‘Why is he even doing this? If he thinks she’s a cheat, why not have her followed for a while, catch her in the act?’
‘Because she doesn’t have affairs,’ Lorna replied. ‘However, she does have a history of one-night stands. We could be following her for weeks, months without finding anything out. That’s if there is anything to find. He reckons she’s an opportunist – you know, the type that can’t resist temptation when it comes her way. The couple live in Sussex, but she’s coming to London for a get-together with some friends. They’re meeting at the Lumière and that’s where she’ll be staying tonight.’
‘So why isn’t he coming with her?’
‘Because it’s girls only. Or at least that’s what she claims. You’ll need to be there by about eight o’clock.’
Harry flipped open the file and looked at the photograph. ‘I’ve not agreed to it yet.’ He gazed down at the picture of the woman he was supposed to try and tempt. She was an attractive dark-eyed brunette who looked a good deal younger than her years. ‘I mean, what the hell do I say to her?’
Mac took a slurp of his coffee, smacked his lips and put the mug back on the desk. ‘Whatever crap you usually come out with. Come on, Harry, it’s not that hard. Just chat her up, give her your usual lines and take it from there.’ He paused and added slyly, ‘Unless you don’t think you’re up to it.’
‘Mac!’ Lorna said, throwing him a warning glance. She turned back to Harry. ‘You’ll be fine, love, honestly you will. The machine will record the conversation so just keep things light and chatty. Don’t come on too strong. Let her do the running if she’s interested.’
‘And if she isn’t?’
Mac barked out a laugh. ‘Well, if you go in with that attitude, you won’t get far.’
‘You’ll need a back story,’ Lorna continued, ignoring Mac. ‘A name, a job, what you’re doing at the hotel. It’s all in the file so make sure you read it and memorise it before you leave. And don’t go into too much detail about anything. The simpler the better, right?’
Harry looked down at the photo again. ‘If he doesn’t think he can trust her, why does he bother? They’d be better off apart.’
‘It’s not always that easy,’ Lorna said. ‘You know it isn’t.’
Harry closed the file and stood up. ‘You two owe me big time for this.’
‘Thank you,’ Lorna said. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’
Harry walked out of the office, slapping the file against his thigh. Already he was regretting that he’d given in. Still, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do; there were men in prison who had more active social lives than he had. A night out at a fancy hotel, all expenses paid, with carte blanche to try and seduce an attractive female: what could possibly go wrong?
3
By seven o’clock Harry was showered and shaved and dressed in a smart grey Armani suit. He gazed in the mirror as he did up his tie, repeating the details that Lorna had provided him with. ‘Richard Hall, financier, forty-four years old.’ He didn’t need to remember a birthday – it was better to use his own. ‘Richard Hall, Richard Hall. Down from Manchester for a few days for meetings with clients. Staying at the hotel. Going home tomorrow.’ As far as back stories went, it was hardly riveting, but preferable to having to make up something on the spot.
Harry examined his reflection, trying to see himself as a stranger might – that stranger being a woman who may or may not be in the mood for a brief liaison. His face was angular, a little gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and an aquiline nose. His blue eyes, possibly his best feature, held an edge of wariness and he blinked twice trying to clear the expression. Open, friendly and available was the look he was going for.
‘Sexy and seductive,’ he murmured. ‘Charming, intelligent, perceptive.’
For Harry, it wasn’t so much what was on view that bothered him than what wasn’t. Underneath the stylish suit, his six-foot-two body still bore the scars from the explosion that had ended his police career. Sometimes he woke suddenly in the night, jerked into consciousness by a ringing in his ears. He flexed his right leg, aware of a dull ache that could be down to the metal pin or was perhaps only psychosomatic. Whenever he thought about the blast, his leg pain came out in sympathy.
Harry took one last look in the mirror, slicked back the dark damp hair from his forehead and pulled in a deep breath. He tapped the slim recording machine in his breast pocket and made a mental note to turn the damn thing on. With luck she’d give him the brush-off and he’d be back by nine o’clock.
