The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

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The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One Page 63

by Sam Nash


  She watched the diminutive Indian gentleman take control. His serene authority and grasp of logistics, soothed her anxieties. Within minutes, the store assistants were beaming with renewed hope of bonuses, and scurrying around the departments. Gupta returned to Mary’s side and bowed. “Shall I escort you back to your hotel, madam?”

  “I can get a cab, thank you Gupta. You have done more than enough to help me.”

  “Shrimant Shinde would expect it of me, madam. Please.”

  Mary weighed Gupta’s response. Was it simple good manners, or a fear of displeasing Karan? It was difficult to judge. Was Karan harsh with his staff? Either way, Mary was unable to refuse. She allowed Gupta to issues commands to the assistants, who trailed after them carrying the evening wear and accessories, down to the front entrance, where a black city car awaited them.

  Mary slid into the back seat, allowing the whirlwind of activity to continue around her. Finally, when all was loaded into the boot, Gupta sat in the front passenger seat and directed the driver. Within moments, they were heading back towards Central Park. Mary shuffled forwards in her seat.

  “Gupta, this is the wrong way. Even with my terrible sense of direction, I know that thirty-ninth street is the other way.”

  “That is correct, madam, but we are going to your hotel.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Shrimant Shinde requested a suite for you at the Plaza Fairmont. It is walking distance to the Indian Consulate.” Gupta spun around in his seat. He tried to administer a reassuring smile, but it came off as creepy. Mary got the distinct impression that smiling was not part of his job description.

  “Where we had tea earlier? That’s insane. I cannot afford a posh hotel, Gupta. Thirty-ninth street will do me just fine.”

  “Shrimant Shinde insists on retaining the suite for you. It will cost you nothing, madam.”

  Mary knew she sounded like a whining and ungrateful child. She also knew that to resist, would result in further insulting Karan. Something she was keen to avoid this time around.

  Rocking her head back into the seat rests, Mary thought about her previous time with Karan. Seated among the most important politicians, world diplomats and a sprinkling of nobility, Mary wondered if she was in for a repeat performance. One where she was the main attraction, invited to display her peculiar talents to the highest bidder. Was this another opportunity for Karan to introduce her to VIPs with shady ethics and broken moral compasses?

  Mary had learned a great many lessons in the last couple of months. It saddened her that those bitter experiences corroded her trusting nature, leaving her to question the motives of even her closest friends and allies. It was more isolating than she imagined. I still have my brother. He is the only one I can trust. If there is anything fishy about Karan this evening, I can simply walk away.

  The short drive along Fifth Avenue, deviated on a circuitous route to comply with the irritating one-way systems. They approached the prestigious entrance via Central Park South, their black town car pulling up to the chequered pavement and wrought iron awning. Mary cowered behind the tinted windows. The doorman was heading for the car. Gupta peered around the shoulder of the front seat.

  “Is everything alright, madam?”

  “I should have changed into something more appropriate at Saks. Now I look like a tramp trying to gain access to Claridges.”

  “People will think you have been for a run in the park. Do not worry yourself, madam. Leave everything to me.” Gupta left the car and darted around to her side. The Plaza doorman, back tracked his steps up the red carpeted stairs, and held open one of the two main doors. Gupta slipped him a bank note and ushered Mary through to reception.

  Gilded light ensconces, marble flooring and chandeliers as large as a family car, crowded her senses. Every inch of the wide reception area was decorated or patterned in a lavish display of wealth. A bank of four elevators lined one wall, their gilt cages missing only a winged creature to complete the illusion. In the centre, a perfectly arranged seating area, decorated with fresh flower arrangements. It looked as though no one had ever sat there in a hundred years. On the opposite wall, a long marble reception desk, supporting two uniformed men on duty.

  “You will need to sign in, madam.” Gupta gestured towards the front desk. Mary hesitated. She fumbled inside her satchel for her passport. How could she show her fake ID in front of him? He knew her only as Mary Arora, a name which would surely flag up some international alert via The Plaza’s computer systems.

