Joseph Cardinelli. He was the key. Brandon had checked him out and had reported that everything Joseph had told Darren had been true. He’d been a chauffeur at the Hotel Bel Air, there was a record of Sinclair hiring a town car for three days after he’d left Los Angeles, so it was logical to assume it had been for Lucinda, and Cardinelli was indeed clerking at a law firm in Beverly Hills.
It wasn’t a big job Darren needed from Joseph, but it was a critical one. Darren needed the details of the land deal Sinclair was working on, and he was hoping Joseph’s stay at the Sinclair mansion would mean he’d have access to Sinclair’s briefcase, or study. Everyone in London knew Tyler Anderson was Sinclair’s real estate guru, and Anderson certainly wouldn’t divulge any information, so Darren needed someone on the inside, someone who could sneak a look at the file, and he hoped Joseph could be his man.
Darren had studied his mark for years. Sinclair was careful, methodical, tough as nails, and brilliant. Of course that came as no surprise; a self-made man had to be all those things, and more. That Sinclair had an impeccable reputation and had remained scandal free was the annoying and surprising part of the picture, so if Darren was going to get his hands on some of Sinclair’s fortune, it had to be a business transaction. The land deal could be just what he’d been waiting for.
Rising from his desk and stretching his limbs, he stared across at his safe, his most treasured possession. It was huge, made of thick steel and virtually impenetrable. Made in the 1920s, nothing short of a blast of dynamite could open its door. Darren didn’t trust banks, and while he was forced to use them for his legitimate business transactions, he wasn’t about to place his ill-gotten gains in a safety deposit box.
He labeled his two sources of money, BMM Hard, and BMM Soft. BMM Hard stood for Bowl Movement Money, the cash he earned through his barely-legal wheeling and dealing. He had to pay taxes on those funds, and account for them, and it made him crazy.
BMM Soft was his acronym for Blackmail Money, and that money lived in his safe along with all the incriminating evidence he had on politicians, judges, celebrities, heirs and heiresses, and many others.
Over recent months he’d wondered if keeping all his eggs in one basket, albeit a virtual Fort Knox of a basket, was wise, but it had served him well for decades, and at such times the old saying would bounce around in his head, “If it ain’t broke…” so he’d left well enough alone. As far as anyone knew it was just an interesting piece of history, an antique, one of many such pieces in his home.
But Darren’s instincts had been right.
There were a handful of victims who were all too aware of the contents of the safe, and each of them, individually, were determined to get inside it and remove all the damning information, not just about themselves, but all the others Darren had in his pocket. Darren Hardcastle had ruined many lives, and his reign of terror was continuing unabated.
Brandon had, over time, kept Darren apprised of Sinclair’s various well-publicized deals, and a comprehensive file on the supermarket project was on already on his desk. It was no secret Simon was planning to buy a farm, or raw land to transform into a farm, to grow his own crops. What wasn’t public knowledge was what Darren had overheard at The Ivy; not only was Simon going to grow crops, he was planning to build an entire town, and after an exhaustive search he’d finally found the very special, elusive acreage that would accommodate his needs.
I’m going to find out where that land is and buy it right out from under him, and if he wants it, he’ll have to pay plenty, Darren smirked, striding around his office, rubbing his neck.
He couldn’t lose. If the soil was that usable, and the location so perfect, even if Simon didn’t pay the exorbitant price Darren would ask, someone would at some point. He could buy it and hold it until some other rich jerk came along. He just needed to know where the land was, and how much Simon had offered. It was all up to Joseph.
Back at the house it was almost time for Joseph to leave, and Lucinda was being difficult, insisting she join him.
“But I can sit at another table. You can tell him the reporter canceled,” she argued.
“Absolutely not,” Joseph declared. “Besides, I’ll probably only be gone a short time. He gets right to the point, he won’t be keeping me around to discuss the weather.”
“This is pissing me off,” she pouted.
“Stop being a brat,” he scolded. “Just stay here and behave yourself, or grab a cab and go shopping, or call your mother, but whatever you do, behave yourself.”
Walking to his closet he pulled out his black trench coat and headed for the door.
“Are you going to walk me down or should I say goodbye here?” he asked.
“Here,” she sighed, moving across to him. “I’ll see if there’s something interesting on the tube, but promise me we’ll go somewhere fun tonight.”
“Yes, we’ll go somewhere fun, if you behave,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
She walked with him to the living room, then watched him leave and flopped down on the couch. One thing she needed to do was organize a change of sheets for their bed; the current set had seen way too much action.
As Joseph walked through the foyer he picked up one of the Sunday papers. He’d already read it, but thought it would be a good prop if Darren kept him waiting, and stepping outside he popped up his umbrella, the relentless misty drizzle refusing to abate, and as he set off he pulled out his phone and called Simon.
“I’m on my way,” he announced.
“Good. Play hard to get. If it’s too easy his radar will beep,” Simon warned, “and by the way, Belle and I have decided to start back early.”
“Drive safely, and I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” Joseph replied.
