‘That’s true, but he’s extremely intelligent, and tough as nails. I mean tough in the sense of strong and masculine, and I think he’s tough mentally. If push came to shove, he’d be terrific. Our little sister is going to be in good hands. And let’s not forget, Jack helped to raise him.’
‘How’s everybody reacting?’
‘I don’t think they are, not really. It’s almost as if it’s a given. Jack’s taking it in his stride, full of geniality about them, and so are Mum and Dad. I might even detect a sense of relief floating around, especially at Pennistone Royal.’
‘That’s marvellous, I’m happy for her; she deserves a life of her own away from the store. That all-demanding store.’
‘Spoken like a happy woman, a Dauphine no more.’ Lorne chortled to himself and pushed back his chair, went over and kissed his sister. ‘Come on, let’s have coffee in the library.’
‘You go ahead, I’ll bring it to you,’ Tessa said, getting up. She waved him out of the dining room, adding, ‘I think I might have a cognac with my coffee, Lorne. Please do the honours, darling.’
‘I will,’ he answered, wandering through the circular entrance hall and into the library. He had always loved Clos-Fleuri, Jean-Claude’s charming eighteenth-century house set in a little private park on the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau. He had visited Jean-Claude here long before he had introduced his twin to the well-known writer, and it was out here in the country that he and the Frenchman had developed an enduring friendship.
Walking across to the French doors, Lorne looked out at the gardens, thinking what a truly beautiful night it was: a black velvet sky, filled with sparkling stars and a brilliant full moon. A romantic night, if one had someone to be romantic with. Lorne Fairley had been feeling lonely lately, and he envied his sisters and their new-found beaus. Well, Larry Vaughan was no longer a beau; he was a husband, and he obviously adored M.
Portia Vaughan suddenly crept into his mind. She was a beautiful woman, and she’d always knocked his socks off with her looks and talent, but she’d never shown any real interest in him. Until now. But was it really interest? All she had apparently said to her mother Pandora was that she would go to the dinner for M and Larry if he came too. Well, perhaps it was a start. He did fancy her, always had.
Tessa glided in carrying a tray, and he went to take it from her, then set it down on the iron and wood coffee table near the fireplace.
Tessa said, ‘Do you want a fire? It just needs a match, you know. I think I ought to have started one earlier, the house gets so cold in the evenings, even in summer, and it’s still only spring.’ She shivered. ‘Of course, who wears chiffony things like this dress on a cool night? Only me, naturally. Well, let’s see if the coffee warms me up.’
She poured, added cream and a sweetener, and took a cup to her brother. ‘How about that cognac, sweetie?’ she asked, flashing a smile at him.
‘Coming right up, Beautiful One. What time is Jean-Claude getting here?’ Lorne asked as he went over to an old wooden garden cart used for drinks, picked up a bottle of Napoleon and poured cognac into two balloons.
‘It’ll be about eleven thirty or midnight, I think,’ Tessa replied. ‘There was a reception at the Élysée Palace and then a dinner, and it’s hard to get away from those sort of evenings. But Hakim will drive him, and he’ll be able to relax on the way out here. And anyway, there’s less traffic at this hour.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Goodness, it’s already eleven, Lorne. How time flies when you’re with your one and only twin.’
After drinking a cup of coffee and taking a few sips of cognac, Tessa was still shivering; she stood up, went over to Jean-Claude’s desk, and picked up a box of matches.
Lorne, who was standing near the fireplace, stepped to one side, and Tessa bent down, struck a match, put it to the paper and chips in the grate. The fire took hold immediately, started to crackle and burn, and flames flew up the chimney.
Suddenly there was a huge explosion in the chimney, and the grate and logs were thrown out into the room. The inside of the chimney began to tumble down.
Tessa and Lorne, standing in front of the fireplace, didn’t know what had hit them. They were thrown backwards by the blast. Lorne hit his head on the edge of the coffee table, and Tessa landed with a crash against the stout legs of a wooden table. They both passed out amidst the burning logs blown out of the exploding grate.
The fire on the carpet burned quickly. Flames instantly spread to the floor-length draperies at the windows, then to the chairs with their summer fabric slipcovers. Within minutes the room was an inferno.
