‘He certainly is,’ Simon murmured, and immediately sat down when Jack waved his hand at him, indicating he should take a chair. ‘What’s the name of the bank, Jack?’
‘Belvedere-Macau Private Bank,’ Jack told him, and crossed the room to a trolley where there were bottles of liquor, and an open bottle of white wine in a silver ice bucket. ‘Wine or a drop of the hard stuff?’ Jack asked, looking across at Simon.
‘I wouldn’t mind a vodka on the rocks, please,’ Simon responded, and leaned back in the armchair, crossed his legs, relaxing finally after a long day at Harte’s.
Once Jack had made the drinks, he came and joined Simon, gave him his glass. ‘Down the hatch!’ he said.
Simon repeated the toast. ‘I want to talk to you about Linnet, Jack. I know you might think it somewhat strange that we are very serious about each other when we’ve only been seeing each other for about a week, but—’
‘She told me a little bit, Simon,’ Jack cut in softly. ‘And I don’t think there’s anything strange about it at all. You’ve known her a very long time. Now, miraculously, you’ve discovered you’re in love.’
Simon nodded, and gave Jack a quizzical look. ‘You sound approving.’
‘I am very approving. I love Linnet the most of all the Hartes, and she’s a fantastic young woman. You’re a lucky chap, I can tell you that. And I’m glad this has happened: she needs a man exactly like you.’
‘Do you think her parents will be all right about it? What I mean is, well, we do want to make this permanent, Jack.’
‘I’m sure Paula and Shane will welcome you into the family with huge smiles and loving hearts, Simon. After all, they’ve known you since you were a child, so that’s not a problem. No, not at all. And in any case, Linnet is of age. She’s going to do what she wants, whatever they think or say.’
Jack took a swallow of his gin and tonic, and continued, ‘I’ve known her since she was a baby, and of all the Hartes she is the one most like her great-grandmother Emma Harte. Not only in her appearance, with red hair, green eyes, and beautiful features, but in character and personality. It’s uncanny in a certain sense. Sometimes, when she’s talking, I think it’s Emma, the way she phrases things, and in some of her gestures. And she can be tough like Emma. The odd thing is, she never knew her great-grandmother. She’s just inherited everything. It’s in the genes, I guess.’
‘I think you’re right. M is so very different, wouldn’t you say? Not only in her appearance but in her personality,’ Simon now ventured.
‘Yes, she is, but, you know, there are moments when M also reminds me of Emma. She’s a true Harte woman, I think, with her business smarts, and she can be stubborn and bloody tough, I can assure you of that.’ Jack eyed Simon for a moment or two and then murmured, ‘You think she’s more like an O’Neill than a Harte, don’t you? But take a look at her mother some time, Simon, and you’ll see M in Paula…in the whole…cut of the jib.’
Simon smiled. ‘Cut of the jib is not a nice way to describe a beautiful woman, is it?’
‘No, it’s not, but the words just came out of my mouth! So, you want to talk about M, don’t you, old chap, and the yacht trip? That’s one of the reasons for this visit, isn’t it?’
‘It is, yes, Jack.’
Jack sighed and sat back in the chair, looked off into the distance. ‘I guess I’ll agree to it. But only if James Cardigan is on board, as well as the two security men he has looking after M and Larry. And you. I want you to be there.’
‘I will be, Jack. I’ve tried to analyse this whole thing, and I do believe we’ll be safe if we stick to the harbours.’
‘You’d bloody well better stick to them! Or I’ll have every-body’s guts for garters!’
‘Will you come, too?’
‘It all depends on what’s happening. I hate to be away from the store; on the other hand, Ainsley’s not going to hit the store again. He’s been there, done that, I believe that’s the way he looks at things. But a yacht’s an easy target, as you know, Simon.’ Jack’s voice trailed off; he cleared his throat, said, ‘However, not even Ainsley would be dumb enough to try and blow up a yacht in a harbour filled with police, as they are these days. Not to mention the yachts of his friends and colleagues in the world of high finance.’
