‘You think they might do a Diana?’
Loretta gave Samantha a knowing look. ‘Someday I’ll let you look through the Diana files. If you remember, the Queen was reported to have said at the time that dark powers, of which she had no knowledge, were at work. I think she’s very astute; far more aware of things than one might imagine.’
‘Dark powers?’
‘Perhaps she had in mind a group of zealous royalists, men obsessed with preserving the institution of monarchy. The establishment were very concerned about Diana’s behaviour; her stepmother was scathing about it. Would they have wanted the mother of the heir to the throne, a woman who should have become queen, to marry one of the commoners she was involved with; marry him and bear him children?’
‘The House of Windsor’s weathered worse storms.’
‘But none involving the mother of a future king. And the winds are colder now, Miss Quest, and blowing harder. Australia’s voted to become a republic. Next year Canada holds a referendum; other Commonwealth countries are thinking along the same lines. Right now any scandal involving a member of the Royal Family would be particularly unwelcome.’
The noise of the mower grew louder. It reached the path that ran beneath the window, then turned and headed back down the strip of lawn. When the sound had faded, Samantha asked, ‘What is it that you want me to do?’
‘Get the girl out of the secure unit, hide her and keep her safe while you uncover the truth and retrieve the mobile phones.’
‘She’ll think I’m crazy. She won’t want to be hidden. The only offence she’s committed is driving without a licence. And surely your people can trace the mobile phones.’
‘They’re trying, but the devices don’t respond to signals. Either the batteries have been removed, or the phones have been disabled in some way. And you’ll just have to impress on the girl how much danger she’s in.’
‘She might not be in any danger. Why not do as they ask?’
‘That’s precisely it, Miss Quest. I’m afraid of what they might ask me to do.’ They gazed at one another across the low table. Presently, Loretta said, ‘I have a duty to maintain the security of the state and safeguard its institutions. I don’t see that as being consistent with having a young girl murdered to protect the reputations of the great and the good.’
‘You think it could come to that?’
‘We won’t know until you’ve questioned her and recovered the phones.’
‘Are you going to keep Marcus Soames informed? He is your number two; he’s the person who normally briefs me.’
‘He might already know. If he does, it would tell me that you and I are very much on our own with this.’
Samantha gave her a questioning look.
‘Marcus Soames and the Queen’s Lord Lieutenant, Sir Kelvin Makewood, both served in the Guards and the Household Cavalry. They share a passionate loyalty to the monarch. They also attend the same London club as Sir Nigel Dillon, the Commissioner at the Met. The three of them may also have other affiliations in common with Earls Barksdale and Farnbeck, the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary.’
‘Affiliations?’
‘Masonic affiliations.’
‘I take it you intend to keep my part in this secret?’
‘I do, but I’ll have to involve Marcus, or questions might be asked.’
‘Is the girl to be removed from the secure unit in the Depart-ment’s name?’
Loretta shook her head. ‘I want it to appear as if she’s been sprung from the place by parties unknown. When I return to London, I intend to instruct Marcus to arrange for someone to visit the unit and interrogate the girl. By that time I expect you to have removed her.’
‘They’ll have been told to increase security. It might be difficult to get inside. Am I allowed to show the Serious Crime Unit card?’
‘Find some other way. I want them to be in no doubt that she’s been snatched and neither the police nor the Department had anything to do with it. It’s a privately run place so it’s not likely that they’ll deploy many staff through the night, probably no more than a man and a woman – it’s a place where they keep boys and girls.’ She clicked the attaché case shut and slid it across the table. ‘Take this. There are two mobile phones inside, one for your major use – it’s registered to an address in Poland in a Polish name – and one that’s encrypted so you can maintain contact with me. Keys to a farmhouse in Wales, a flat in London and a house in the north, close to the Scottish border. And there’s a collection of banking cards.’
‘I don’t have a car.’
‘Take the one I drove down in. It’s new; signed into the pool last week. There are three different sets of clip-on plates in the boot; alternative licence discs in the compartment under the dash.’ She laid the keys on the briefcase. ‘It’s decent: black Mercedes coupé, six litre. I’ll hire a taxi for the ride back to London.’
