The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  Chapter 1

  As far as Maggie Bainbridge could remember, she'd never met a billionaire before. Although as her colleague Jimmy Stewart pointed out, since the recent split with his missus, Hugo Morgan was now worth only nine hundred and seventy million, which technically downgraded him to mere multi-millionaire status.

  Brasenose Investment Trust occupied the top four floors of a stunning glass-fronted office block on Canary Wharf, directly opposite and almost in touching distance of the similarly ostentatious building that housed Addison Redburn, the prestigious international law firm that was Asvina Rani's employer. It was barely nine months since she, the most sought-after and consequently most highly-paid family law solicitor in the capital, had handled Morgan's headline-grabbing divorce. So why were they meeting with him so soon afterwards? Whatever the reason, they wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

  A minute or so later she joined them, looking flustered as she apologised for being late. But looking as elegant and beautiful as ever, a fact that wasn't lost on the elderly uniformed commissionaire who was guarding access to the high-speed elevators. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

  'Sorry guys, I just couldn't get free of my last client,' she said. 'The poor woman had just found out her husband was leaving her and as you can imagine, she's pretty distraught. But here we are now. All set.'

  She gave Jimmy an admiring glance. 'Looking sharp today Mr Stewart. Nice suit.'

  He smiled back at her. 'Aye, I thought I'd better make an effort. I wouldn't want to let the firm down in front of such an important client.'

  The commissionaire gestured towards the first of the three lifts, eyes still fixed on Asvina.

  'This way please, ladies and gents. Floor twenty-three it is. Harriet will meet you up there, get you all sorted.' He kept his finger pressed on the button that held open the doors until they were safely inside. 'Have a good morning.'

  Jimmy gave him a thumbs-up as the doors began to close.

  'Nice lad. Ex-forces I would say by his bearing.'

  Asvina nodded. 'Yes, that wouldn't surprise me. Hugo Morgan was in the army for ten years before he started in the City. He's a big supporter of military charities and suchlike. But I guess you knew all that.'

  'So what's this all about anyway?' Maggie asked. 'You didn't give much away on the phone.'

  And that much was true, but she had learnt from her friend something of the background of Hugo Morgan, and was quite certain she was not going to like him. How could she like a man who, as a sort of present to himself had decided to dump his wife of twenty-two years on the day he reached his fiftieth birthday?

  'I'll let Hugo give you the full details,' Asvina said, 'but let's just say there's to be a new Mrs Morgan.'

  Maggie laughed despite herself. 'It's Hugo now is it? I hope you're not thinking of trading in your Dav.' She knew there was as much chance of Asvina swapping her lovely husband as there was of the moon going round the sun. And in any case, she earned so much she didn't need a billionaire to look after her.

  A discrete ping announced their arrival on the twenty-third floor, the lift opening to an opulent reception area. Behind a curved desk sat a perfectly-groomed young receptionist, the badge on her dress identifying her as Harriet Ibbotson.

  'Good morning guys,' she said, smiling a well-trained smile. 'Do you have an appointment?'

  She looked and sounded like central casting's posh girl, the voice confident and assured with just a suggestion of upper-class drawl. Maggie couldn't help but admire her expensive flower-print dress, which she had teamed with a matching pink cashmere cardigan. They wouldn't have left much change from a thousand pounds in the type of stores where Miss Ibbotson evidently shopped, and she certainly wasn't paying for it out of her receptionist's salary. Rich daddy she guessed, with a hint of bitterness. It was ever thus, and it was probably mummy or daddy too who had got her this job. But maybe she was being unfair, letting her own working-class prejudices colour her opinion, because Harriet seemed perfectly nice, and efficient too.

  'We're here to see Mr Morgan,' Jimmy said, smiling at her. Maggie couldn't help but notice it, the frankly stupid reaction whenever he smiled at a woman of any age. They went bloody gaga and she found it very annoying.

  'He's expecting you,' Harriet said, her gaze fixed on him. 'Please, come this way.' She led them through a set of frosted double doors into a large conference room, dominated by a giant oak boardroom table. Along two walls, floor-to-ceiling glazing afforded breathtaking views across the city.

