Now Joe was certain that Martin knew exactly where Hugo was. How could he have possibly started making enquiries when he didn’t know what Hugo looked like, or even what age he was? He wanted to leap on top of Martin and punch him until he admitted it, but he knew if he did that he would be destroying all his chances of seeing his son again. He had to force himself to be patient and play the game by Martin’s rules. Martin was going to want to trade. Joe had to wait until he knew what the deal was going to be. The effort of self-control was almost physically painful.
‘You’re an American, aren’t you, Joe,’ Martin said, settling back with his arms along the back of the sofa.
‘That’s right.’ Joe sat forward on the edge of his seat in an attempt to stop the pace of the conversation from slowing any further. He sipped his coffee, grateful for the rush of caffeine. He had gone through the barrier of tiredness which had threatened to overwhelm him a few hours before. Now everything seemed pin-sharp around him, as if all his senses had been heightened and stretched.
‘I wonder if you’ve noticed something about this country,’ Martin drawled. ‘They don’t like success. People are always looking for ways to bring down anyone who’s too successful. Have you noticed that?’
‘I’ve heard it said.’
‘The media are the worst. That’s why I was a little cagey when you rang the other day. Can you understand that?’
‘Sure,’ Joe shifted uncomfortably on the luxurious cushions. ‘I can understand that.’
‘There are a lot of people who would like to see me taken out of political life. It’s pure jealousy. They spread rumours and lies about my past in the hope of smearing my name and making it impossible for politicians to work with me. I would like to think that maybe I could rely on you to help me redress the balance a little. Put my side of the story. Tell the truth about me.’
Joe nodded his understanding of this suggestion. Martin’s eyes were on his. They seemed not to blink. Joe looked away. It was obvious why Martin had been so successful in life. Saying ‘no’ to him would be a hard thing to do.
‘I think you’re a man I can trust,’ Martin said, eventually.
‘Thank you.’ Joe forced his eyes up from his coffee cup to formally acknowledge the compliment.
‘If you say you’ll support me, I feel sure I can rely on you to keep your word.’ Joe took another swallow of the hot coffee as Martin continued. ‘Could we talk further once I’ve recovered a little from the shock of my bereavement?’
‘Sure,’ Joe said, relieved to have been asked a question which he could answer honestly. In fact, the idea of finding out more about this man was not unappealing. If only half what he had heard about Mike Martin’s background was true, he had to be one of the most interesting people around. It would be fascinating to spend some time hearing his own version of his life.
Martin stood up with his hand out, signalling that the interview was over. Joe stood too, unsure what was happening. Where was the deal he was expecting to be offered? Where was Hugo? Was this all Martin wanted of him, a promise of future support? He couldn’t leave without something. He couldn’t go back to knowing nothing about where his son was. He would have to say something, lay his cards on the table, throw himself on the man’s mercy. As he opened his mouth to protest a young man arrived at Martin’s side carrying a phone.
‘A call for you, Mr Martin.’
Martin took the phone and put it to his ear. He gave a few grunts of acknowledgement, before hanging up.
‘It seems your son has been spotted,’ he said.
‘Where?’
‘In Regent Street, asking the way to Hamleys toyshop.’
That was it. Joe knew the deal had been struck. At some time in the future Martin would be calling in this favour, but at that moment he didn’t care. Joe didn’t wait for Christabel, who was making her way across the room to escort him out. He was already running through the house and into the garden. For a second he couldn’t remember where the gate was and stood desperately searching around the tranquil vista of the gardens until he managed to work out which shrubs he had come in through. He ran across to them and found the gate. He yanked open the locks and was in the street. Rod saw him from the waiting car and instantly accelerated to be beside him. Joe jumped into the passenger seat.
‘Hamleys in Regent Street,’ he said breathlessly. Rod stamped on the accelerator again and the car roared away.