‘And I don’t have a gun with me.’ Samantha caught Loretta’s uneasy look. ‘I’ll need one. I may have to intimidate people. I may have to protect myself and the girl.’
‘We’re not dealing with terrorists or the criminal classes. I expect you to exercise restraint.’
‘Restraint or no restraint, I’ll need an intimidator, a persuader.’
Loretta smiled, despite herself. ‘There’s a 9mm Heckler and Koch semi-automatic in the case with two boxes of shells. New issue, unregistered, can’t be traced.’
‘You understand that if the girl comes under my protection, I’ll protect her and go on protecting her no matter what that involves, no matter where it leads,’ Samantha warned.
‘I’d expect no less.’
‘Even though I may be confronted by crazy monarchists, the Metropolitan Police, agents assigned by Marcus?’
‘Do what has to be done, but always exercise restraint, and remember, you’re on your own. You’re not employed by the Department and we’ve never met.’
‘My contract’s been extended on the same rates?’
‘There is no contract, no record of your involvement. When the issues have been resolved, you’ll be paid in cash, by me, twice your usual rate.’
‘And if they’re not resolved?’
‘One way or another, they have to be. I think the stolen mobile phones are going to provide the answer. The girl must be kept safe and protected until they’re recovered and we’ve seen what they contain.’
Tatiana rose from the lounger, gathered her flimsy cotton robe around her and crossed over to the rail that enclosed the upper deck. The sun was sparkling on a choppy sea and she found the scintillating brightness painfully dazzling. Half closing her eyes, she studied some dark shapes on the horizon. Too big for ships, she decided; probably islands.
The gleaming mahogany deck was warm under her feet. Through it she could feel the faint vibration of the engines, hear a deep rumbling whispering up from the bowels of the ship. On her second day aboard, the chief engineer, proud of his gleaming pipes and dials, had taken her on a tour of the engine room. The size and power of the great machines that propelled Vladimir’s yacht had frightened her. Vladimir frightened her a little, too, but the crew, from the captain down to the cabin staff, were deferential. They were in no doubt that she was the new Mrs Dvoskin. Wary of Vladimir, they kept their eyes discreetly averted from her, but sometimes, when she caught them unawares, she saw their lingering glances.
There was a cooling breeze up here. It was parting her robe, exposing her legs and thighs, the blue satin pants of her skimpy bathing suit. She turned and looked back at Vladimir, reclining under the awning. He was reading through the narrow strips of yellow paper that held the decoded transcripts of messages transmitted to the ship. In the morning it was always papers, papers, papers. At noon they would have a lunch of many delicacies, prepared by an Italian chef and served by two Malaysian waiters, their black trousers neatly pressed, their Mao-collared jackets freshly laundered, their hands covered by white cotton gloves. After the meal, Vladimir would tak
e her by the hand and lead her to their suite of rooms. His appetites were voracious. His paunchy body might be succumbing to middle age, his sandy hair receding, but he had the energy and vigour, the insatiable sexual urges, of a teenage boy. Such a pity he was so low on tenderness, that he was so lacking in sensitivity. The concept of romantic love was as incomprehensible to him as the movement of the stars.
He was frowning in a worried way at one of the slips of yellow paper. Deciding to distract him, she untied the ribbon securing her robe, allowed it to fall open, then struck a pose; leaning back with her elbows on the rail, her body curving towards him, her breasts, of which she was justly proud, barely concealed. ‘You seem concerned, Vladimir. Is it something serious?’
When he glanced up, his frown dissolved in a smile. His gaze lingered for a moment on her breasts, then slowly descended to her hips and thighs. ‘It’s troubling, no more than that. A message from the housekeeper at Underhill Grange – that’s a house in England – we’ll be going there after the honeymoon. Annushka’s been in trouble with the police: taking a car without the owner’s consent, driving without a licence. They’ve put her in what they call a secure children’s unit. I can’t decide what to do.’
‘Why not tell one of your London lawyers to deal with it, then forget about it.’