It was Lorne who came around first; as he struggled to his feet, he realized his sports jacket was on fire. He struggled out of it, threw it on the floor, ran over to Tessa, saw that the chiffon dress was aflame around her body. Regardless of his hands, he tore off as much as he could, then, taking hold of her feet, he dragged her out into the hall. He closed the library door to contain the fire.
Loath to leave her though he was, he ran down the short corridor to the kitchen. There was none of the help in sight, but he shouted, ‘Fire! Fire!’ as he filled a pan with water, ran back to his sister. Lorne threw the water over her face, hair and shoulders, and ran back to the kitchen for another panful.
He was filling two pans when Gerard, the houseman, appeared, looking frightened as he pulled on a shirt. ‘Fire!’ Lorne shouted at him, and ran out of the kitchen. ‘Get everyone out of this house. And bring the pan of water first,’ Lorne thought to say as he headed back to Tessa.
He emptied the water on her, dousing the smouldering dress. Then he heard Adele screaming, ‘Mummy! Mummy! What’s happened?’ The nine-year-old clattered down the front stairs, followed by the younger children’s nanny, Christabel.
‘Uncle Lorne, what’s happened to Mummy?’ Adele cried, and then screamed when she saw her mother’s inert body and the burned chiffon dress.
‘Stop it! Shut up, Adele!’ Lorne shouted at her. ‘She’ll be fine. Go back upstairs, get the little ones out of bed. Go on! Go! And you too, Christabel, don’t stand there gaping.’
The two of them fled, and Gerard ran to him, shouting, ‘I’ve called the police. They come quickly. And ambulance. Here’s the water.’
‘Thanks,’ Lorne said, and poured the water on Tessa once again. And then kneeling down he looked at his sister, and gulped. Her hair and one side of her face had been badly burned. He took hold of her hand, put his fingers on her wrist and found a pulse. It was slow but steady. All of a sudden Tessa began to moan, and her eyes fluttered slightly. Then she lay very still. He stifled his fear.
Looking up at Gerard, Lorne said, ‘Go upstairs, please, make sure Adele is rounding up the twins, and François.’ Just as he finished his sentence, he saw them all trooping down the stairs, being led by Christabel; behind them came Adele, who was as white as a sheet and looked horrified.
Lorne stood up, went to meet them, and shepherded them out through the front door, endeavouring to shield them. ‘Go and wait for Papa,’ he said to them, motioning to Christabel, not wishing them to see their mother’s burnt clothing and hair, not to mention her face. He realized that her legs were also badly burned.
Adele hesitated, and he said to her in a kinder tone, ‘You’ve got to be brave, darling. For your mother’s sake. You’re the eldest, so please go and look after your little sisters—see to Chloé and Constance.’
‘Yes, Uncle Lorne, but—’
‘No buts. Go on, do as I say, darling.’
One of the three-year-old twins escaped from Christabel, came running to him. He saw that it was Chloé, although it was hard sometimes to distinguish between them. ‘Oh, Maman, poor Maman!’ Chloé cried, and before he could contain the child, or stop her, she was kneeling next to Tessa, patting her hand gently. Lorne scooped her up, hugged her to him and carried her outside. ‘Now we shall wait for Papa,’ he murmured, as he handed her over to Adele and went back into the house.
In the meantime, Gerar
d’s wife, Solange, had appeared carrying two fire extinguishers. She and Gerard cautiously opened the door of the small library; together they sprayed foam into the room, and did the best they could to blanket the burning carpet and curtains with it. Warning Solange to watch herself, and not to go inside the room, Gerard ran down to the kitchen.
He returned within seconds carrying two large buckets of water, which the two of them threw onto the fire, successfully dousing some of the flames. The couple hurried back to fill the buckets once more, and they made a good job of containing the fire finally. They had been determined to prevent it from spreading through the house.
When he saw their efforts, Lorne exclaimed, ‘You’re doing great! Keep going, I have to attend to my sister.’
