by SL Beaumont
“Not everything, I hope, Dad,” Kat said. “Don’t go putting all your eggs in one basket. You can’t diversify the risk of poor investment manager performance if you do that.”
Phil shook his head and waved a hand at her. “These guys are solid. They have a stellar reputation in the City. It’s fine. Here, I can show you my latest portfolio report.” He dug into the inside pocket of his jacket, retrieving his phone and brought up an email containing the report and passed it to Kat.
Kat perused the one-page report. It was a very high-level summary but showed an annual return of 12.5%. Kat let out a low whistle. Phil smiled.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the loo before lunch arrives,” he said, pushing his chair back and unfolding his tall frame.
“Don’t discourage him, dear. What do you think paid for this shopping spree?” Maggie said, patting Kat’s arm again. She signalled for the sommelier and started discussing which wine to have with lunch. Kat tapped the screen of her father’s phone and sent a copy of the report to her email address while her mother was distracted. She put the phone back down beside her father’s place setting.
The waiter delivered their meals as Phil returned to the table, and the conversation turned to food and family.
“I hope you’re still coming to the Valkyries’ picnic on Saturday?” Maggie said between mouthfuls.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. Will that brother of mine be there?” she asked.
A shadow of sadness crossed Phil’s face. “Yes, they’ll be there.”
“What happened to your hand?” Maggie asked, looking across at Kat, concerned. “Not kickboxing again?” she added with a sniff of disapproval.
Kat lifted her damaged prosthesis and held it out to show her mother the crack across the palm. “Not exactly. I did have to use my kickboxing skills, though, or I would have had a knife in me.”
“What?” Maggie dropped her cutlery with a crash, drawing attention from neighbouring tables.
“I was out on an investigation with a police officer that we’re working with, and we got jumped in a parking garage by two guys,” Kat explained.
“Didn’t the officer protect you?” Maggie asked, her eyes wide.
Kat laughed. “I don’t need protecting, Mum, don’t be so old fashioned. I actually protected him because he took a heavy blow, which knocked him down.”
Phil shook his head. “Oh, Kat,” he sighed with resignation. “Did the police catch the men?”
Kat shook her head. “Not that I know of, they ran off before the uniforms arrived. But unfortunately, my hand took a knock. The robotics guys won’t have it fixed it until Monday. It’s a shame, as it’s my best one so far. No chafing and excellent functionality.”
She started eating again.
Maggie stared at Kat for a long moment. “I’m still so angry that you even need it. I will never forgive those people,” she said.
Kat smiled at her. “You and me both, Mum, but let’s not spoil lunch by going there.”
***
Kat rushed back up the stairs to the office after a taxi dropped her off following lunch.
“Nate, do you still have CIP’s client list from Smyth’s computer? I can’t believe I didn’t notice this,” she called before she even reached the desk.
“Notice what?” Nathan asked, tapping on his keyboard and finding the relevant file.
“My father has a portfolio with CIP.”
Nathan looked up. “No, that can’t be right. I would have noticed his name or has he invested in the name of a company or trust?”
Kat pulled out her phone and opened the email that she’d sent herself at lunch containing her father’s report and showed him. “It’s in his name.”
“Send that to me, and I’ll search on his portfolio number.”
Kat pulled her chair around to Nathan’s desk and watched as he searched Henry Smyth’s client list using both her father’s name and the client number from the report. But each search option came up blank.
“That makes no sense. Smyth can’t have had their full database downloaded,” Kat said.
“Maybe, although the total number of clients as reported in their annual filing to the Bank of England equals the number of clients on Smyth’s database,” Nathan replied.
“How strange,” Kat said, her brow furrowed.
Chapter 10
The sun was beating down when Adam’s train pulled in at Bletchley Park Station. He followed the crowd getting off the train and crossed the road.
A large sign welcomed visitors to Bletchley Park, Home of The Codebreakers. Adam waited in line at the entry gate. An older man wearing a World War II private’s uniform was seated in the ticket booth. When Adam’s turn came, he held up his phone, displaying the ticket Wilson had sent to him earlier.
“Ah, you’re here for the picnic, sir. If you just follow the path to the left and around the lake, everything is set up on the lawn. You’re very welcome to look through the visitor centre and any of the restored huts while you are here,” the man said with a smile. “And there are guided tours leaving from in front of the mansion on the half-hour throughout the day.”
“Thank you.” Adam made his way through the gates and into the grounds of the now famous Bletchley Park. He strolled along the driveway until the chimneys and roofline of the mansion house, which housed the best-kept secret in Britain during and for many years after World War II, came into view. The almost 10,000 people who’d worked at Bletchley during the war had signed the Official Secrets Act, so Bletchley Park became a secret that many took to their graves, and its role in winning the war was almost forgotten. He recalled reading somewhere that a small group of enthusiasts bought the estate in the late 1970s, and turned it into a museum. Without them, this crucial piece of English history would have been lost to make way for yet another satellite sub-division of modern homes feeding the trains to Milton Keynes and London.
“Jackson.”
Adam looked in the direction of the voice and saw four people approaching, one pushing a wheelchair.