‘I could, but I’m inclined to do nothing; let the police keep her until we get back, then look into it. She needs teaching a lesson. I told her to behave while we were away. I give the child everything she asks for, yet she’s always so petulant and ungrateful.’
‘I don’t think she likes me,’ Tatiana observed.
Vladimir sighed. ‘That makes two of us. She hates me.’
‘You’re her father. How can she hate you?’
‘She was very close to her mother, and her mother and I lived like cat and dog. Annushka thinks I treated her badly.’
‘And did you?’
‘I behaved abominably. I’m not proud of it. After Annushka was born, we no longer had a marriage. The birth was difficult, Ekaterina was traumatized, we no longer slept together, I strayed and she became insanely jealous. And she was too clever for her own good; a smart-mouthed harridan who was forever riling me. Annushka takes after her.’
Tatiana pouted and softened her voice. ‘Do I rile you, Vladimir?’
‘You enchant me.’
She let out a surprised little laugh. This was the closest they’d ever come to a flirtatious exchange. ‘But do I ever irritate you?’
‘You calm me, you make me feel at peace with the world.’
Deciding to quit whilst she was ahead, she turned and pointed towards the smudges on the horizon. ‘What are they?’
‘The Cyclades; tiny islands. You’re seeing some of the outer ones: Milos, Sifnos, Serifos, Kythnos. We’re sailing north, heading for Piraeus, the port of Athens. In a few hours we’ll dock there. Tonight we’ll go and see the Acropolis by moonlight.’
‘There might not be a moon.’
‘The moon will shine for you.’
Flirting a moment ago, and now he was saying the sweetest things to her. Whatever next? ‘And tomorrow we can go shopping?’
He laughed gently. Women were perceptive and smart, yet they could be so childlike. ‘Tomorrow we will go shopping.’
‘And I must visit a hairdresser.’ She ran her hand into blonde curls, brushing them away from her face. ‘My hair’s in such a mess.’
‘There was never a woman who needed a hairdresser less, but I’ll have one brought to the ship when we dock.’ He stuffed the yellow slips into a folder, then rose from the lounger and reached for her hand. ‘Lunch,’ he said. ‘Let’s go down and see what the chef has prepared for us.’
‘Will you let me steer the ship?’
He roared with laughter. ‘It would be wrecked. We would all drown.’ Still laughing, he slid a huge and hairy hand beneath her robe and caressed her buttocks. ‘You can go up on the bridge when she’s being brought into harbour. That’s the closest you’re going to get to steering the ship.’
‘Have you decided?’
‘Of course I’ve decided. That’s my last word. You are not steering—’
‘I mean about Annushka.’
‘Oh, her . . . I think I’ll leave her where she is. When we arrive in England, you can take charge of Underhill Grange while I deal with the problem. She’ll have been to court by then, maybe fined and put on probation. The humiliation will be good for her. She’s arrogant, just like her mother, and too clever by half. She needs to be humbled.’
They abandoned the heat and brightness of the upper deck for the air-conditioned coolness of the ship. Still holding her hand, Vladimir led her down a stairway to the dining room in their suite on the deck below. She was quite looking forward to their lunch: the meals relieved the boredom of endless sunlight, of a world bound by the confines of the ship, of their uneventful journeying through calm seas. The certain prospect of what would come after the meal did not excite her at all. Why were rich and powerful men invariably middle-aged and unattractive; their conversation, limited to money and business, so dull and boring? Why were all the handsome and sensitive young men poor and at the beck and call of the rich? Her father had told her not to make trouble; to submit willingly to her husband and be a good wife. He’d promised that her release would not be long in coming, but she must be patient. Questions might be asked if it came too soon.
CHAPTER FOUR
Having declined Loretta Fallon’s invitation to have a meal with her, Samantha took the car and headed west along the M4. She broke her journey at Reading, bought a blonde wig and a mesh wig cap, a cheap blouse and skirt, a pair of flat shoes and a summer raincoat, then had an early and indifferent dinner in a hotel before disappearing into the powder room and locking herself in a cubicle. Once inside, she removed her dress and put on the blouse and skirt. Concealing and flattening her hair beneath the flimsy gauze cap and adjusting the wig proved difficult with only a tiny handbag mirror to guide her. Eventually she ran a comb through the synthetic curls. The effect was untamed and rather tawdry, but quite convincing.
