Warehouse number six was situated at the furthest corner of the yard away from the office. Jason began to walk in that direction, saluting people as he passed, answering the hoots of passing lorry drivers with a wave. When he reached it, he walked through the rows of neatly stacked crates and barrels and headed for the little office at the back.
He knew he would find Gussie inside, sitting as usual on the high stool he preferred, his hooded eyes deceptively sleepy. Nothing passed Gussie by. He noticed things. Little things. Like who might be asking too many questions, who could be trusted with the most important jobs, who should be got rid of without delay. He had spotted Jason’s progress across the yard from his vantage point on his high stool.
“She’s on time,” he said by way of greeting.
Jason nodded. The ferry was indeed on time. He and Gussie understood each other without a need for too many words.
“I’m going to Salzburg this evening. I’m hoping to have distribution under way before I leave.”
“No problem,” Gussie said. “They’ve all been contacted.”
Jason closed the door to the little office and stood with his back to it. Just a precaution. There was no one near enough to overhear anyway.
“I have one special drop. It’s very important. Have you contacted O’Shaughnessy?”
Gussie nodded.
“I want to make sure he delivers to the contact for the Alexander Private Secondary School. You know the one?”
“I do.”
“How far would you trust O’Shaughnessy?” Jason asked.
Gussie’s hooded eyes narrowed so that they appeared to be closed. The seconds ticked by but Jason knew better than to try and hurry an answer from his right-hand man.
“I’d trust him with my life,” Gussie answered at last.
That was good enough for Jason. He walked the few steps it took to cross the little office and stood in front of Gussie.
“I want to make sure that a kid named Hugh McEvoy gets some merchandise. For free if necessary. And I want a record, maybe a photo, of the hand-over. Understood?”
“The politician’s son?”
Gussie understood. Young McEvoy was just a kid. But he was already a customer. Small stuff. Like a lot of the rich kids. Playing at being cool. Jason must need some favours from this kid’s father.
“I’ll have O’Shaughnessy look after it,” Gussie said.
Jason breathed a sigh of relief. He would not have trusted anyone else with this job. He smiled at the solemn man sitting on the stool.
“Thanks, Gus. It’s very important to my future plans that I have some influence with this kid’s father. You have my mobile number. Just text me and say ‘the film is in’ when the job is done.”
Gussie nodded silently again. They shook hands, sealing their deal. They always looked out for each other, Jason and his old friend. Then Jason turned and recrossed the yard. He had lots more to do before he got on the plane for Salzburg.
* * *
Maxine took the business card out of her purse and stared at it, as if by concentrating on the small lettering she could find the answers she needed, written between the lines. It was an innocuous card: Dirk Van Aken, Manufacturer and Distributor of Gaming and Lottery Equipment. She would try his mobile number one more time, just as she had been doing since yesterday evening. If there was still no reply, she would ring his business number. The one on the card in her hand.
She was so convinced that the mobile number would ring out again that she was speechless for a moment when Dirk Van Aken’s coarse voice answered.
“Hallo. Wie zit spreken?” Dirk asked impatiently in Dutch.
Maxine breathed deeply and used her most seductive tone. “Dirk! How nice to hear your voice. This is Maxine Doran. You remember? We met in Ireland.”
“Ah! Maxine the model. Yes? Jason’s friend. ”
“That’s right. I will be in Amsterdam for a show next week and I was wondering if we could get together for a drink?”
“The DiAngeli show?”
Maxine was surprised that he knew about the show. Maybe that was the power of the Jason Laides and Dirk Van Akens of this world. They made everyone else’s business theirs.
“Exactly,” Maxine said. “I was hoping we could spend some time together while I was in Amsterdam.”
“Sounds good. Why don’t you ring me when you’re here and I’ll return the favour you showed me in your city? But maybe this time we won’t walk quite so far.”
Maxine was shivering in disgust by the time she put the phone down. Then she straightened up her shoulders and stopped feeling sorry for herself. Dirk Van Aken was her only chance. Her only way forward. She had nothing more to go on other than gut instinct but she knew in her heart that Dirk Van Aken could tell her things that would help even the score with Jason Laide. Maybe even help to destroy him before he destroyed her. Besides, the only favour she had shown him in Ireland was to exhaust him by walking him around for hours on end.
Maxine went for a run then and left her phone behind. She had to. Otherwise she would have rung Andrew Ford. Just to hear his voice. Just to tell him how much she needed him.
* * *
Skittish was the only word Ella could think of to describe the way she felt. She should be sad, squashed underneath the weight of her black cloud of depression. Her husband had, after all, refused to spend the weekend with her and would probably be spending it with his girlfriend instead. Yet her mood was inexplicably light. She smiled at the receptionist as she left the office.
“I’m going to an early lunch,” she told the girl. “If anyone is looking for me I’ll be back after two.”
The girl’s surprised expression said it all. She was convinced that the workaholic Ella Ford had finally lost it. Falling, fainting and now early lunches! What next? Ella smiled as she silently answered the unasked question. What next indeed! A weekend of sea air and cool breezes, of peace and harmony and quiet.