  Gupta frowned. “Is there a problem, madam?”

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Gupta. It is very kind of Shrimant Shinde, but perhaps I would be more at home in the hotel on Thirty-Ninth Street. Please could you hail a taxi?”

  “Madam, please. Your apparel is of no consequence, and will soon be rectified. Shrimant Shinde would be most upset if you are unhappy with the arrangements.” He looked imploringly at her. Would Karan really take the refusal out on Gupta? Mary glanced across to the receptionists. They were listening to every word, in the echoing and empty foyer. She swallowed hard and nodded, tucking the passport back inside her bag.

  With his hand inches from the small of her back, Gupta guided her to the desk.

  “Good afternoon madam, sir. How may we be of assistance.”

  Gupta stepped up. “We have a Carnegie Suite reserved, courtesy of Shrimant Karan Shinde, in the name of Lady Mary Sedgewell.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mary’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Her jaw slackened, allowing her tongue to loll at the edges of her lips. A prudent interruption from Gupta prevented her from spilling her shock out verbally into this public arena.

  “Madam, if you will sign in, please.”

  Mary staggered to the open register and scribbled her new name into the section reserved for her signature. In what felt like slow motion, she produced the fake passport and slid it across the counter. With barely a glance, the receptionist scanned the document on a machine to his left and returned it to Mary with polite thanks. Half expecting the ruse to disintegrate around her, Mary froze to the spot.

  “Shall I accompany you to your suite, madam? Make sure that everything is to your satisfaction.” Gupta gently touched her back, propelling her forwards. Another man in a uniform arrived to chaperone her to the suite. He introduced himself as the chief concierge but Mary, lost in confusion, failed to hear the given name.

  She held her tongue as the lift carried them to the nineteenth floor. She stayed silent while the concierge opened the door to her suite and handed her the key card, and again when he explained the electronic control of the suite and services. Gupta tipped the man for his efforts and closed the door behind him. It was only when Mary and Gupta were finally alone, did she burst with a flurry of dread.

  “What the hell, Gupta? How did you know about my fake passport? Who are you really working for? What do you want from me?” She blurted, much to the shock of the small Asian man.

  “Madam… I know not of what you speak. That was the name under which Shrimant Shinde requested your suite. I was simply following instructions.” He backed away from her and towards the door.

  “Don’t give me that. Was it Alexi? Tell me… who is pulling the strings? And what’s with all this lady malarkey?” She was close enough to feel his breath on her skin.

  “Madam, please. I am just a lowly secretary. If you have questions, I suggest your pose them to Shrimant Shinde this evening.” He grappled with the door handle behind his back and levered it open. “I shall convey your displeasure to him. He will be most upset.” The gap in the doorway widened, and Gupta slipped through.

  “Not half as upset as I am.”

  He was gone. It took a full minute of pacing for her heart rate to lessen from erratic. During that time, her thoughts veered from grabbing her bag and running once again, to waiting until she could form a coherent debate with Karan to ascertain his allegiances. Her mouth felt dry. For the life of her, she could
not recall the information from the concierge regarding services. Opening doors and cupboards she found a small sink unit, an expensive looking coffee machine and a tea kettle. The minifridge beneath the sink unit was stocked with a few groceries. This must be what that man was muttering about – a butler’s pantry.

  Mary made herself a cup of tea, and unwrapped a pack of Scottish shortbread biscuits. She munched and supped, and tried to figure a possible connection between the former soviet general and a member of the Indian royal family; a UN Ambassador. Both declared an interest in her unusual neural capabilities, but the longer she dwelled on the issue, the less likely the linkage became. Even still, it gnawed at her well-being.

  By her second cup of tea, a knock at the door saw the concierge reappear with the clothes and shoes from her shopping expedition. The parcels and bags contained far more than she had chosen; evidence of Gupta’s thoughtful additions. Mary felt miserable. It was not Gupta’s fault that her new name was public knowledge. Karan could have discovered it via an internet search of posts following the stormy debacle at the Kent’s guesthouse. Mary felt sure that Mrs Kent’s son would have willingly sold a photocopy of Mary’s signature from the resident’s book.

