“So it’s not small change.”
“Matty’s not a big-time operator. But she’s going to be hard put to return the money.”
“You could have told me last week. I just promised an important client I’d be in London tomorrow. He’s counting on me. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. This is a nightmare. How can I leave that child alone?” I hung up.
Roger needed me and maybe, just maybe, I needed him.
Chapter 4
Gatwick was a beehive, even late on a Sunday night, but it was good to be back in England again. Things had changed a lot in five years. There was a tension… a standoff in the air. Security was beefed up. It was a shame in such a civilized country that our every move was monitored.
My nose itched. Conscious of the cameras mounted in the ceiling, I avoided scratching and wiggled instead. What if it looked as if I were picking it? Only you, Wendy.
I made my way through customs with a black wheelie bag full of my sharpest St. John knits and designer shoes. Best to look classy, since I would be spending a few days inserting myself into the life of the mysterious and wealthy Benny Hannah.
A reed-thin man with dark skin and oily black hair wiggled his fingers at me. He wore a high-collared, thigh-length jacket with a row of tiny buttons down the front. I guessed him to be the chauffeur. I eased up to “fingers,” in case we were being watched by someone besides the five hundred cameras and three hundred security guards. “Are you from Benny?” I whispered out the side of my mouth.
“My name is Samuel, miss. Yes, I’m taking you to Mr. Hannah’s home.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’d like to go to my hotel first and check in. It’s rather late.” I looked at my watch. It was after ten, London time.
“Mr. Hannah’s instructions were quite clear. I am to bring you to his home.” He reached for my bag and gently yanked it from my hands.
I felt the power slipping from my control. I had to convert my cash in case I needed it to pay for a cab or fund my escape. “Follow me. I’m going to change my dollars to British currency,” I said.
Samuel bowed from the waist and swept his arm, indicating which way I was to walk. “Mr. Hannah’s instructions are that you not bother converting your money. He said to tell you he will provide for all your needs.”
What did Roger get me into? Once more by my quick jump into an adventure, I’d put myself in jeopardy. I could start a rumble with Samuel, or I could take a leap of faith. Whenever I’m faced with a life-changing decision, I’ve found I will always take the wrong path. I followed Samuel through the airport and to the car.
As far as limos go… it was tastefully compact. Black, shiny, with heavily tinted windows. Samuel leaned in as he held the door. “Please help yourself to the bar. Should you prefer the champagne, there’s a chilled bottle of Dom. I’d be pleased to open it for you.”
He slipped behind the wheel and pulled into the warm London night. “Mr. Hannah’s home is near Westminster Bridge. It will take us a bit of time to get there.”
“I do want to check into my hotel.”
Samuel the chauffeur ignored me. I knew enough about London to know we were not going to be anywhere near the Hyde Park Hotel. After you’ve been kidnapped once, you get to know the drill. This felt like another abduction. I’d only just recovered from being Charlie Hook’s hostage, and here we go again.
As Westminster Bridge came into view, Samuel slammed on the brakes, and I was thrown sideways banging my head on the window. A small yellow cab bounced off the side of the limo and sped off into the night.
“What happened?” I yelled. The limo made a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.
“Aggressive taxi drivers. Not to worry!”
On the next block the yellow cab came at us again… an angry bee. “Hold on, miss!”
I grabbed the strap above the door and swayed as the cab rebounded from our bumper, spun in traffic, and slammed into a streetlight. And again, we did a U-turn; this time we sped off. A squeamish feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
Chapter 5
It was after midnight when we arrived at Benny Hannah’s townhouse in a quiet, well-kept neighborhood. Samuel pulled to the curb, checking his rearview mirror and glancing at the street ahead, and opened the limo door. I stepped out into the broiling hot air. He smiled. “We are experiencing the hottest summer on record. Is it not an American expression… you could fry a steak on the pavement?”
“It’s an egg. Fry an egg. It never gets this hot in Miami.”