Kneeling down on the floor next to Tessa, he let his eyes sweep over her, endeavouring to ascertain how badly burned she was. He really couldn’t tell, although he believed her legs were the worst. The chiffon dress had been ankle length and it had really been set aflame. He closed his eyes momentarily, and then snapped them open as he heard her moan. Her eyes were still closed and she was inert. There was nothing he could do but wait. He knew better than to move her. That would endanger her life.
Suddenly he felt cold; shivers were running through him and his hands were hurting. He looked down at them and realized for the first time how burned they were. But he had been lucky…
A commotion was erupting outside, and Lorne struggled to his feet, feeling slightly nauseous and dizzy as he made his way to the front door. There were two ambulances coming to a standstill, two fire engines and three police cars. Behind these vehicles he saw Jean-Claude’s vintage Jaguar. The firemen and paramedics went into action immediately.
Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Lorne went down the steps to tell Jean-Claude what had happened and give him details of the explosion. And it was only at this moment that he suddenly realized why he had made everyone go outside the house, except for himself and Gerard. At the back of his mind had been the name ‘Jonathan Ainsley’. He had wanted Clos-Fleuri empty because he was worried there were other explosives planted in other rooms. He must inform Jean-Claude immediately, explain why he suspected this.
Lorne began to sway just as he reached Jean-Claude, and before he could say a word he passed out. The ambulance men ran forward with a stretcher.
It was Gerard who told his boss, Jean-Claude Deléon, what had happened, but because he knew nothing about a man called Jonathan Ainsley, he did not mention his name. However, Jean-Claude thought of him immediately, and experienced a sick feeling inside. That maniac could have been responsible for the explosion. It also occurred to him that he should have Clos-Fleuri searched at once by the police. But first he must get to his injured wife and his children.
As he ran forward, heading towards the ancient house, his heart was pounding and fear was spreading through his limbs. He saw his two little girls, Chloé and Constance, and his four-year-old-son, François, and waved to them. And went on running. To get to his darling Tessa, the light of his life. He prayed to God she was alive.
Gerard, who had returned to the house, was waiting for him in the circular hall with Solange. The paramedics had just entered, but they stood to one side when they recognized him.
Jean-Claude knelt down next to her, murmuring her name, holding her hand, and finally Tessa opened her eyes. She tried to say his name, failed, and closed her eyes again.
Jean-Claude, stricken and shaking, looked up at one of the paramedics, his eyes pleading. His mouth was so dry he could hardly speak. ‘Is she—’
The paramedic cut him off. ‘She must go immediately to the burns unit at the American Hospital in Paris,’ the man said, nodded and gave Jean-Claude a half-smile. It somehow told him that Tessa would make it.
Jean-Claude insisted everyone went back to Paris, including Gerard and his wife Solange. He wanted Clos-Fleuri torn apart for bombs. Hakim drove the family; Gerard and Solange followed in his Renault. Jean-Claude knew he must telephone Tessa’s parents, but he wanted to be sure his wife was properly installed in the American Hospital before he made the call. As he sat next to Tessa in the ambulance, he silently prayed, and with all his heart, for his wife to live. And he prayed for her twin brother, Lorne.
The Hartes flew to Paris the following day.
In the early hours of Saturday morning, Paula and Shane O’Neill, their youngest son Desmond, M and Larry, Linnet and Simon, along with Jack Figg, boarded the private jet owned by O’Neill Hotels International, which was waiting at Stansted Airport.
Once they were settled in their seats, and the Falcon was airborne, Shane spoke to them all. He said, for the second time, ‘Tessa is going to be all right. I just want you all to know that. I’ve had several calls from Jean-Claude, and the doctors in the burns unit at the American Hospital are positive. Good news about Lorne. He’s much better. He has concussion and his hands are burned, as are his ankles. But Tessa and Lorne are going to live, and they’ll have the best care for their burns.’
‘But what about Tessa’s face?’ Desmond said, staring at his father. ‘I thought you said she was badly burned.’ The twenty-one-year-old, who had always been close to his half-sister, stared at his father, obviously distressed.
‘She will be as beautiful as ever, Des, honestly. I wouldn’t lie to you. Jean-Claude told me they can perform miracles with plastic surgery these days.’
M interjected quietly, ‘This is the work of that bastard Jonathan Ainsley.’ She glanced at her mother, who was white-faced and strained, and then at Jack. ‘Don’t you both agree?’