‘Hamleys!’ Rod exclaimed as he threw the car round a corner. ‘Fucking brilliant. Who would ever notice a spare eight year old in there?’
They came north up Regent Street and Rod U-turned across the traffic to bring them to a halt outside the toy shop. Taxis, buses and private cars swerved, stamped on their brakes and hit their horns. Rod and Joe jumped out and ran into the shop. Joe’s heart sank. The place was seething with people, mostly tourists by the look of them. The aisles were blocked solid.
‘Welcome to Hamleys, sir.’ The greeter made him jump. ‘Can I be of any assistance to you?’
‘I’ve lost my little boy.’ Joe pulled a photograph out of his pocket and thrust it into the woman’s face. ‘I think he may be in here somewhere. He mustn’t be allowed to wander out.’
‘Very good, sir.’ The woman beckoned over a security officer.
‘You start searching,’ Rod told Joe. ‘I’ll stay on the door. Leave me the picture.’
Joe left Rod with the picture, which he started showing to the gathering security staff as Joe pushed his way through the crowd. There was no sign of Hugo on the ground floor. Joe racked his brain, trying to think which section of the shop would be likely to attract his son first. He couldn’t think. He started up the escalator. It was crammed with people who weren’t moving, just allowing themselves to sail serenely upwards at the speed at which the escalator dictated. Joe pushed his way rudely through, knocking over children and barging their mothers. He was past caring what anyone thought.
The first floor was just as packed as he raced around it, avoiding demonstrators anxious to show him how the latest toys worked.
Another escalator and more people blocking his way. The muscles in his legs, which were still aching from a night spent chasing around the streets of Earls Court and Kensington, were now screaming in protest. He was panting and red in the face. Shoppers were looking at him in alarm, women instinctively pulling their children away from the path of the madman.
Pushing and shoving, gasping for air and forcing his legs to keep running, he reached the top floor. Still there was no sign of Hugo. Joe’s body wanted to give up, to lie in a corner and just let the weariness overcome him, to slip away and leave all the pain behind. But his mind wouldn’t allow it. He went twice round the top floor, circling every display and carousel, and then started on his way down again.
A large, remote-controlled Formula One racing car screeched across his path. He saw it too late, was moving too fast to stop himself. His foot kicked the car across the floor. It screamed angrily as it spun out of control and hit a pillar in a shower of flying plastic parts.
‘Dad, you idiot!’ an angry voice shouted and suddenly Hugo was there, right beside him, waving the control box furiously at him. Joe swept the boy up off his feet and held him tightly to his chest. He was unable to get enough breath to scold him, or to tell him how much he loved him, or even to cry. He just clung to him for what seemed, to Hugo, to be hours.
‘Get off, Dad,’ he protested. ‘This is so embarrassing. Can we go to McDonald’s for lunch?’
On the ground floor they collected Rod and made their way out into the street.
‘Where are we going?’ Rod asked.
‘Adele’s office is just down the street. Let’s go there and sort ourselves out.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Hugo protested. ‘You promised we could go to McDonald’s.’
Joe wasn’t listening. He was dialling Fliss’ number. Rod scooped Hugo up. ‘We’ll go,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Fliss?’ Joe got thro
ugh. ‘I’ve got him.’
‘Where was he?’
‘In Hamleys, looking at remote-controlled cars.’
‘What made you think of looking there?’
‘I just remembered going there with him and took a chance,’ Joe lied. ‘Do you want to meet us at Adele’s office? Hugo wants a McDonald’s.’
‘Of course. We’ll be right there. Is he okay?’
‘He’s fine. Do you remember the address?’
‘Of course.’
‘See you in a minute.’ He hung up as they piled into the car and turned to face Hugo. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I went to your flat,’ Hugo said, staring out of the window at the passing crowds. ‘You weren’t there and a friend of yours called Maisie took me for a McDonald’s. Then we went to her flat, which was really cool. Then some of her friends turned up and I went to their house, which was cool. They had this shooting range in the cellar and they let me use it. They had these targets which were shaped like people and I shot this man right through the heart. Then they took me to the toyshop, but I lost them.’