Simon said, ‘M wants you to know she’ll stick to the harbour in Istanbul, and also skip the Greek islands, because she knows that the yacht could be vulnerable at sea. So, what’s the verdict?’
‘I’ll give M a ring first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll let them do their yacht trip…and, in fact, I’ll join you for several days.’
Simon gave him a big smile. ‘M will be ecstatic.’
Jonathan Ainsley knew that the best thing he had ever done for himself was build this yacht. This beautiful and most elegant yacht…safe, secure, streamlined and swift, and a sailing palace, to boot.
Now, standing on the upper deck, staring out at St Petersburg from the vantage point of the Neva River, he thought about the big party he was going to give towards the end of May. He had been planning it for a long time, just as he had planned the design of his yacht for a long time, and he couldn’t wait to welcome his friends on board. It would be a party to show off his yacht to the world he inhabited these days…a world of high society, show business, politics and billionaires. He himself was a billionaire, and he was at the pinnacle of his career. Of his life. He had become the man he had always wanted to be: successful, rich and powerful. Untouchable.
He leaned against the rail of the ship, continuing to stare at Hare Island, upon which St Petersburg had been built by the will of Peter the Great, who founded it on 27 May 1703. And what a city of beauty it was, filled with palaces and buildings so magnificent that they boggled the mind.
Now, at this twilight hour, as the sun set and the lights of the city came on, it looked like the most magical of places, and such it was for him. When he wasn’t working on his desk, he enjoyed visiting those palaces, to admire the interior architecture and the unique art. Most especially he loved the European paintings bought, collected and transported to Russia by Catherine the Great, and housed in the Hermitage, that gallery of incomparable beauty which she had had built for this purpose.
It was there that he would happily spend some of his leisure hours, staring at the paintings by some of the world’s most talented and brilliant painters, filled with admiration for their genius and creativity.
To Jonathan Ainsley, St Petersburg was an extraordinary city, and it offered him many other pleasures, as well as its art and architecture. In particular, women of unusual beauty, who were willing and able, and generously catered to his many whims. Just as importantly, it was the perfect place to meet with his Russian partner Grisha Lebedev, who rarely travelled, and who also enjoyed the luxury of this yacht.
And so he frequently brought the yacht here in order to do his business with Lebedev, but he was anchored most of the year in Istanbul. That was his favourite city of the two, and even though his yacht was both a home and an office, the centre of his working life, he had recently bought one of the loveliest yalis on the Bosphorus. This had been expertly renovated and remodelled by the best artisans, under the direction of Angharad, who had decorated it herself and turned it into one of the most unique and luxurious of villas.
Angharad Hughes. Although at times she could truly aggravate him, he was glad he had married her. After all, she had brought him back to life by taking him to Zurich and the clinic there. And when the time came, she had made sure he had the very best of plastic surgeons. All of them had done a brilliant job in reconstructing his face. If he wasn’t the old Jonathan Ainsley, he was still a very handsome man whom women found alluring. All the scars had healed perfectly all over his face and body. She was to be commended for this.
Only one thing troubled him, and that was Angharad’s inability to give him another child…the son and heir he longed for. He did not bother too much with his daughter Elizabeth. The four-year-old was a p
oor substitute for the son he needed and who would inherit the empire he had built single-handedly. Besides, she had red hair and green eyes. His only child, Elizabeth Ainsley, was a daily reminder of Emma Harte, the grandmother he had hated with virulence.
The Harte women would soon be destroyed. He would make sure of that. So far his people had somehow managed to bungle things, but his next attack would be successful. Sam had assured him of that, and Sam would keep his promise. Otherwise he would be a goner, just like Bart: another failure. Yes, Paula and her hateful brood would soon be dead.
Moving away from the rail, he turned, went down the stairs, holding on to the banister. Jonathan Ainsley was heading for the lounge and bar, admiring everything as he moved slowly through the rooms, pleased when he realized he was barely limping tonight. He had named the yacht Janus, after the Greek god, who, in mythology, was the god of portals and beginnings and endings. He had thought it appropriate, since this 380-foot yacht was a portal for him, a door to the world, and surely his reinvented life was a new beginning.