  Hugo Morgan rose to greet them, wearing an amiable expression. 'Welcome to Brasenose Investment Trust. Named it after the old alma mater, I'm sure you guessed that.' He was tall and powerfully-built, with a mop of tousled greying hair, dressed casually in fawn chinos, navy jacket and open-necked white shirt. His face was smooth and tanned, with the vaguely artificial aura that was often the accompaniment to a devotion to Botox. His teeth too, perfectly aligned though they were, had that slightly unnatural dazzle that only top-end dental engineering could deliver. But with or without the work of his cosmetic surgeons, Morgan had a presence about him that Maggie recognised as more than just the effect of his wealth. He would have had this before he got rich, she was sure of that. It was a cliché, but he looked like the sort of man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

  'Take a seat guys, please. How's the family Asvina, all well I take it?'

  'Yes, all fine,' she replied. 'And yours?'

  He gave a rueful smile. 'Well you know what kids are like. But yes, they're doing great I think, all in all, given the circumstances. You did well for me there, I'm so grateful.'

  'I don't know about that,' Asvina said. 'It was the court who gave them the choice and they chose you.'

  'And these are your colleagues of course. Maggie Bainbridge, once the most hated woman in Britain, and Captain James Stewart, the Hampstead Hero himself.' He smiled. 'Done my research you see. As you'd expect.'

  Maggie gave a wry nod. God, was that damn epithet going to be with her forever?

  'Yes, that was me I'm afraid.' And two years on, it still hurt like crazy that it was she who had let Dena Alzahrani walk free. There wouldn't have been any need for a Hampstead Hero if the teenage terrorist had been convicted and locked away for life, like she should have been. And her beautiful niece Daisy would still be alive. It had been her fault, and that was something she was going to have to live with for ever.

  'You were badly done by,' he said, 'but I guess justice was done in the end. But what a sensational outcome. Who would have thought it?'

  'You served too, didn't you?' Jimmy said. 'Guards wasn't it? In Kosovo. I think we're in the same club.'

  Morgan laughed. 'The old George Cross do you mean? Well, you and I both know it's simple self-preservation that drives us so-called heroes. At least it was in my case. I just wanted to get out of the damn Balkans as fast as I could and back to civilisation.'

  Jimmy nodded. 'Felt the same about Afghanistan. Nice people, but you never knew who were your friends and who were your enemies. In fact sometimes they were one and the same. Totally mental country when I was there. Still is I think.'

  'Yes, but we tried our best, didn't we? Couldn't have done anything more than our duty.'

  Harriet had arrived with a tray of hot drinks, which she carefully set down on the table. 'Tea or coffee?' The question was directed at everyone, but Maggie noted that her eyes were fixed on Jimmy. Typical, that was.

  'Just leave the tray Harriet,' Morgan said. 'I'll sort it. Tea or coffee Maggie?'

  'Coffee please Mr Morgan.'

  He smiled. 'Hugo, please.' So that was it then. The first time in her life she had been on first-name terms with a nearly billionaire. Correction, a cold and heartless wife-dumping nearly billionaire. It was important that she wasn't so seduced by his charm that she forgot what sort of man he really was.

  'So, I guess you're interested to know why I've called you guys in?' he said. That had to be the understatement of
the year. 'Asvina, maybe you can update your team?'

  She nodded. 'Certainly. Getting straight to the point, Hugo has decided to remarry and has engaged Addisons to oversee the formal side of the arrangement. I'll be looking after the matter personally of course.'

  Maggie smiled to herself. A new Mrs Morgan, no doubt younger and slimmer and sexier than the discarded model. Naturally there would have to be a pre-nuptial agreement given that he would be taking nearly a billion pounds’ worth of assets into the marriage. But she was making the assumption that his intended, whoever she was, was no match for him financially, and she realised that need not be correct. And so the question, though a terrible old chestnut, had to be asked.

  'That's wonderful Hugo. Who's the lucky lady, may I ask?'

  'Her name is Lotti and it's me who is the lucky one I can assure you.'

  'Miss Brückner is Swiss and works in a gallery in Knightsbridge,' Asvina said in way of explanation. 'That's how you met her Hugo, isn't it?'