Striding down the street he felt a chill and turned up the collar of his coat, hoping it was a reaction to the cold and not a precognitive shiver. Turning the corner at the end of the street, The Black Kettle came into view, and he quickened his step, eager to get inside and order some tea. He wanted to be settled and relaxed when Darren arrived.
The tearoom was perfect for the meeting. Though it was lunchtime, it was a Sunday so there were very few patrons, and several tables were nestled in quiet nooks, a unique feature left in place as the old building had gone through its many renovations. Selecting the furthest from the door, the one least likely to have people sit nearby, Joseph immediately ordered a pot of tea and a plate of cakes, then opened his newspaper.
The service was prompt and efficient, and Joseph had just finished pouring a cup when he saw Darren walking towards him.
“Joseph,” the tall man smiled, pulling off his rich leather gloves and extending his hand. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Thanks for asking. I must admit I’m intrigued,” Joseph replied, shaking his hand briskly. “Tea?”
“Yes, always,” Darren responded, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to the point.”
“I would prefer it,” Joseph nodded, “though as I told you, my time isn’t my own, so I’m not sure-”
“This is a minor thing,” Darren interrupted. “Who’s paying you, is Sinclair paying you?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Do you know him very well?” Darren asked.
“Just to say hello. Lucinda’s only staying there because her sister is Simon’s fiancee, but they left the house the day we moved in. I guess she and her sister don’t get along very well. It’s all a bit weird if you ask me.”
“So, no great loyalty to Sinclair then?” Hardcastle pressed.
“No, none. To be honest, he was kind of a jerk to me in L.A.,” Joseph added for good measure, “and after I arrived here he changed the terms of our agreement. Kind of ticked me off, and that’s not confidential. I don’t care who knows it.”
“You had words?” Darren frowned.
“I can’t say we really had words. It may have been an honest misunderstand
ing, and I’m still pleased to be here, but it did tick me off a bit. If you don’t mind my asking, how is that relevant? I mean, what is it you want me to do?”
“Simple, it’s not illegal, might be a bit immoral, but it’s not illegal.”
“I’m listening,” Joseph nodded.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation at The Ivy the other day, about the land he wants to buy. All you have to do is find out a few details. Where it is, who owns it, and how much he’s offering. You think you can do that?”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. I’ll pay you five thousand pounds for the answer to each of those questions. Simple job, not illegal,” Darren repeated, “but I need the answers quick, because if you can’t get them I need to find someone who can.”
“That’s a lot of money,” Joseph said quietly.
“You’re in his house, do you have access to his briefcase or his study?”
“Like I said, he moved out, but getting into his study is easy. I know he was working from there before they left, because Belle had been complaining to Lucinda about how many hours he’d been spending at his office, so he’d started working from home,” he lied, “but to be poking around in there…”
“I’ll get the information regardless,” Darren declared. “I just think it might be easier for you than for someone else, and you could end up with fifteen grand for five minutes work.”
“I’m just not sure,“Joseph wavered.
“All cash, no-one will ever know.”
“He might have some papers in his study,” Joseph remarked thoughtfully. “Lucinda told me he’s coming over tonight to pick up some files he left behind. He and Belle have been down in the country for the weekend. I could probably get in there before he gets home.”
“See? You’re in the perfect position to help me,” Hardcastle pressed.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Joseph said softly. “I’ll see if I can find something. If I can do it easily, if it doesn’t involve searching too much, I’ll do it.”
“Great, old son!” Hardcastle exclaimed. “Great.”
“I’ll have a poke around when the staff is having their dinner,” Joseph promised.
“If you find something or you don’t, call me on this number,” he said, pulling out the same notebook Joseph had seen at The Ivy. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Doesn’t matter the time.”
Taking the torn off piece of paper from Hardcastle’s hand, Joseph thought it had been almost too easy, but sometimes life was like that, and he hoped this was one of those times.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
While Joseph was playing hard to get with Darren, Lucinda had become restless, and after calling to have a housekeeper attend their room, she decided to explore Simon’s house.
She’d wandered down several empty hallways, up and down some stairways, and initially she’d found her self-guided tour interesting, but then a lightbulb had lit up in her head; she wanted to see Simon and Belle’s suite. Retracing her path she found her way back to her room, and as she had hoped the housekeeper was still there, busy dusting the furniture.
“Excuse me,” Lucinda smiled.
“Yes, Miss Somers?” the young woman answered.
“Belle asked me to get something from her suite. Would you be able to direct me?”
“Yes, of course. Take the elevator to the third floor, and it’s the second door on the right. You can’t miss it. Large, white, double doors. You’re in luck. Miss Somer’s assistant, Theresa, she’s there at the moment. She and Henry are the only ones with keys while Mr. Sinclair isn’t in residence.”
“Ah, that’s probably why Lucinda chose to call me just a minute ago,” Lucinda lied. “Thank you.”
Hurrying down the hallway, she rode the elevator to the third floor and walked quietly down the thickly carpeted hallway to the tall white doors the housekeeper had described, and gently pushed down the ornate brass handles; to her great delight they opened.