‘Be a good girl, Caroline,’ he said. ‘Be a good girl and we can all go home happy.’
An hour later, Harry was seated on a stool in the main bar of the hotel, with one eye on his Scotch and the other on his prey. Caroline Westwood was in a group of five occupying a corner, and from the way the staff fluttered round the women, bowing and scraping, anyone would have thought they were royalty. Hardly surprising, mind, as they were quaffing champagne and not the cheap sort either. Nothing came cheap at the Lumière. He had just finished eating a sandwich, the cost of which would have fed a family of four for the day.
Harry took a sip of the drink – his second of the evening – and wondered how to make an approach. Time was ticking by and hopes of a quick exchange were fading fast. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate a tight-knit group, to single one woman out from the rest. For the moment, there was nothing he could do but wait.
The place was expensively chic and the bar was busy but not in an elbow-jostling kind of way; there were just enough people for it to be full without being overcrowded. The barman, a balding man in his fifties who was wearing a nametag that identified him as DENIS, wandered over, glanced at Harry’s glass and raised a querying eyebrow.
Harry shook his head. ‘No, thanks.’ He leaned in and lowered his voice, giving it a conspiratorial edge. ‘The women in the corner, over by the palms – are they staying at the hotel?’
Denis casually glanced over before looking back at Harry. ‘Some of them.’ His mouth curled into a sly smile. ‘Which is it? The blonde?’
Harry shook his head again. ‘The brunette. The one in the red dress.’
‘Mrs Westwood.’ Denis scratched the nape of his neck and frowned. ‘You know, I had you pegged for the blonde. I’m not usually wrong. Must be losing my touch.’
Harry shrugged his shoulders. In truth, the guy was right, the blonde was more his type – she had a cool distant look and a generous mouth – but personal preferences were off the agenda tonight. ‘Is there a Mr Westwood?’
Denis made a show of gazing round the bar. ‘Doesn’t look like it. You want me to send over a drink to the lady?’
Harry thought about it. ‘Not just yet. Maybe later.’
‘Sure, give it half an hour or so.’
‘Is she a regular here?’
‘Not what I’d call regular. Every now and again.’
A couple of customers arrived at the bar and Denis went off to serve them. While he was busy, Harry let his eyes drift back to the women. Caroline Westwood was wearing a dress that showed off her figure to its full advantage. There was some cleavage on view, but not enough to make her look cheap. Not that anyone could look cheap when they had a classic string of pearls round their neck. There was something about the gleam of them, their smooth opacity, that made him sure they had come from a very exclusive jeweller.
Harry sipped some more whisky, trying to make it last. He checked his phone for something to do. No missed calls. No messages. Yes, he really was Mr Popular. And he wasn’t making a whole lot of progress on the seduction front either. Maybe Mac was right about honing his skills; perhaps he should call Sylvie and ask her for some tips.
Harry couldn’t recall the last time he’d deliberately set out to pick up a woman. Back in his twenties, he reckoned. His hunting skills were definitely rusty. In the past he’d usually met his partners through work or friends, but this was a completely different situation. Even though it wasn’t for real, it still stirr
ed up all those basic feelings of male pride and anticipation.
He glanced over again at Caroline. This time she turned her head a little and caught him looking. He held her gaze, just long enough for her to know that it wasn’t an accident. He looked away and back again. Was that a flicker of something in her eyes? He smiled. She smiled back, a half-smile. Was she interested? She could be – or it could just be mild amusement that was playing on her lips.
For the next ten minutes they continued with the to-and-fro, an age-old game that was probably being played out in numerous bars and pubs across the country. It could have gone on much longer if Harry hadn’t had a stroke of good fortune. A group of young businessmen – city slickers by the look of them – decided to try their luck with the women. They moved in like a pride of lions with their white teeth bared and their eyes full of hunger.