‘So you had a good time?’ Joe asked, as casually as he could manage. ‘No problems.’
‘Really cool.’
Rod and Joe exchanged looks and Joe blinked away the tears.
Rod parked the car in Soho and they made their way back across the road to Adele’s office. They sat round her desk while Adele’s secretary made coffee. Fliss and Paolo arrived ten minutes later. Fliss clung to Hugo as tightly as Joe had done.
‘Jesus!’ Hugo said when she finally let go. ‘I thought you two would be really cross with me for running away again.’
‘Don’t use words like that,’ Fliss scolded half-heartedly.
‘We are really cross,’ Joe said. ‘We’ll talk about it later. We’re just relieved you’re safe.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be safe?’ Hugo seemed genuinely puzzled at the idea.
‘Where have you been all this time?’ Fliss wanted to know.
‘With some friends of Dad’s,’ Hugo said. ‘They were really cool.’
‘Didn’t they think to ring either of us?’ Fliss asked Joe.
‘Apparently not.’ Joe shrugged. ‘They aren’t people who are exactly used to dealing with kids. Don’t make a big thing of it. Just be happy he’s here.’
Adele’s phone rang and she picked it up.
‘Do I have to go back to school?’ Hugo asked.
‘No!’ Joe and Fliss both said together.
‘We’ll find you somewhere closer to home,’ Joe said. ‘So we can keep an eye on you ourselves.’
‘Joe,’ Adele interrupted. ‘There’s a call for you.’
‘On your phone?’ Joe was puzzled.
‘It’s Marion Ray.’
Joe took the phone from her.
‘Joe, sweetheart? It’s Marion here.’ Ray’s voice could be clearly heard by all of them. ‘Let’s do it. My start on the movie has been delayed. I’ve got a spare week. Can you meet me in LA?’
‘Sure,’ Joe said. ‘No problem.’
‘Let your girl work out the details with my people. You can stay at the house.’
‘Okay. I’ll pass you back to Adele. She’ll make all the arrangements. I’m looking forward to working with you. It’ll be a great book.’
‘Sure it will.’
Having handed back the phone, Joe looked across at Hugo, who was hugging his mother, and staring up into her face. Paolo had his arm around his wife’s shoulders and was saying something private into her ear which was making Fliss smile. Joe felt a stab of pain in his chest. The three of them were a family unit which he knew he wasn’t part of.
‘Hugo,’ he said, having to clear his throat to find the words he wanted. ‘I’ve got to go away for a week or two. When I get back we’ll go look at a few new schools together, okay?’
Joe looked at Fliss and could see she was avoiding catching his eye. Paolo was also staring into the middle distance and Joe knew that, by the time he got back from Hollywood, they would have made all the arrangements for changing Hugo’s school. He felt sick.
‘We have to talk about deadlines,’ Adele said, having hung up the phone.
‘Right.’ Joe pulled himself back from the edge of the black hole of depression which had suddenly opened up in front of him. ‘There’s bound to be a lot of waiting around for Ray. I’ll take a laptop with me and start a first draft of the Doris book. When I get back I’ll get the rest of Rod’s material from him. Then I’ll lock myself away in a mountain shack somewhere and get all three written.’
Adele held up her hand to stop his exhausted chatter. ‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Ring me when you’ve had some sleep and we’ll work out a sensible schedule.’
‘When you get back,’ Rod said quietly as the others talked amongst themselves, ‘we’ll find a way to bring Mike Martin down once and for all.’
‘Just let me sleep, Rod, okay?’ Joe protested.
Rod grinned and raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Sure,’ he laughed. ‘You sleep. Have a holiday with your megastar friend, and then we’ll have some more fun and games.’
Pretty Little Packages Page 26