“Hey,” he called, a broad grin spreading across his face. A giant of a man with a dark buzz cut stepped forward and embraced him. Adam returned the embrace, slapping him on the back. “Don, it’s been too long.”
The man pushing the wheelchair extended his hand. “Jacko.”
“Watto,” Adam replied, shaking his hand before saluting the man in the chair, dressed in a navy polo shirt. The cuffs of his shorts flapped where his legs should have been.
“Sir.”
“Jackson, good to see you again,” Col. Wilson replied, returning the salute and maintaining the pretence that they hadn’t been in contact for a while.
“Adam, me old mate. How’s the Old Bill treating ya?” The fourth man in the group raised his hand and high-fived him.
“Tommy,” Adam drew out the last syllable. “I can’t complain. I’m still with CID, although my latest case has me working with a bunch of bean counters associated with the Financial Crimes Unit, which is a little different for me,” he replied.
“What do you call an accountant without a calculator?” Watto said.
“I dunno.”
“Lonely.”
Adam shook his head and groaned. “I see the jokes don’t get any better. But it’s great to see you guys; it’s been too long.”
“Ben, Ivan, and Muddy should be here somewhere,” Tommy said, looking over towards the mansion house.
“They’ve probably found the beer tent,” Don said.
“Which is exactly where we should be going,” Watto said, pushing Wilson’s chair forward. Adam fell into step beside them.
“How’s Nancy?” Don asked, looking at Adam.
“It’s complicated. We separated six months ago.”
Don nodded, keen understanding registering in his expression. “Where are you living?”
“A mate who is working in the US has loaned me his flat while things are getting sorted out.”
&
nbsp; “You two were always an interesting mix,” Don said, bumping his shoulder. “She was way too glamorous for you.”
Adam snorted and looked across at Col. Wilson. “How are you keeping, sir?”
“Very well, I have a desk job now, in Whitehall. I’d rather be in the field with the men, but as second options go, it’s a good one,” Wilson replied.
“More people like you are needed high up. Ones who’ve seen action, not just paper soldiers,” Adam said.
Adam turned to the others. “Are you guys all still enlisted?”
“Yup, still serving Queen and Country,” Don said. “Don’t know what else I’d do.”
They rounded a corner, and the stately home with its spacious forecourt and sloping park-like lawn came into view. The building’s style could only be described as eclectic. It looked as though every time the owners had added a new extension, they’d had adopted a different architectural style. A large number of people filled the lawn, some standing in groups, others seated on outdoor chairs or sprawled on picnic rugs. Several open-sided marquees decorated with lines of Union Jack bunting flapping in the gentle breeze were set up on the driveway, serving food and drink. A jazz band played on a raised dais in front of the mansion, and children ran around in between groups of people, giggling and laughing.
“Looks like a good turnout,” Adam said.
“Yes, apparently they tried to get Prince Harry to drop by after the Invictus Games press that he’s been doing this week, but he got on a plane back to North America instead,” Tommy said.
“If I had Meghan Markle waiting at home for me, I’d be on the first plane out of here too,” Watto said.
“What did I tell you?” Don said with a laugh as an arm waved at them from the drinks tent. “Muddy’s propping up the beer tent.”
Muddy, a broad-shouldered, fit-looking man in his late twenties, wove his way among the picnickers to where they were standing, balancing a cut-down cardboard box filled with plastic cups of beer.
“Just in time, boys,” Muddy said, holding the box in front of them as they helped themselves to a cup. He nodded at Wilson. “Sir,” he added, balancing the box on one arm and passing one to Wilson. Muddy continued walking and stopped after several paces and spun around. “Well, don’t stand there like gormless idiots, this way. Not you, sir,” he added when he realised he’d just called a superior officer an idiot.
“No, of course not, son.” Wilson tried and failed to hide a smile.
They followed him to a cluster of stools at the edge of the lawn. Three other men in their late twenties were seated and in deep in conversation. They jumped up and greeted the new arrivals.
“Captain.” Adam turned as the youngest member of the group scrambled to his feet.
“I’m a civilian now, Ben, you can call me Adam,” he said, extending his hand. Ben looked hesitant for a moment before breaking into a grin and returning Adam’s handshake.
“It’s so good to see you, cap – I mean Adam.”
“You too, Ben, what have you been up to?”
“Just back from another deployment to Afghanistan,” Ben said, moving to Adam’s side.
“You went back?”
“Yeah, didn’t think I was gonna be able to after, y’know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, giving him a pat on the back. “Did they give you plenty of support?”
Ben nodded. “The first few days were hard. I kept thinking that I saw the lads, but I knew that was impossible.”
“I know, mate, it still haunts me,” Adam said as a familiar laugh drew his attention. He frowned and looked around. To his surprise, across the lawn in the centre of a group gathered beneath a flowering cherry tree, stood Kat. She was wearing cutoff denim shorts with a black tank top and had thrown her head back laughing. Her hair spilled over her bare shoulders and tumbled down her back. He stood fixed to the spot and watched her for several moments. She was entirely at ease, her arms uncovered, and her prosthetic hand on full display.