Samuel motioned for me to walk in front of him and followed me up the steps of a white-trimmed, red-brick townhouse. By the glow of the streetlight, I could see a spray of flowers dancing in the window box, a hideout for gossamer-winged fairies. I was falling back under the spell of London.
The chauffeur poked a small button in the center of the door. A distinguished voice answered what sounded like an old-fashioned bicycle bell. “One moment, please.” There was the sound of a buzzer and Samuel opened the door. I stepped into Benny Hannah’s world.
Benny was a short, slightly rotund version of the actor Ben Kingsley. He possessed gentle brown eyes and a brilliant white smile. I took an instant liking to Roger’s client.
A half-whistle escaped his lips before he spoke. “Roger lied. That scoundrel. He said you were a wrinkled grandmother with varicose veins and a huge wart on your nose. Why… you, my darling, are lovely.” His eyes twinkled with mirth.
He nodded at Samuel. “Upstairs.”
I turned in horror as Samuel carried my bag up the carved mahogany staircase.
“Wait… I can’t stay here. I’m booked at the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park Hotel.” I spoke so fast I almost tripped over my words.
“It might not be safe for you to be alone. I must insist you be my guest for this evening. You’ll be in the Rose Room. It overlooks the garden, which I’m sad to say is suffering from our unusual heat. After you’ve freshened up, you must come back down and join me in the library. I have some divine port. Take your time. My home is your home.”
Trapped! It was too late to flag a taxi, and I had no cash. I could play the frightened female and wrestle my luggage from Samuel, dash out to the curb, and stand on the street wondering what to do next… or I could play along. Why was my fancy hotel not safe?
I followed Samuel and my bag up the wide mahogany staircase. It was three flights to the Rose Room. The townhouse appeared to have two bedrooms on each floor. All the doors were closed and the halls were silent. “Is anyone else staying here? Just in case I hear noises at night, I won’t be concerned.”
Samuel smiled. “Nothing to bother yourself about, miss. Mr. Hannah is on the top floor, two flights above you, and I’m downstairs off the kitchen.” He motioned toward the back of the room, pointing to a dark wooden door as he placed my suitcase at the foot of the four-poster bed. “Your bath is just there… en suite. If you don’t require anything else, I’ll excuse myself.”
Chapter 6
Samuel closed the Rose Room door. My first thought was to call Roger. I had his international number.
I took a bunch of deep breaths as I stared at the tray ceiling and then scanned the room. The walls were painted in a brownish color that almost looked like leather. The bed was carved mahogany and loaded with big, fluffy pillows. The duvet was cream colored and felt like a cloud. A painting of an English country scene hung framed on the wall near the wardrobe. There was a crystal ashtray on the nightstand along with a small, jeweled flashlight.
Not happy about being forced to stay at Benny’s for safety, I pulled out my phone and hit “Roger” on my speed-dial. A computerized voice said the connection was unable to be completed. Trying a second time, I got the same garbled message.
Might as well make the best of it. I yanked my cosmetics from my carryon and pulled my knits from the luggage. Most of my outfits were bulky and London was in the middle of a killer heat wave. I pulled a lightweight white wrap-dress and shook out the wr
inkles. It might work, as it was chilly in the townhouse.
I peeled off my travel clothes and tossed them onto the wardrobe floor. It felt great to shed my sweaty duds. The waistband of my slacks had eaten into my skinny middle, leaving bright red slashes across my stomach.
The bathroom was a gold and mirrored fantasyland with tiny bottles of perfumes and lotions in a crystal bowl on the brown marble counter. The faucet and knobs were all shiny gold. There was a handheld shower. No matter how luxurious the bath in Britain, you have to deal with a squiggly showerhead on a rope. I grimaced as I unseated the beast from its mount.
The water pressure was low and it took time to work up a decent spray. A shot of water hit my face as I leaned over, reseating the showerhead. I gasped and struggled to catch my breath. Me and water-in-the-face… top of my phobia list. I grabbed a washcloth and blotted.