  Her new name may well be common knowledge on the internet, but from where did the title of lady originate? This was not the first mention of such a title. Mary trawled her memories. Who was it who had first referred to her as such?

  With her explosive mood tempered, Mary resolved to broach the subject at dinner. She also thought that a heartfelt apology was in order, the moment she next saw Gupta. There had to be a simple explanation, and Karan was the only source of answers.

  The garment bag containing the black lace dress hung in the bedroom. She wandered in, skirting around the king-sized divan, and unzipped the plastic sheath. God, I hope it fits. I should have tried it on at Saks. The telephone rang. Picking up the handset from the power cradle, Mary listened to the man at the other end of the line. It was the receptionist, informing her of a salon appointment at six pm on the ground floor of the hotel complex. I guess Gupta thought of everything. Mary scanned the bedside clock. She had an hour to soak in the bath and find something casual from her new wardrobe to wear.

  As she turned the gold-plated taps on, allowing the water to spill into the carved Earth Stone bath, she heard a knock at the door. “Jeez, it’s like Piccadilly Circus around here.” She found yet another man in a uniform, wearing crisp white cotton gloves.

  “My lady, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Harvey, and I shall provide the butler service for the duration of your stay. My services are listed on the complementary iPad, along with a remote bell service. One press is sufficient to call for me, from 7.30am to 11.30pm.” His accent was a flat British one, and genuine.

  “Thank you, Harvey, but I can manage just fine. I found your pantry and have already made myself tea.” She began to close the door on him.

  “Erm, my lady, will you permit me to replenish the stock used with fresh supplies?”

  Mary let the door swing open fully. “Just as you like, and it’s not lady anything. That must be a mistake at registration. It is just Mary Sedgewell.”

  “As you wish, Ms Sedgewell.” Harvey took a couple of large strides past the cloakroom to his pantry, and checked the contents. He turned around, listening to the running water. “Did you want me to draw your bath, madam? I can set it at a preferred temperature?”

  “That’s a joke, right?” Mary said, tittering and wandering towards the bathroom.

  “No, madam. I am most sincere.”

  Mary looked up at the tall gentleman. Something about him was comforting. He had a parental aura, as though he looked upon her as one of his charges in need of protection.

  “Harvey, thank you for the offer, but I can take care of myself.” She rifled through her satchel in search of a bank note.

  The butler pre-empted her actions. “Madam, your friend took care of tipping, and was particularly generous. Please use the iPad to ring for me, should you require anything.” He closed his pantry and retreated from the room.

  Locking herself in the bathroom, Mary stripped off the loathsome sweatpants and t-shirt and stepped into the carved stone bath. With little time to spare, she scrubbed her skin and tried to frame the questions that she would pose to her dining companion. A few rehearsed phrases might prevent her from losing her temper, thus maintaining an open dialogue.

  ***

  Mary gathered a stocking into a ruche, slipped it over a toe and gently pulled it towards her thigh. Sitting on the edge of the bed, the CNN report caught her attention on the television. She increased the volume.

  “Following yesterday’s debilitating lightning strike, we have learned from his campaign director, that Senator Luca Bonovich has in fact, discharged himself from this hospital. In the released statement, the senator thanks everyone for their kind thoughts and good wishes and for keeping him in their prayers. Senator Bonovich intends to continue with his gruelling schedule of public appearances and benefits, but warns that he may have to wear unconventional attire to cover burned tissue until it has fully healed.” The report was punctuated with video clips of a black vehicle, speeding away from the press pack. Luca Bonovich sat in the front passenger seat, smiling and waving to the crowds. Taped to his neck, was a large cotton bandage.

  Mary slipped on the silk chemise and the lace dress, taking care not to smudge her makeup.

  Harvey tapped lightly on the door and entered. “Your guest has arrived, madam. Shall I say that you are ready to receive him, or direct him to the bar lounge?”