“Wow, who’s that?” Ben asked, following his gaze.
“Someone that I work with,” Adam replied.
“I might have to join the police force if the WPCs look like that,” he said.
“She’s not with the police, she’s an accountant,” Adam replied.
“Well, she could do my taxes anytime,” Ben said.
“Are you still talking finance?” Watto said. “Why did the accountant cross the road?” He paused. “So he could claim it on his travel expenses.” Ben laughed and turned back to the group.
Adam started towards Kat, then stopped when a man in uniform approached her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. She squealed with delight and reached up to kiss him on the cheek as a small boy barrelled across the lawn before launching himself at her. Kat caught him with one arm and hoisted him up onto her hip with ease. Adam watched as he clung to her like a monkey and rained kisses all over her face, while she giggled.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Don interrupted his scrutiny, nudging his shoulder.
“Maybe later, she’s busy with her family,” Adam said, turning away.
“Do you know her well?” Don asked. “I heard you say that you work together.”
“No, I haven’t known her long, but in the short time that I have, I’ve never seen her carefree and relaxed like that.”
“The city is a tough place for people with a disability,” Don said.
“You wouldn’t know that she had one, the way she acts,” Adam said.
“That sounds like Kat. Come on; I’m going to say hello to her brother,” Don said.
“Brother?” Adam replied.
Don gave him a knowing smile. “Yeah, that’s her brother. You don’t know much about her, do you?”
Chapter 11
Kat sensed that she was being watched and felt the hackles rise on her neck. She hated people looking at her and forming an opinion because of her injury. On the one hand Kat knew that, surrounded by family, friends, and other service families with members far worse off than she was, she should be at ease. She’d deliberately worn a sleeveless top, perfect for the hot late summer’s day, yet still felt self-conscious. Kat wondered if that would ever stop; that feeling of being judged, of being different, not quite whole. She adjusted the little boy on her right hip, holding on to him a little tighter. He rested his head on her shoulder and nestled in like a bear cub snuggling against its mother. She inhaled the soft scent of his hair and felt a rush of love for him. Kat looked up and watched with surprise as Adam Jackson walked across the lawn towards her. It was difficult not to notice how the fitted t-shirt he was wearing moulded around his biceps. She wondered how it would feel to have those arms wrapped around her. She batted the errant thought away.
“Adam, what are you doing here?” She blushed, hoping that he couldn’t mind-read.
“Hello, Kat,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m catching up with some of my old battalion.”
“You were in the army? I should have guessed,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the man following him. “Hello, Donny.”
“Hello, kitten,” Don said, stepping around Adam and leaning down to kiss Kat on the cheek. He ruffled George’s hair and winked at Adam.
Don shook hands with Kat’s brother before introducing him to Adam. “Major Munro, this is Detective Sergeant Adam Jackson. We served together in Afghanistan.”
“Call me Carl. Good to meet you at last. Colonel Wilson speaks highly of you,” Carl replied, shaking hands with Adam. “I see you know my sister?”
“Adam and I have been working together on a case,” Kat explained.
“So, were you with her when she was attacked last week?” Carl asked.
“Yeah, we were jumped. Kat was amazing; she disarmed one of them.”
“Kat, for God’s sake, haven’t I taught you to run, not stay and fight?” Carl said, turning to his sister and shaking his head.
She scowled at him. “When have I ever done what you said, and bes
ides, I couldn’t leave Adam there to take a beating.”
Don and Carl looked at Adam, who shrugged. “It’s true,” he said. “Those two would have been sore the next day. She got several good kicks in.”
“Are you still training with Marco? I thought that had soured,” Carl said.
Kat nodded. “Like most men, he has his uses.”
Carl shook his head in mock disgust as a woman with long honey blonde hair approached carrying an ice cream cone.
“Oh, George, look what Mummy’s got for you,” Kat said to the little boy in her arms.
A strange look passed across Adam’s face, and Don laughed.
“Not hers,” he muttered to Adam.
“I think you’d better put him down, or you’ll end up wearing most of this,” the woman said to Kat with a laugh.
Kat eased George to the ground and watched as his mother settled him on their picnic rug to eat his ice cream.
“Adam, this is my dear friend and sister-in-law, Sara,” Kat said. “Adam is a mate of Donny’s who’s with the Met. He and I have been working together.”
Sara straightened and looked Adam up and down. “Hello.”
Kat watched him squirm under Sara’s scrutiny.
“So, were you in Afghanistan too?” Kat asked, turning to Adam.
He nodded. “I did two tours.”
“Oh, there you are,” a shrill voice rang out.
“Brace yourselves, incoming,” Carl deadpanned.
Adam swung around to see an older woman in a floral summer dress hurrying across the lawn towards them, staggering a little as her heels sank into the grass. She had one hand on her head, stopping a wide-brimmed straw hat from flying off.
“Darlings,” she cried as she reached them.
“Mother,” Carl replied, accepting a kiss.
“Hey, Mum, where’s Dad?” Kat asked.
“Oh, he’s here somewhere,” Maggie replied, waving her hand around.