Caroline Westwood wasn’t impressed. After a brief conversation with one of the men she stood up and left the table. As she approached Harry, he slipped his hand into his top pocket and activated the recording device. ‘Game on,’ he murmured.
She came straight over to the bar and put her glass on the counter. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea,’ she said in a cool clear voice. ‘I’m only after five minutes of peace.’
‘You don’t have to worry on that score. I’m the quiet sort – and I’m all out of ideas tonight.’
Caroline arched her eyebrows. ‘Should I ask?’
Harry, following his instincts, decided to go off script. It was time for some improvisation. Somehow the story that Lorna had provided didn’t quite fit the bill. ‘Let’s just say I had a casual arrangement to meet a girl here this evening; turns out it was a bit more casual on her part than mine.’
‘And now you’re broken-hearted.’
‘I’m putting on a brave face.’
‘You’ll get over it.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
Caroline took a sip of champagne and looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘Life’s full of disappointments.’
Harry put out his hand. ‘I’m Richard,’ he said. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Caroline. And thank you, but I already have one.’
As they shook hands, Harry took a moment to scrutinise her. From a distance she had looked ten years younger than the age he knew her to be, but close up he could see the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Not that it made her any less attractive. She had the confidence of a woman who knew she could still turn heads. ‘A seat, then,’ he said, getting to his feet.
Caroline glanced at the empty stool, but made no attempt to take his place. ‘I’m fine. I’m happy to stand for a while.’ She paused and then said, ‘So, Richard, apart from being unlucky with women, what else can you tell me about yourself?’
‘What else would you like to know?’
‘Only the interesting bits,’ she said. ‘I don’t care for being bored.’
‘Who does?’ Harry asked. Now that the game had begun, he felt two conflicting emotions: one was the desire to succeed – to make her succumb, to make her want him – but the other was more ambiguous, a suspicion that he wasn’t exactly playing fair. The choice to stay, however, was still hers. She could walk away at any time, turn her back and return to her friends. ‘I’m in personal security. I take care of people.’
‘A bodyguard,’ she said. Her gaze slid the length of his body from his face to his toes as if assessing his potential. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘Pretty much.’
Caroline gave him a deliberately provocative look. ‘Well, you’ve certainly got the build for it.’
‘It’s not just about muscle,’ he said. ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’
She glanced over at the young men who had ordered more champagne and were laughing too loudly. Their faces were flushed, their eyes shining as brightly as the gold Rolex watches they wore around their wrists. All of their suits were tailored and their shirts came in various shades of pastel. ‘Some books are exactly what they appear to be.’
‘Easy reading,’ he said. ‘Some people like that kind of thing.’
‘And you? What do you like?’
Harry met her gaze and held it. ‘Something with a bit more substance. A good story, good characters, a twist in the tale. How about you?’
‘I find a little mystery goes a long way.’
Harry smiled. He was probably enjoying himself more than he should, but what the hell – it had been a while since he’d done any serious flirting. ‘And a convincing hero, of course. You always need one of those.’
‘It depends what you mean by convincing.’
‘A man who can take care of himself. Strong, smart, sincere and with just a hint of sensitivity.’
Caroline drew closer to him, her body almost touching his. He could smell the musky scent of her perfume. ‘And what about the heroine? How does she figure in all this?’
Harry raised his glass to his lips, his elbow brushing against her bare arm. ‘She knows what she wants – and how to get it.’
‘And how would that be exactly?’
‘Through wit and intelligence … and by not always playing by the rules.’
Caroline gave a light laugh. ‘Rules are there to be broken, right?’
Harry broke her gaze as he reached for his own glass. ‘Absolutely.’ He caught Denis’s eye and the barman smirked. Quickly, he shifted his focus, glancing instead into the long wide mirror behind the counter. It was then that he noticed him: Danny Street, the man you’d least like to meet down a dark alley on a rainy night. Harry frowned. He hadn’t even been aware that the psycho was out of jail. What was he doing here? It was none of Harry’s business, but somehow he had never been quite able to shake off the mantle of the cop.