  He gave a fond smile. 'That's right. I was looking for some interesting modern art and I found an interesting modern girl instead. Lotti's quite an expert in the subject as it happens. She tells me she studied in Heidelberg and Amsterdam before coming to London.'

  She tells me. Now Maggie began to understand why she and Jimmy were here. Asvina too had picked up on the nuance.

  'This is all my doing Maggie, I take full blame. But marriage is a difficult arena for high net-worth individuals, isn't it? We all want to think it's all about love, passion and romance but you can't ignore the practical side, especially when a relationship hasn't been going very long. So my advice to Hugo, much against his instincts I should say, was that he should perform some due diligence on his intended. Obviously, a very delicate subject. But that's where you two come in.'

  Maggie gave her a knowing look. So that was it. They were to dig into the background of the to-be Mrs Hugo Morgan. Looking for secrets and lies and perhaps more besides. Her friend was keen to claim it as her idea, but she doubted very much if he was going into the marriage with his eyes closed. No, this was without doubt a Hugo Morgan initiative.

  'It goes without saying,' he said, 'that Lotti mustn't discover that she is being...' He tailed off, unable to say the word out loud. Investigated. Because that's what was going on here. An investigation, the act itself creating a dark secret that would hang over the marriage, suspended by a thread like that fabled sword she couldn't quite remember the name of. Because if it ever came out, ten or even twenty years down the line, then the relationship was surely finished. 'Didn't you trust me Hugo?' she would ask, a question to which there could only be one answer.

  'Of course,' Maggie said. 'That's understood. Obviously I have a few questions if you don't mind?'

  He shrugged. 'Yeah sure. I'll do my best to answer them.'

  'And Jimmy, chip in if you think of anything too.'

  'Aye, will do.'

  Maggie removed a slim notebook and pen from her bag and smiled. 'I know I should use a tablet or something but I'm afraid I like the old-fashioned methods. So, I noticed that Asvina referred to Miss Brückner as your intended. Does that mean you haven't popped the question yet, if you don't mind me putting it that way?'

  'No, I haven't asked her yet,' Morgan said, 'but we have talked about it of course and I think we have an understanding. But, well, I suppose it depends on...on this exercise. And when I propose, I want to do it properly, naturally. I'm not sure, but we'll probably take the jet over to Porto Banus and then do it on my yacht.' As you do, Maggie thought, but she didn't say it.

  'That sounds nice. And what about your children? Have you discussed your plans with them?'

  He grimaced. 'Well they've met Lotti of course, and I think they like her. One of them at least. I'm not sure about Rosie. She's at a difficult age.'

  'She's eighteen,' Asvina explained, 'and very sweet.'

  Morgan smiled. 'Yes, she is.'

  'And Lotti,' Jimmy said, furrowing his brow, 'that is, if you don't mind me asking. How old is she?'

  Maggie could see Morgan tensing up. It was the question she had been dying to ask him herself, so she was grateful for Jimmy's intervention. The old good-cop bad-cop routine. It seldom failed.

  'She's thirty.'

  'So just twelve years older than Rosie,' Jimmy said. Christ, thought Maggie, if you're trying to get us blown off the job before we've even started, you're going the right way about it. But thirty? She had expected her to be younger, but not that young.

  Morgan gave him a sharp look. 'I can do the maths Jimmy.'

  'No no, I didn't mean to be insensitive,' Jimmy said, 'but we just need as much background as possible, I'm sure you understand that.' The tone was sympathetic and it seemed to have the desired effect, because a grin began to spread across Morgan's face.

  'Yes, I know what everyone will be saying, she's much too young for me, but hell Jimmy, she's so incredibly beautiful, and we've only got one life, haven't we? And believe me if you saw her, you'd feel the same way.'

  Fearing how Jimmy might respond, Maggie decided it might be smart to steer the conversation on to less contentious matters.

  'So Hugo, I guess we just need to get a few basic facts from you so that we can plan our investigation.' She saw him wince at the word, but really, how else could it be described?