  Mary stood in front of the tall mirror, stunned at the transformation. The salon had performed miracles with her hair, taming the knots into a tumbling cascade of soft curls, pinned loosely with discreet pearl tipped clips. The lace dress fitted in all the right places, flattering and balancing her top-heavy form. She looked at Harvey’s reflection. He could not contain the slow smile or the lazy eyed blink of pride.

  “Will I do, Harvey?”

  “You look lovely, madam.”

  For once, Mary chose to accept the praise offered. She supposed that it was something he said often to residents; all part of the job. “Thank you. I’m ready, I think. I can go down to meet the car.”

  “Madam, forgive me, but you should insist that your date comes to escort you. If you will wait here, I shall inform reception to send him up.” Harvey’s self-proclaimed guardian mantle resurfaced, his smile converting into a frown. With a few taps on his iPad, he transmitted instructions to the receptionists.

  Her first date since Parth. An actual date. Mary had not paired the event to the word in her mind. Afternoon tea, followed by an invitation to dine with a regal and important rich gentleman. This was a formal date. Her confidence crumpled. She sat heavily on the settee.

  “Is everything alright, madam?” Harvey drew closer.

  Mary’s complexion paled. “I’m going on a date.” Her inhalations increased noticeably. “I haven’t been on a date since before I was married. This is huge. I’m not sure that I am ready.”

  “Should I send him away when he reaches this floor, madam?” Harvey was earnest. His guests’ comfort was his priority, even if it meant facing down a powerful man.

  “No, thank you. That would be too mean, too ungrateful.” As she said it, she realised that the room, her clothes, even Harvey, were all baited hooks. Karan was reeling her in. How easy it was to fall for the allure of wealth and luxury. She reminded herself of this temporary arrangement; in that her primary aim was to find a job and attain independence.

  Harvey answered the door when, at last, the knock came. Mary took a few steadying breaths, and left the security of the bedroom to meet Karan in the sitting room. His expression said it all. For a few moments, he was unable to form words, such was the metamorphosis.

  “You don’t like the dress?” Mary faltered, her forehead wrinkling above her nose.

  “Quite the opposite. I am speechless.”
He could not stop staring as she fidgeted before him. “Are you ready to leave? Gupta has arranged something special for us.”

  “Yes, in just a sec.” She bolted back into the bedroom and with a backward glance at her trusted satchel, picked up the tiny clutch bag that matched her shoes. “Talking of Gupta, I owe him an apology. I was rather cross with him, when really I should have been annoyed with you.” They left her suite for Harvey to tidy, and stood by the elevator doors.

  “He said that you were riled about the name Sedgewell.”

  “That, and bestowing the title of lady on me, yes. How could you have possibly known about my fake passport? Please tell me that you are not in league with Alexi?” They entered the lift, stood next to the attendant and waited for nineteen agonising floors until they were able to continue speaking unheard.

  “Who is Alexi?” Karan said, striding out across the polished marble foyer. “In my position, Mary, security teams complete background checks on everyone I come into contact with. The closer the alliance, the more thorough the search.” They left the building and crossed the chequered paving to the limousine. Mary shuffled along the back seat, allowing Karan to slip in beside her. “Please don’t be angry with me, but your search began the moment we met at the Ditchley Estate.”

  Mary did not know how to process this information. It left her more perplexed than ever. How could a background check have uncovered the use of a fake name? “Are you telling me, that your security team discovered the name of Sedgewell before I left Ditchley?”

  “I’m saying that there are some puzzling lines of enquiry surrounding your poor grandfather’s death. Again, I am sorry for your loss, Mary.” He bowed his head in respect.

  Mary did not want sentiment to undo her at such a critical juncture. The mention of her grandfather caught her unawares. It invaded her senses so completely, to acknowledge the feelings would wreck her entire evening in hysteria. She swallowed down the anguish and ploughed on. “So, it had nothing to do with that repellent woman, Bernie Feinstein, and her cabal of pharmaceutical philanthropists?”

 

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