Jonathan took immense pride in this yacht, built to his own specifications by Blohm & Voss in Germany. He smiled to himself. The Russian oligarch and billionaire, Roman Abramovich, owned the 377-foot yacht Pelorus, which had been known as the largest privately owned yacht in the world. But Jonathan’s Janus was larger, and this pleased him.
Angharad looked around as Jonathan walked into the bar. She couldn’t help thinking how fantastic he looked tonight. He was her own creation, in a sense, since she had put him back together. Or rather directed everyone to do that. She had given him back his health, his good looks, his very life. And she had presented him with a child. But a girl wasn’t good enough for him. Especially a girl with red hair and green eyes who looked like a miniature replica of Linnet O’Neill and Emma Harte, and was therefore not very beguiling to him. Quite the opposite. Angharad knew she would give him a son eventually. She had to. No alternative.
Even though he messed around with other women the entire time, he still wanted her in his bed every night. She made sure of that by using her expertise, and many clever and innovative wiles. And yet she did not get pregnant. She was forever disappointed. And so was he. But she managed to hold him captive sexually, and made him happy in other ways.
Jonathan interrupted Angharad’s thoughts when he stopped and said, ‘You look ravishing, Mrs Ainsley. Are you available tonight? Much later of course, after our guests have left?’
She gave him the benefit of a seductive smile, and said, ‘I am indeed. And I have a few new presents for you, my darling. They will certainly amuse you, and titillate you, I have no doubt.’
Sliding off the bar stool, Angharad walked around to the other side of the bar, swiftly mixed him a dry vodka martini, which only she could get exactly right. ‘Here you are, my sweet,’ she murmured as she slid it towards him across the black marble top.
He thanked her, and took hold of her as she came back to the bar stool, pulled her close, kissed her on the mouth, and held her away from him. ‘You look like a long strand of beautiful pure silver in this dress. Divine, Angharad. Is it new?’
‘Yes. It’s from Chanel. I’m happy you like it.’
‘I love it on you, it’s extremely sexy. Better order another one. I’m literally going to rip it off you later.’ He brought his face to hers and whispered something in her ear, but so quietly that she could hardly hear him. Knowing him as well as she did, she knew what he had said. It was vulgar but nevertheless it pleased her. He was obviously hot. A chance tonight to make a baby.
Lifting his martini glass, Jonathan now said, ‘Here’s to you, my darling. And death to the Hartes.’
Angharad burst into laughter. ‘Death to the Hartes! That’s a new one, and a nasty one even for you. Toasting their deaths. Good God!’
‘Please don’t laugh, Angharad. It will happen. I promise you. But if it doesn’t, and if I should die before them, you must promise to pick up my sword. You must destroy them.’
She gaped at him, and then smiled lovingly. ‘You know I’ll do anything you want, Jonathan. Anything.’
‘I do know. That’s what I’ve always loved about you: your willingness to please me. That’s why I married you. The reason I stay married to you. I know you’ll even commit murder for me.’
Angharad cringed inside at these words, knowing he was verging on the psychotic again. She forced a smile, picked up her glass of champagne, touched it to his. ‘Here’s to our rendezvous later. And to the joy of making babies.’
He laughed. Then he swiftly turned around at the sound of voices, recognizing the growl of Grisha Lebedev. And, as he set eyes on one of the stewards bringing his partner and a woman across the lounge to him, he caught his breath.
Hanging on to Grisha’s arm was probably the most wondrous-looking young woman he had ever seen. Ever in his life. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen and she was a willowy, gorgeous blonde with an hourglass figure, big voluptuous breasts and endlessly long legs. He wanted her. He had to have her. No matter what the cost. He had to have this woman.
Grisha was kissing Angharad on her cheek, then giving him a bear hug, and all Jonathan could think of was this girl. All he wanted to do was feast his eyes on her.
Suddenly, he was holding her hand, leaning forward, inclining his head. And wanting her. Vaguely he heard her saying hello, heard Grisha exclaiming, ‘This is Galina. My fiancée.’