‘So, Richard, do you read a lot of books?’
Harry switched his gaze again. ‘Some, not too many. I like to be selective.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
As they continued with the banter, Harry positioned himself so he could see what Danny Street was doing. The creep was sitting at a table near the door, leaning forward and talking avidly to a girl with dark blonde hair. Harry couldn’t see her face – she had her back to him – but whoever she was, she had bad taste in company. Danny Street was pond life, a vicious piece of scum.
Aware that she didn’t have his full attention, Caroline turned her head to follow his line of vision. ‘What is it?’
‘Sorry, I just saw someone I know. It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing, nobody important.’ He tried to concentrate on the job in hand, but curiosity kept drawing his gaze back. Something was going on, it had to be. Danny Street never opened his mouth without some form of evil spewing out of it.
‘For nobody important you seem to be very interested in her.’
‘What?’
Irritation twitched at the corner of her mouth. ‘The girl by the door.’
‘Oh, no, it’s not her,’ Harry said. ‘It’s the guy I was looking at.’
‘You don’t say.’
If it hadn’t been for Caroline’s sceptical response, Harry might never have looked more closely at Danny’s female companion. But now he couldn’t help himself. Not that there was much to see – she still had her back to him. Early thirties, he reckoned, cropped hair, slim, pale skin. She was wearing a light blue dress with a navy jacket. There was a silver chain round her neck and small silver hoops in her ears.
Then, suddenly, something extraordinary happened. As if aware that she was under scrutiny, the girl turned and peered over her shoulder. Their eyes met and Harry’s jaw dropped open. The moment of recognition caused his heart to skip a beat. It had been five years since he’d last seen her, but hers was a face he could never forget. Ellen Shaw. There was no doubt about it. She might have changed the colour of her hair but nothing could disguise those dark haunting eyes.
The shock on her face must have mirrored his, but she was faster to react. While Harry was still recovering from the surprise, she quickly
jumped to her feet, grabbed her bag and rushed out of the bar. It took him a few seconds to respond. All kinds of thoughts were racing through his mind, none of which had anything to do with Caroline Westwood.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered. ‘I just have to … Sorry, I won’t be a minute.’
Harry crossed the room, weaving between the tables. He knew, even as he headed for the door, that he was acting unprofessionally and was probably in the process of blowing the job. There was nothing even vaguely seductive about running after another woman. But he didn’t care. Some things were more important than finding out whether a rich man’s wife was faithful or not.
Outside the bar he bumped into a large party of people emerging from the restaurant and got entangled in the crowd. When he’d managed to extricate himself and make his way to the foyer, there was no sign of Ellen Shaw. He hurried across the cool marble floor and out of the door. On the street, he looked to the left and the right, but still couldn’t spot her.
Harry only hesitated for a moment before sprinting down to Euston Road, convinced that this was the most likely direction she’d have gone in. From there she would be able to catch a tube or a train from the station. He had to find her! Even as he ran a thousand questions were spinning through his head, the uppermost being what she was doing back in London and, more worryingly, why the hell she was mixing with the likes of Street.
Jesus Christ, Danny Street of all people. When it came to psychopathic criminality, that bastard had written the book. He was vicious. He was ruthless, sick and twisted. The thought of Ellen even breathing the same air as him made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck. And why had she run off like that? She had to be in serious trouble.
By the time he reached the corner, his heart was pounding in his chest. As the traffic roared past, he frantically scanned the pavements. Where was she? She couldn’t have just disappeared – although it was possible, with the start she’d had, that she had managed to flag down a passing cab. If she had, she’d be well gone by now.
‘Damn it!’ he cursed.
Honeytrap: Part 1 Page 2