, and got round ─ but the driver behind misjudged the angle. At speed his car flew off the road and glancing in his mirror, Seb saw its headlights as the car bounced across the rough moorland.
Seb laughed. ‘Gotcha,’ he said. He carried on, keeping his speed, intending to stop as soon as he came across somewhere suitable. Two miles later, the lights of a hotel came into view. He braked sharply, swung off into the car park, switched off his lights. He sat for some minutes gathering his thoughts, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, flexing his fingers which ached from their vice-like grip on the steering wheel.
Should he go into the hotel? His life was in danger. This was no random road rage attack. It was personal. So, it was highly likely that the driver of the car pursuing him, assuming his car was driveable, would get back onto the road and resume the chase. He was out to get him, at any cost, and it was also obvious that the elaborate plans developed by Nixie and her father hadn’t worked.
He reversed his car at speed as far as possible away from the road, cursing that the place he’d chosen was so visible. The hotel seemed to have some function on. It looked like a wedding. He opened the window. The noise from the party inside the hotel hit the still night air. A small group of formally dressed men stood outside the side door, smoking, laughing, talking in Welsh. He waited until they’d gone back in and then he jumped out, locked the car doors and walked to some nearby trees for a pee. He was desperate for a cigarette and was just weighing up whether to venture inside the hotel and look for a vending machine, when he saw the car slowly enter the car park.
It was a black BMW with one driver, the same one which had been following him. Seb withdrew further into the trees and watched. The driver stopped, got out, looked around, saw the Toyota and paused. He walked across to it and peered through the windows, possibly weighing up whether to enter the hotel and look for him. He was dressed totally in black, of medium height and in his mid-thirties. He looked exceptionally fit, having the tight, spare body of an athlete. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and tried the doors of the Toyota. He returned to his car, finished his cigarette, which he threw out of the side window, started the engine and drove slowly through the car park, back to the road.
This had to be a hit man, possibly hired by Makepeace or Fortescue. His father was insignificant compared to them, and even he wouldn’t hire a killer to kill his own son. After all, there was big money involved, not to mention probable prison sentences when the police caught up with them. They had a perfect motive to hire an assassin. He knew enough about the two of them to put them in jail for years, and there was probably more.
He was under no illusions. The guy would probably be waiting for him further down the road ─ unless he was staying overnight in some hotel, which was unlikely. Whatever he did was a risk. From now on, somewhere, the killer would be waiting for him. The road offered no place to hide other than getting out of his car and walking out into the mountains, but he didn’t know the terrain, wasn’t equipped, and had no maps. He’d have to give it a go. He’d wait fifteen minutes, then get back on the road, take a chance.
He drove slowly at first, constantly checking his mirror, scanning the sides of the road for signs of a car parked in the darkness. He’d reached Llyn Ogwen, a long, narrow lake bordering the A5, and one of the starting points for the mountain walk towards the Devil’s Kitchen, when the headlights re-appeared. Within a split second, he’d increased his speed to ninety.
His breathing short and shallow, his hands gripping the steering wheel like a vice, he drove like a man possessed, tyres screaming, swinging round bends at an insane speed. He drove over humps in the road so fast it felt as if the car was taking off. This time, there was no throwing his pursuer off. His mirror caught his headlights. The lights flashed on and then off, on and then off, until suddenly for what seemed no reason, the car dropped behind.
Seb breathed in. Five seconds later, he took another look. It was picking up speed, driving straight for the back of his car. It was so close he could see the driver’s eyes in his mirror. He glanced at the road ahead. It was narrow, curving round the lake; it wouldn’t take much, just a moment’s loss of attention, for his car to be pushed off the road and into the lake.
The un-dipped headlights of a car on the opposite side of the road, and travelling at speed was coming straight towards him. He swore softly. Temporally blinded, he was forced close to the edge of the mountain road and for what seemed minutes, but was in fact seconds, the two cars raced towards each other. There was no barrier to the road. To avoid a collision, Seb swung his ca
r towards the lake. The left side of the car was no longer in contact with the road. Its wheels spun uselessly in the air. Seb braced himself. The car tilted sideways. He felt it fall. He saw the dark waters of the lake rushing towards him. He lost consciousness.
The car had come to a stop at a crazy angle. He was still strapped in, but alive. He peered through the shattered windscreen. He was surrounded by tall fir trees. There was not a breath of wind. The mountains were silent. The road was empty. In the far distance he could see the lights of the outdoor pursuit centre. His head and body bruised, he gingerly undid his seat belt and with difficulty pushed open the door. It was dented and had buckled inwards from the impact. He clambered out, wincing with pain and took a deep breath. The car was pointing down towards the lake, its front wheels jammed on a huge boulder. He looked back towards the road. Nothing. No lights, no sound, no sign of his pursuer. He was alone. He pushed his hand into his pocket, his fingers closed round his mobile, he pulled it out. He slowly texted Gimp, then Nixie on the last number she’d used. Dawn was breaking. He began the long and painful walk towards the lights.
— 16 —
Karpathos, a remote Greek Island. Situated halfway between Crete and Rhodes and the second largest of the Dodecanese Islands, it was reached either by the twice weekly, inter-island ferry from Piraeus or by plane which landed at the tiny airport. Seb first visited the island as a child when sailing with his parents. Its wild beauty entranced him and he’d always intended to spend some time there on his own when he could. Two years previously, he’d taken his then girlfriend, Harriet, for a holiday there, but it was a relationship that hadn’t worked out. This time he was with Nixie, and he was hopeful that, things would be different.
He walked across to the balcony, opened the shutters and stepped outside. Even though late autumn, the weather was good. He gazed beyond the harbour towards the small yachts on the horizon, then at the pastel-painted houses, rising in steep tiers away from the harbour. He loved the rasping cacophony of the cicadas in the trees and on the hills, and the sweet, earthy smell of the wild thyme and sage, their fragrance strengthening with the noonday sun. Two days before he and Nixie had walked along one of the cobbled paths winding away through the village. They’d stopped at an abandoned village to gaze at the expensive yachts moored way down in the harbour.
Truth and Lies Page 19