A bar of my favorite hand-milled eucalyptus soap rested in a gold dish on a tiny ledge in the shower. Had Benny been researching me? A sensuous lathering brought Roger to mind. A cold rinse cured that. I grabbed a pure white towel that weighed more than I did and smoothed it over my face and body. It was luscious; I could have a love affair with this towel.
I pulled some undies from my suitcase and then threw on the white dress and a pair of Gucci sandals, a smattering of makeup, and a brush through my shoulder-length hair, and I was ready to go insert myself in Benny Hannah’s life.
The foyer area of the bedroom was dimly lit. As I touched the doorknob to leave, something bit my toes. I yelped as I jerked my foot back and lost my sandal. The shoe was wedged in the jaw of a lion’s head, a dead lion, thankfully. The head with a full mane and green glass eyes was connected to a full hide complete with paws.
Squatting down on the skin, I looked into its mouth. In the dim light I could see where the strap of my shoe was hung up on one of the lion’s huge back teeth. I wiggled the strap, freeing the sandal.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink with a dead animal staring at me. Shit, I could have sworn it just moved toward me. How do I request the removal of this slaughtered creature? Was it rude to ask my host to redecorate for one night? Was Benny Hannah the kind of person who slaughtered animals for sport? Time to find out.
I took some cautious steps down the staircase feeling as if the lion was following me. Benny was in the library. He smiled as he held my hand in his and covered it with his other hand. “I took the liberty of calling Roger to let him know you arrived safely.”
“He knows I’m here, then? Not at my hotel?”
“Hmm. I told him you got in late and it was safer for you to spend the night here.”
“Can we call him back?”
He grinned. “Do I detect a romance?”
“No romance. Roger’s just a business associate.”
“Ah yes… the thirteenth Shadow. Thank you for helping my favorite archaeologist with this case. It’s very important to me.”
“Benny, why is it safer for me here than at my hotel?”
“I like that in a woman. No mincing words. Shall we have some port?” He turned to a black marble credenza and reached for a shimmering glass decanter containing a rich purple liquid.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’d like to share some background with you. It will help you understand my passion for bringing the Lost Boys together again.”
“Could I call Roger first?”
He shook his head. “Our friend said not to call back; he was shutting his phone as he’s in transit. We’ll see him soon enough.”
A chill tickled the back of my neck. I watched my host as he poured our drinks. Benny Hannah hid his controlling manner in a kind façade.
He handed me a crystal glass of port. “Try this. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Benny settled into a leather porter’s chair with his glass and all but disappeared, his cocoa colored complexion blending with the sides and top of the chair.
The suede sofa was the nearest seat. I took it.
“Is your room comfortable? I have a very good central air conditioning system and tend to keep it rather nippy in here. It’s important to keep my artifacts in the proper temperature and humidity. Did you know our temperature in London went over 40 Celsius today? That’s equivalent to 104 degrees Fahrenheit in the US.”
“It’s much hotter than Miami. But it’s pleasant in here – actually chilly. However, the company is warm and charming. I’d love to hear your story.”
“Where to begin?” He sipped from the lip of a tiny glass. “Many years ago…” he looked at me and past me, as if drifting on a sea of memories. “It’s frightening how quickly time slips by… I was a bookish young man, a scholar and the oldest of nine sons. And I was the director of antiquities for Uganda.”
I sipped. “Oh that’s nice,” I said, as I savored the mellow taste.
He smiled. “Glad you like the port.” Benny adjusted a pillow behind his back and placed his feet on a brocade ottoman.
“It’s impressive you had so much responsibility at such a young age.”
He smiled. “It came with a heavy price. Uganda is now called the Pearl of Africa. When I was there, it was a death camp. My former country is where the East African savannah meets the West African jungle… the most lethal spot on earth. I worked in Kampala sorting and preserving antiquities. It was a crossroad for dozens of cultures with exotic histories. One day my office door was kicked open, and there stood the most terrifying sight, Idi Amin. He stomped into the room, followed by four vile-looking body guards.”
I shuddered. “Was he really a cannibal?”