The good mood lasted all the way through lunch. Until coffee. That’s when Jason Laide suddenly appeared at her table, teeth bared in his growling parody of a smile.
“They told me I’d find you here,” he said.
“They shouldn’t have,” Ella answered. “I’m on my lunch break.”
Jason looked at his watch and then back at her. She shrugged, refusing to explain herself to him. He might be a client but he had no right to interfere in her private time.
“Can I do something for you, Jason?” she asked coldly.
“That’s a loaded question,” he sneered, “but for now closing the sale of Manor House will do. I’m going to Salzburg this evening. I hope I can tell Sharon the deal is done and that she can be mistress of the Manor when she comes home.”
“We’re looking at your engineer’s report. You found quite a few faults with the property, didn’t you? I’m surprised that you still want to buy it.”
Jason leaned across the table towards her and the ice glittered in his pale blue eyes. Ella realised that she had totally misread the situation. Jason was not here just to give her a gentle reminder. His glare, the hunch of his shoulders, carried a warning that had nothing to do with gentleness. Or even civility.
“Andrew is having your report looked at,” she said hurriedly.
“Checked out, you mean.”
“Well, yes. Of course. You did make a lot of claims. And we’re giving them due consideration. Also, you must remember that there’s another client interested in the property.”
“Is there? Who?”
“I can’t say that. How would you like it if I started telling people your business? What I can tell you is that this is a genuine client who deserves the same level of our professional service as you do.”
“Cut the crap, Ella. You’re talking to someone who has witnessed your unprofessional falling around the place and having nervous breakdowns or whatever it is you do. And your husband isn’t much better. I’m sure he wouldn’t like his lifestyle too closely examined. He thinks
he has secrets.”
“Are you threatening us?”
Jason sat back in his chair but his glare seemed to intensify with the increased distance. “What do you think?”
What Ella thought was that Jason Laide would make sure everyone knew of her frailty and also Andrew’s affair if he did not get his own way. In other words, ownership of Manor House and the Ballyhaven site. But it was obvious that even if he did know Maxine Doran was the person Andrew was having the affair with, he did not have any idea that she was the other bidder for Manor House. He would not have been able to keep that little gem of information to himself. If indeed Maxine was still interested in the old house.
“I’ll need to speak with Andrew. He’s handling the offer for the other client. I’ll obviously have to talk to Rob Trevor as well. The ultimate decision will be his.”
Jason shook his head. “That prick will do as you advise him. You’d better advise him right, Ella.”
Then he stood and swaggered out of the restaurant, his squat broad figure seeming to clear a path ahead of him. No one stood in his way. No one interfered with his progress. And that, thought Ella, was how Jason Laide lived his life.
* * *
Andrew put the phone down. Maybe Maxine was working, too busy to answer her phone. Maybe she did not want to talk to him. He started guiltily as the office door opened and Ella came in. The animated mood of the morning seemed to have left her. She appeared agitated.
“I thought you were taking a long lunch,” he said.
Ella shrugged. “I was but Jason Laide came to see me in the restaurant.”
“How did he know you were there?”
“He knows everything about everyone.” She sat down opposite him. “I need to talk to you about Manor House. How serious is Maxine Doran’s offer? Can she compete with Jason Laide?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew answered honestly. He didn’t, did he? He really knew very little about the woman who was occupying his every waking thought and a lot of his dreams.
“So should we just sell to Jason Laide then? What’s the point of delaying if she’s not a serious contender? ”
“We don’t know that either. She’s made a mint on advertising contracts. Maybe she has more real money than Laide. Anyway she has made a bid and we must respect her as a potential client.”
“He’s getting nasty, Andrew. I don’t want to antagonise him. He seems to believe he has something on you. He keeps hinting about secrets.”
“What could that thug know about me? Don’t be ridiculous!”
Ella’s answering glare left Andrew feeling defenceless. Did Ella know about Maxine? Did Jason Laide know about Maxine?
“Did you tell him who the other bidder was?” he asked.
“Of course not! I still have some professional ethics left.”
Ella stood up abruptly and gathered her coat and bag.
“I’m going,” she said coldly. “Ask Maxine for a firm decision on Manor House. Make sure she understands that Jason Laide would be willing to outbid her. He says he has cash in hand for an immediate deposit. Offer her another property instead. I’ll see you Sunday night or maybe Monday morning.”
Andrew sat still for a long time after his wife had left the office. He could not shake off the feeling that Ella knew Maxine Doran was the woman with whom he was sleeping. It took longer again for him to shake off the feelings of sadness and betrayal his wife left in her wake.
* * *
Traffic heading out of town was heavy. Ella could not concentrate on the road. The thud of the front door of her home closing behind her echoed in her head. A lonely, faraway sound, as if her whole life with Andrew had been thrown into a deep well and was being sucked to the muddy bottom. But there had been joy in the sound too. The light gurgle of a spring rising high up in the mountains. A beginning instead of an ending. She was leaving Andrew behind, to maybe spend the weekend with his mistress, but she had found the strength to pack a bag and leave, if only for a few days. She had taken some control back. She would make a safe space for herself in Cuanowen, one hundred and twenty kilometres to the west of here. A little oasis in time to gather her strength, to find Ella again.