  'As much as you know about her, parents, siblings things like that. And of course the name of the gallery where she works. Perhaps it'd be easier if I had a think about it and emailed you a list of questions.' Did it sound as if she was making it up as she was going along? Because that's what she was doing. This was the first time Bainbridge Associates had done this kind of work so she didn't exactly have a proven template to fall back on. But he seemed perfectly relaxed about her suggestion.

  'Yeah sure, sounds good. Feel free to ask anything you like.'

  'I'd be really interested to know more about your firm Hugo,' Jimmy said. 'I don't know anything about financial services, but it's incredible how well you've done in just, what is it, about eight years?'

  'It's nice of you to say so,' Morgan said, with obvious pride. 'It's not rocket science. Brasenose just takes a different approach from its competitors, that's all. It's a simple business model, we scare the shit out of lazy and incompetent management by analysing the hell out of their businesses and exposing their failures. Force them to either perform or get out of the way. That's why they hate us so much.'

  Jimmy laughed. 'Sounds simple when you say it like that, but I bet it isn't really.'

  'Well it is, actually,' Morgan said, 'but listen, why don't you two come and see for yourselves? We're doing one of our quarterly investor updates tomorrow over at the London Hilton on Park Lane. I've heard there's going to be fireworks, it should be fun. Have a word with Harriet on the way out and she'll get you on the attendee list.'

  'Nice girl,' Maggie said.

  Morgan nodded. 'Yeah, she is. She's an intern, but we'll maybe give her a job at the end of it. But yeah, talk to her and hopefully I'll see you both tomorrow.'

  Suddenly a thought came to her. 'I assume Lotti won't be there? Because obviously, we need to stay undercover for the time being.'

  He shook his head. 'No no, she'll be at the gallery, I'm pretty sure of that,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Anyway, unless there's anything else?'

  So that was it then. Their first-ever due diligence commission, and a whole different ball game from the dry financial investigations they were used to. The truth was, Maggie didn't have the first clue where to start, but somewhere in the back of her mind, a germ of an idea was forming. A crazy idea, it had to be said. Lotti Brückner, thirty years old and in the opinion of the multi-millionaire Hugo Morgan, incredibly beautiful. Jimmy Stewart, thirty-two years old and in the opinion of every woman who had ever set eyes on him, ridiculously attractive. What was it they called it again? A honey-trap, that's what it was. A perfect test of the faithfulness or otherwise of Miss Brückner.

  She'd need to dou
ble-check, but she was pretty sure there was nothing preventing it in his terms and conditions of employment.

  Chapter 2

  They hadn't done a bad job, he had to admit it. Atlee House was still a dump and had been since the day it opened way back in nineteen sixty-three, but at least now it was a nicely-painted dump. The foyer, the first area of the building to be completed, looked and smelt fresh and clean as he dawdled his way towards the staircase. The colour was Silver Sand according to the decorator, as if Detective Inspector Frank Stewart gave a monkey's about that. He would have described it as grey, but it was quite a nice shade of grey and certainly a vast improvement on the previous nicotine-stained brown. And there was even better news to come, because later in the week the knackered old eighties vending machine was finally getting the boot, to be replaced at last by an appliance more suited to the twenty-first century. Although his mate Eleanor Campbell had told him he would need to download an app to use the bloody thing, which filled him with some trepidation. What was so difficult about stuffing a pound coin in a slot? Still, he was sure he would figure it out eventually, and as far as he knew, there would still be Mars Bars. Important, that.

  He made his way up the staircase to the first floor and headed to the little meeting room in the corner of the large open-plan office. Since his appointment as acting head of the department, he had briefly considered making it his personal office, but no, that wasn't his style. He had always hated the way the brass shut themselves away in their little private enclaves and he had no desire to become like them, not after nearly twenty years of honourable insubordination. But today he needed a bit of peace and quiet to work on what he hoped would turn into his next case.

  The first thing he had to do was come up with a name for it. For some reason, Operation Dolphin was spinning round his head and he quite liked the sound of that. There was a certain synergy with his last case, it having been called Operation Shark, and that one had turned out to be a pretty successful investigation. So maybe that was a good omen. Dolphin it would be then, unless he thought of anything better in the meantime.