Peering through the narrow crack she didn’t see anyone so slipped inside, and moving quickly across to the windows, her adrenalin pumping, she darted behind the heavy curtains on the far side of the room.
Waiting silently, the minutes ticking by, she was beginning to think Theresa had carelessly left the door unlocked, but then she heard a noise. Risking a furtive glance she saw an attractive young woman heading towards the double doors, and ducking her head back, Lucinda waited until she heard the door close.
Sighing heavily she stepped from her hiding place and took in her surroundings. It could have been the living room of a five star hotel suite. Wandering through the lavish appointments, she made her way to what she assumed was the bedroom door and pushed it open. A gigantic four-poster bed, in an extraordinarily spacious room, took her breath away; she’d never seen anything quite so sumptuous. There were two doors on either side, and she assumed they led to his and her closets and bathrooms. Choosing the one closest to where she was, she found herself staring inside a closet the size of her condo bedroom.
“Wow, Belle, talk about a home run,” she exclaimed.
Wandering through the dresses, suits and shirts, she found many with their tags still attached, but the prices had been either blacked out or ripped off. Bags and shoes were neatly lined up and perfectly displayed, and the center island had a large bouquet of fresh flowers.
“Jeez, you’re not even here and you have a floral display?”
Curiosity getting the better of her she opened the drawers, finding lingerie, socks and T-shirts in the first two, but the third drawer revealed something far more interesting; an old cardboard box that suggested personal and private treasures.
Carefully pulling it out, she sat on the floor and removed the lid. Nestled inside were several hard cover books with no titles, and frowning, she opened the one on the top; it was Belle’s journal from years before.
“Oh-my-God,” she declared slowly, “this is awesome.”
Quickly skimming the pages, she read about Belle’s relationship with a man named Jason, and shook her head, grinning broadly.
“What a naughty girl you are,” she giggled.
While she knew pouring through Belle’s personal notes was an atrocious invasion of privacy, her joy overwhelmed her sense of decency and she was having far too much fun, but when she found the book recounting their time in London, the more she read the more conflicted she became.
From her sister’s point of view, Lucinda was all her mother cared about, leaving Belle alone to find her own way through a very difficult transition, and when she read about Furio, and the emotional goodbye Belle had to endure alone, the tears began spilling down Lucinda’s face.
And it got worse.
The journals covering the years leading up to the family’s move to London offered detailed descriptions of Lucinda being an absolute hellion, a holy terror, a devil child, given to outrageous tantrums and fits of temper, and a mother who refused to admit her youngest daughter was simply a spoiled brat.
Had she really been so terrible? Was she still? Is that why she constantly tested her boyfriends? Her directors? Her agents? Joseph was the only man she’d ever met who had responded with as much vigor as she had put out. Was that why she was so in love with him?
Leaning back against the island she realized her back was cramping and her knees were stiff, and it abruptly occurred to her that she’d become so engrossed in the diaries she’d lost complete track of time.
“Shit. How long have I been here?” she exclaimed, staring at her wrist, only to discover she’d left her watch on the nightstand in her room.
Diligently placing the books back in the tattered box, hoping she’d kept them in the order in which she’d found them, she slowly stood up, stretched her back, and slid the box back in its resting place. Moving as quickly as her stiff muscles would allow she made her way back to the bedroom, hoping there’d be a clock on the bedside table. There was. She’d been reading Belle’s journals for the last tw
o hours.
“Shit, shit, shit!” she shouted, stamping her feet. “I’ve gotta get out of here,” and dashed into the living room and across to the double doors.
I’ll tell him I went shopping and didn’t find anything, no, I can’t do that, I’m not all damp and frazzled. I’ll tell him I went wandering through the house and got lost. That’s it, that’s perfect.
Reaching the doors she pushed down the handles and pulled, but they didn’t budge, and staring at them frantically she couldn’t see a visible lock anywhere.
“Shit, shit, shit, how could that be?”
Peering closely she noticed an area of the brass plate that had a line around it, and she discovered it slid sideways, revealing the keyhole, but she had no key.
“I don’t understand this! Why would you have a lock that works backwards?” she bellowed, then it dawned on her that Theresa had simply locked the door behind her when she’d left, and Lucinda would need a key to get out.
Desperately she ran to the room she’d not yet explored, the salon, a second, much smaller living room, with a more intimate feel, but she didn’t care about the furniture or why the room even existed; it had a door. Racing across she pushed down the handle, finding it too was locked, and she realized with dismay that she’d have to call Henry to let her out.
Maybe I can pick the lock. I’ve already been gone two hours, what’s another thirty minutes?
Deciding that was the best course of action, she ran back through the bedroom and into Belle’s bathroom, opening cabinets, searching for something she might be able to use to get the blasted doors unlocked.
What Lucinda didn’t know, was that the house was in an uproar looking for her, and Simon’s foot was pressed on the accelerator racing back to Belgravia to aid in the search, Goldie happily ensconced in the back seat. Much of the journey had been made in silence, Simon concentrating on the road and Belle not wanting to distract him, but as they reached the outskirts of the city and Simon eased up on the gas pedal, Belle broke the quiet.
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Three Page 14