Driving past Manor House had not been a conscious plan. In fact doing so brought her in the wrong direction. Ella was already approaching the driveway before she allowed herself admit where she was headed. It must have been a business decision that led her this way. A need to discuss the sale of the house with Rob Trevor. If he was here. As she rounded the bend on the sweeping driveway, the house came into view and in front of it was Rob’s Jaguar.
Ella parked and, getting out of her car, looked around her. The gardens were shrouded in dusk by now, shrubs and bushes dark shadows in the fading light. Craning her neck she scanned upwards past the numerous windows towards the turreted roof. Manor House was a conglomeration of differing architectural styles, added to by many generations of Wellsleys. For a fanciful moment she felt Manor House was looking back at her and that it found her wanting. A breeze rustled through leaves and branches. The gentle sound brought Ella back to the present.
She mounted the steps and rang on the immense double front door. Rob answered almost immediately. Ella’s prepared speech faded when she saw him. He looked sick. Pale and drawn.
“Do come in, Ella,” he said politely but even his voice seemed weak.
“Are you all right, Rob? You don’t look very well.”
“I haven’t been sleeping properly,” he answered abruptly as he led the way through the black and white tiled hallway. When he turned at the kitchen door to say something to Ella she was not behind him. Looking back he saw that she was standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at the bottom portrait.
“Where is Lady Harriet?” she asked as she pointed at the portrait of the male Wellsley ancestor who had taken Lady Harriet’s place.
“I brought it to London,” Rob answered, standing waiting for Ella to join him near the entrance to the kitchen.
Ella walked slowly towards Rob, trying to analyse her feeling of disappointment. The grand hall did not seem as imposing without the extraordinary portrait of Lady Harriet. London? Surely Rob had not sold it? Lady Harriet was as much part of the fabric of this house as the chandeliers and the turrets. Or was her letdown feeling caused by the fact that she had really come here to confront Karen? A shiver rippled along her spine as she remembered the last time she had stood here gazing at Lady Harriet’s portrait. She remembered how the beautiful features of Harriet had wavered and swirled until Karen had been enclosed in the gilt frame, silently screaming, bleeding, pleading. Dying.
“Something wrong, Ella?”
She started as she realised Rob was looking curiously at her. She smiled at him and nodded. “I’m fine. Just like you. Not sleeping very well.”
Rob led the way into the kitchen and held a chair out for her at the huge timber-framed granite-topped table. She was struck by the same thoughts she had the first time she had seen this kitchen. It was incongruously modern in the old house. The solid oak units looked relatively new and the wine tiles and stainless-steel appliances were too up-to-the-minute to be any more than a year old. As if he had read her mind Rob told her that Karen had had this kitchen fitted just weeks before she died.
“She loved the old house,” he said, “but she liked convenience and comfort too. She had a talent for renovating without destroying. Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please,” Ella replied quickly without giving her answer much thought. She was too preoccupied with thinking of Karen, imagining how the dead woman had planned this kitchen, how she must have looked forward to using it. Yet she could not feel Karen’s presence here, nor could she get any sense of the woman who haunted her sleep and a lot of her waking hours. This kitchen was Karenless. Rob had his back to her, head bowed, busily pouring water into the percolator.
“What’s disturbing your sleep, Rob?”
He stood still. He muttered one word. Ella thought he said his wife’s
name.
“Karen?” she asked.
He turned around to face Ella and her breath caught in her throat when she saw his white face. Mirrored in his eyes she saw the same confusion and fear she sometimes felt, the same terror.
“I know this sounds heartless, Ella, but I sometimes wish Karen would just go away and leave me in peace. She haunts my sleep.”
“You dream a lot about her then?”
“Yes. She always seems upset. Angry. Accusing. Pleading.”
That was the Karen who visited Ella’s dreams too. And sometimes her waking moments. Her hands shook now as she tried to decide how much she should reveal to Rob Trevor. He was just mentioning bad dreams. What would he think if she told him she did not have to be asleep to be terrorised by his dead wife? Probably the same as any logical person would think. As she herself would have thought a year ago. Nonsense. Hysteria.
Abandoning his coffee-making, Rob came to the table and sat opposite her. He was even paler now, his eyes dark and shadowed.
“I must talk to someone,” he said softly. “I think I’m going mad.”
Ella smiled at him and reached across to touch his cold hands. “Talk, Rob. I’ll understand.”
His lips quivered as he attempted to smile. This vulnerability must be torture to a man as self-possessed as Rob Trevor always appeared to be. Tears glittered in his eyes as the last vestiges of his dignity dissolved. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke.
“I’m trusting you not to laugh at me, Ella. I have the instinct that you’ve been going through some of what I’m suffering. I saw your face the first day you looked at the portrait of Lady Harriet. You had the same expression on your face as Karen used to have when she looked at that portrait. What did you see when you looked at Lady Harriet? What did Karen see? What was it that kept her standing for hours in front of that likeness? Do you know? ”
Ebb and Flow Page 20