Angharad, who rarely had her eyes off Jonathan, and missed nothing, had witnessed his reaction to the Russian girl, and she was furious. Clever and skilful, as always, she hid her feelings behind a smile, and said, ‘Let’s go to the bar, Galina, and you too, Grisha. We must celebrate your engagement.’
Since marrying Jonathan Ainsley, Angharad Hughes had become a clever and charming hostess, and she managed to make the evening work for everyone.
Throughout dinner she kept Grisha engaged in conversation, and left her husband to monopolize Galina. But she was concerned. Not about the girl, and his obvious lust for her—after all, she herself would reap the benefit of that later, in their marital bed. Jonathan would fantasize that he was making love to the Russian beauty, and be at his best sexually, and she prayed that she would conceive. What concerned her was his mood.
Angharad knew he was entering one of his psychotic phases and this genuinely troubled her. Also, he was talking about a party he was giving in Istanbul next weekend and she had never even heard a word about it. What was going on in his head? she wondered. Surreptitiously, she watched him, distracted him constantly, and so prevented him from making a fool of himself in front of Grisha, a valuable partner in business. One they could not afford to lose. And he was a proud man who could turn vindictive if aggravated enough; he could easily become a ruthless enemy.
FORTY-FOUR
‘That was a splendid dinner, Tessa; everything I like,’ Lorne said, his voice full of affection, his eyes loving as he looked across the table at his twin. ‘And I especially enjoyed the fraises des bois which are so difficult to find. Anywhere.’
Tessa looked back at him. Her expression was as warm as his when she said, ‘I really had to hunt them down, those little elusive wood strawberries. God knows why they’ve become so rare. And I’m glad you enjoyed dinner.’
‘And being with you, my darling, and talking to you. It’s not often we get to be alone these days, is it?’
‘No, we don’t. And I’m so glad you decided to come and stay for a few days. I always seem to have so much to tell you. Or ask you—which reminds me, I want to ask you about Simon Baron. How involved is he with Linny?’
‘Very. And I for one am awfully happy about it, Tess. She’s been so lonely, and you know how stubborn and independent she is, and whenever I’ve asked her out she’s either been going away on business, or going to Pennistone Royal, or working. Usually it’s working.’
Tessa began to laugh, and she shook her head wonderingly. ‘And just think, I used to be like that. The workaholic woman,
always at the store, my head bent over a desk, or my feet running along corridors or up and down through the floors, checking different departments. I must have been quite…awful.’
‘Not awful,’ Lorne said, ‘just frightfully ambitious and determined to be the Dauphine…the heir apparent. And you were bossy, stern at times, and very tough. Tough as a bloody old boot, actually.’
‘Was I that bad?’ she asked, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.
‘Yes. And thank God I introduced you to my dear friend Jean-Claude Deléon. He took you by surprise, didn’t he?’
She smiled beatifically. ‘He did, and he took my heart in one minute in front of the whole of Paris, at his book signing, and he still has it. He will always have it, Lorne. He’s the love of my life.’
‘I’m so happy for you. You’ve got the best marriage in the world. I don’t seem to have much luck these days—with women, I mean.’
‘You’d better hurry up, my lad, otherwise you might well turn into a crusty old bachelor.’
‘Me?‘ he exclaimed, staring at her, giving her a look of mock horror, and then he chuckled. ‘I’m not yet forty, so I won’t be crusty for a long time yet. I think I’ve got a bit of time left to find the right woman. Actually, do you have any girlfriends you could introduce me to?’
‘I wish I did. But we digressed, Lorne. What about Linny and Simon?’
‘They’re good. As good as gold, and I think he’s the best thing that’s happened to her. She’s mourned Julian for too long, and in Simon she’s found a kindred spirit. I’ve always liked him myself, and he’s a good guy. To borrow one of Linny’s favourite phrases, he’s true blue.’
‘And good looking in a blond, Greek god sort of way. Quite a hunk, I’d say.’
Breaking the Rules (2009) Page 39