Chapter 7
Benny nodded, his eyes growing dark. “Amin demanded scotch. Somehow he knew I kept my long-deceased father’s bottle of rare scotch in the desk drawer. It had never been opened. I kept it purely as a remembrance of a good man. Amin’s order carried a hidden threat. I dared not refuse to join him, as he poured glass after glass until the bottle was empty. Only then did he give me a choice.”
Perched on the edge of my chair, I tried to imagine what that choice might have been.
“I would help him move all the gold and ivory he had plundered from Uganda to Switzerland under the guise of antiquities, or I would face a firing squad. There was a man in Switzerland who brokered the stolen goods to raise gun money for terrorists.”
A shiver ran from my earlobes to my toes. I was sitting this close to a man who sat that close to a killer-cannibal.
Benny lifted his glass and held it up to the light, turning it slowly. “Every morning I prayed my family would be spared if I did as I was told. Then one day as I was landing at Entebbe airport, I got word that the Butcher of Uganda, Idi Amin Dada, had slaughtered my entire family. All my younger brothers were murdered.”
He paused to clear his throat. His eyes were dry. “I believe that is why I’m so captivated by the Lost Boys. They represent unimaginable loss. For me, I can understand the pain Pharaoh Kjoser must have felt losing his sons… I lost nine brothers.”
I chugged my port and offered my glass for more. “Oh, Benny. I’m so sorry. Why did he…”
Lifting the crystal decanter, he poured two inches of the deep purple wine. “Can there ever be any justification for the taking of even one human life? I went after the Butcher, and I almost killed him. My attempt was ill conceived; my emotions overtook my common sense. I escaped, but he swore vengeance.”
“Are you in danger?”
“Yes and no. I’m safe from Idi Amin. He’s dead.” Benny looked away for a beat, his eyes were hooded as he turned back to me. “But I’ve been receiving death threats in connection with the last Lost Boy. That’s why I felt it would be better for you to stay here with Samuel and me until Roger gets here. The hotel is secure, but you’re safer here with us where we can protect you. I have an excellent security system and Samuel is a seasoned bodyguard.”
“Death threats? Why would anyone want to kill you for offering a reward?”
Benny shook his h
ead. “The reward is ten million dollars. It’s held in trust for whoever returns all thirteen Boys to the museum. Roger, with your help, has returned all but one.” He sipped his drink.
It took a moment for the room to stop spinning. Ten million dollars! I was thinking it was more in the neighborhood of one million. Why hadn’t Roger told me?
“Perhaps my favoritism for our good friend shows. Someone has discovered I’m close to learning where the missing Lost Boy is and wants to prevent me from aiding Roger in its recovery.”
“Why hasn’t the thief come forward to return the last Shadow and claim the reward?”
“Because she knows I won’t pay her. I shall do everything in my power to make sure she doesn’t profit from her crime.”
“She?”
“She. I thought Roger told you.”
“That’s right, he did tell me the thief was a woman.” I bit my lip trying to contain my curiosity. It didn’t work. “You have a lead on where the last Lost Boy is?”
“Yes. But let’s wait for Roger to get here. It’s going to be tricky to retrieve it.” He took another sip, paused, and pinned me with his eyes. “I would be endangering you if I shared my hunch with you.”
“So it’s here in London?”
“My dear! No more until Roger gets here.” He popped from his chair. “Shall I show you my home?”
I followed Benny, being careful not to spill the port on my white dress. His tour was practiced. I imagined he had given it many times in the past. We left the library and entered the formal dining room.
His home was a mini-museum of art deco antiques, Murano glass, and amazing Egyptian artifacts. The dark wood floors were covered with custom-made wool rugs and furniture upholstered in cashmere and ultra-suede. There were old photographs and marble sculptures. Each room we visited had sleek oak paneling, streamlined brass radiators, and an exotic animal hide rug. In the dining room, I was stunned to see a still life in oil and sand by Picasso. There was a Cezanne watercolor of a scene in Paris and, on the sideboard, an alabaster lion at rest.
Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil Page 2