Paula could only nod.
Jack said, ‘Certainly I do. It has his signature written all over it, no two ways about that. We’re going to take care of him, M. I promise you.’ He smiled reassuringly at Paula. She nodded,trusting him.
‘I just want to get to the hospital,’ Linnet said, reaching forward, taking hold of Paula’s hand. Seeing how worried and nervous her mother was, she added, ‘Dad’s right, Mummy. Tessa will be fine, you’ll see. She’s a fighter.’
‘She’s a Harte!’ M exclaimed. ‘And we won’t let anybody defeat us, least of all that, that—’
‘Bastard,’ her mother interrupted, supplying the appropriate word.
Looking across at M, Shane now asked, ‘I do hope you cancelled that yacht and the cruise, M. You did, didn’t you?’
‘I left a message on their answer machine, Dad, explaining I would have to reschedule for September. They weren’t open when we left the flat this morning. I’ll telephone the charter company again, once we’ve seen Tessa at the hospital. Anyway, they’ve got my deposit, so I’m sure they’re not worried.’
‘Good girl,’ Shane murmured, and gave his youngest daughter an encouraging smile. ‘You can’t expose yourself to any danger. I won’t allow it.’
Desmond looked at M. ‘Can I go in with you, when they let us see Tessa?’
‘Yes, of course, Des. Try not to worry, she will be all right.’
‘Her face,’ he said again, very softly. ‘Her very, very beautiful face.’
‘I know,’ M murmured and blinked back her tears.
Far away in St Petersburg, Jonathan Ainsley stood on the top deck of Janus, looking out to sea, pressing a mobile phone to his ear.
‘Hello?’ he said, knowing exactly who it was. This was the mobile he kept for his chief hatchet man. No one else had the number. This one was reserved for Sam Herbert Samson.
‘Boss?’ Sam said. ‘It’s me. Calling from gay Paree.’
‘Do you have good news, Sam?’
‘I certainly do. The party went off as planned. The one we had in the library.’
‘That’s very good news. Well done.’
Sam clutched the phone tighter, listening to that cultured, aristocratic voice. It had always intimidated him. He was now wondering how to explain the next bit of news. Taking deep breaths, Sam finally jumped in feet first. ‘I still have to check how many are left around, Boss. Un
fortunately, I had to leave the party early. I’m going back now. I’ll give you a jingle later today.’
‘Very well, Sam. Do what you have to do. I have the utmost faith in you. After all, I know you are thorough. I know you won’t become another Bart and make yourself redundant. Are you staying at your usual place?’
‘I sure am, Boss,’ Sam answered, his throat suddenly dry with nervousness.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Call me as soon as you know the final results of the party.’
‘I will, Boss.’ Sam closed his phone. The boss had already cut him off without saying another word. But that was his way. As he pocketed his phone, he couldn’t help worrying about that mention of Bart, long since dead. He hated it when the boss alluded to him. Bart had died in mysterious circumstances.
Several days later, on Tuesday 15 May, Richie Zhèng landed at Heathrow Airport. Once he had cleared customs, he took his rolling carry-on bag and hurried off, making for the outside. He saw the chauffeur at once. He was carrying a sign that had the name ‘Croesus’ printed on it. He smiled. Jack was creative.
Once he was settled in the back seat, Richie told the driver, ‘The Grosvenor Hotel, please.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the driver responded, sounding as if he knew this already.
It took about an hour to reach the hotel, and Richie went immediately to the front desk, where he registered under the name on his birth certificate and on his legitimate Canadian passport: Richard Thomas Sutton. He used the Canadian passport.
Within seconds he was shown up to his suite, where he unpacked his bag and then freshened up in the bathroom. Returning to the bedroom, he took stock of the room in general, lifted his two laptops out of the carry-on and slipped them into a double-sided canvas tote. After pocketing the key, he left the room, went down in the lift. As he crossed the lobby, Richie glanced around, saw nobody he knew, and hurried out to the hotel’s courtyard.
Walking at a steady pace, enjoying the fresh air on this sunny spring morning, he headed for Mount Street and Cardigan International.
Breaking the Rules (2009) Page 40