After folding her dress and sliding it into the bag that had held the blouse and skirt, she drew on the raincoat, stepped into the shoes and emerged from the cubicle. A stranger gazed back at her from the long mirror ranged above the hand basins. She took her comb, tidied wayward curls, then slid on a pair of steel-framed sunglasses she’d bought in a chain store. Small, round and blue-tinted, the lenses were just big enough to hide her eyes; unusual enough to draw attention from the rest of her face. The blonde hair and rather strange glasses would be the only things people remembered if they were asked to describe her.
The powder-room door swung open and a pair of girls clattered in and approached the mirror. Engrossed in conversation and their reflections, they didn’t spare Samantha a glance. She gathered up her bags, headed down a carpeted corridor, across the rather grand foyer and emerged into the now quiet city street. The hot brightness of the afternoon had faded; the evening light was softer and more diffused, the air cooler, as she walked to the car.
Eating the meal, changing her clothes and fixing the wig had taken more than an hour. It was almost seven when she turned on to the motorway and resumed her journey; a little after eight when she neared Gloucester. This was a strange and messy business that Loretta Fallon had embroiled her in. It required some thought. Getting the girl out of the secure unit shouldn’t be too difficult; persuading her to stay with her and keeping her safe once she’d been released were different matters.
Sleepy eyes half open, her mind still wandering the shadowland between dreaming and waking, Annushka Dvoskin gazed across the pillow. She felt bewildered. This wasn’t her grandmother’s dacha. She wasn’t sitting in the red rocking chair, holding the skein of wool between parted hands while Babushka wound it into a ball. Where was she? Reality crashed over her like an icy wave: she was still in the miserable hole they called Sternwood. She swung long and slender legs dow
n from the bed and groped for a shoe. Armed with it, she rose, avoided fragments of broken crockery as she squished through meat and potatoes and overcooked cabbage, and began to hammer on the door with the heel.
‘I am Annushka Dvoskin!’ She punctuated every word with a blow that reverberated down the corridor. ‘I am the daughter of Vladimir Dvoskin, one of the most powerful men in the whole of Russia. I have done nothing wrong. You must charge me or release me.’ Her voice, young and refined, faded in a fit of coughing. She was becoming hoarse. She’d been banging and shouting for most of the day. Gripped by a sudden frenzy, she began to flay the door and her words poured out on a rising torrent of anger: ‘I am Annushka Dvoskin! Daughter of Vladimir Dvoskin. Charge me or release me. Charge me or release me. If you do not release me, you had better be very afraid.’
Samantha was driving through suburbs made only a little less drab by the fading sunlight. The car Loretta had given her was silent and powerful, its thick carpets and leather interior luxurious. She was heading towards the Sternwood Secure Children’s Unit. Located well away from Gloucester’s more affluent areas, it was in a part of the town where the main through road linked long terraces of grimy red-brick houses. Some of the dwellings had been cleared to make way for huge windowless metal sheds, ringed by barbed-wire-topped fencing. Old railway bridges spanned the road, advertisement hoardings hid lorry parks, tiny shops afforded their owners a meagre livelihood.
She turned left at a filling station, drove past a small public library with boarded-up windows, a mother and baby clinic, a newsagents, an off licence, then slowed as she approached the unit. Built of biscuit-coloured bricks, it was set behind a tarmac forecourt. The gates were open and pegged back; the entrance door was flanked by narrow windows through which visitors could be viewed before it was opened. Cameras, mounted on the walls, covered the forecourt and the entrance. Two wings projected at the rear: probably bedrooms, arranged above communal dining and recreation rooms and a kitchen. Windows were small, square and barred behind the glass. High steel fencing enclosed a rear yard that extended across a derelict area to the blind wall of an abandoned warehouse.
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