“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact that his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just several small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, point to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints at impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovers piece by piece, damning evidence that she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence are about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
I always had a sneaking suspicion that Benito the solicitor was playing both sides of the fence. He knew the countess was never going to see a Lira, or was it a Euro of the inheritance so he devised another plan.
He of all people would know the countess had a twin so what could be harder, knowing the countess’s movements to have her kidnapped and substitute her with her twin.
He would know of Dicostini’s desire to purchase the estate, so get it in the hands of the fake countess, sell it to Dicostini and make commissions on an exponential number of transactions. When the counties had no further ruse, kill the real one, leave the fake one in place, somewhere preferably a long way away, and relax in the expensive apartment with the expensive wife.
The trouble is foolproof plans are never foolproof when fools are involved. Dicostini was a bad-tempered impatient fool, the fake countess was an impatient and understudied fool who would fool no one who mattered, and fools of kidnappers managed to pick up an extra body.
At least there was a financial payoff waiting there to correct a wrong that shouldn’t have happened, but an opportunity to make a profit. Especially when the rest of the scam went west. This was going to be the only profit he would make, or so she thought.
Roma Termini, track 15, at the peak hour when there would be a lot of foot traffic in the corridor. I got there early with Giulietta, when he called with the details, I told him her attendance was non-negotiable because I had to make sure no one stole the money. I knew it wouldn’t be a deal breaker because just as I arrived, Anthony sent me a balance sheet of Benito’s financial affairs and he was awash with debt.
A young beautiful wife was very, very expensive. Giulietta said she would never be that expensive, but I was not sure why. I said she was not young and beautiful, and she hit me, quite hard. I probably deserved that.
But it was the cue for Benito to make himself known, saying that he was acting as an agent for the real kidnappers because they knew he was the countess’s solicitor and there would be consequences if he didn’t.
There were going to be consequences one way or another.
My first question. “Where is Mrs Rodby so I can verify she is alive and well.”
He was smart. He had a cell phone and a link to a camera where she was sitting on a chair in a cell holding a piece of paper that had today’s date on it. It was like a scene from a bad movie.
“And where is this cell?”
“Nearby. I get the money and get away, and you get the address.”
“No. It doesn’t work like that. I said I needed to see her in person. You take me there, open the door, I give you the money, and then you can leave.”
There were a dozen scenarios I’m sure he worked out that I would try, all of which demanded two-way trust. He was a liar, and having dealt with lowlifes, I’m sure he knew all the dirty tricks in the book. I didn’t bother countering the next scenario he was offering, the same as the last, just with fancier window dressing. I went for the jugular. Giulietta dialled the number for his apartment, and Cecelia answered.
I asked him to look at my feed. It was better than his. It was his wife’s meltdown over the fact that she had a silenced gun to her head, and also one of his children. Both were terrified.
“Pick one.”
“What do you mean?” He was starting to get the idea. This exchange was not going to work.
“Pick the first one to die when I count to ten, and you haven’t accepted my counteroffer.”
“You haven’t told me your counteroffer.”
“True. We had to get the threats out of the way first. How about you take me to the cell, open the door, take a reasonable payout, I’ll release your family, and you can go away and talk about your failings as a husband and a father.”
He looked at the screen, at me, and then I started counting down to one. He caved at four.
Benito got a hundred thousand Euros for his trouble.
Cecelia told me she didn’t like the idea of threatening his wife and children unless they were thoroughly bad, which Mrs Benito and the children were not.
Giulietta said that if this was the depths I sank to, she didn’t think I was worth knowing, an assessment of hers I could agree with, mainly because of the distress it caused Benito.
It didn’t matter to her that he was party to a kidnapping and, by proxy, to a murder. I hadn’t read about a suspicious death at the Dicostini house, so I wondered if Benito had it sent under the carpet.
Mrs Rodby was argumentative and belligerent when we rescued her. In her mind, it was one lot of thugs replacing the other thugs until I got Rodby on the phone, and he spoke to her. I was not surprised to discover he was almost in Sorrento.
It didn’t help her demeanour or attitude, so I told her she could find her own way home and left her with a burner phone with Rodby’s number outside the building where she had been locked up for weeks. It was five minutes before my phone rang, and she apologised.
It’s quite remarkable to discover that your children are not unique.
For years, I thought that we had spawned monsters that had quite likely come from another planet because the other children in the family seemed so different.
I didn’t realise that the parents had issued death threats if they so much as looked sideways while out.
It was where I suddenly realised that parents of children, if taken at their word, could be mass murderers, or at the very best, the worst kind of bullies.
The threats of violence that they used, in any other circumstances, would elicit a rather lengthy jail sentence.
I was guilty of it myself, and such threats had come to roll off the tongue so easily that you didn’t really know you were doing it.
If you don’t do this, I’ll kill you. There’s no thought to the significance of this statement or the consequences if you were to actually do it.
No wonder the children just look at you like you’re deranged.
Of course, there are fewer murderous ways of dealing with the problem, but the sad fact is they have probably driven you into a blind rage and just past into that zone where you really have no idea what you’re saying.
Been there too.
But the revelation that all the other parents are the same, that you see them threatening their children with death or worse.
Then, after they’ve grown up and moved on as all children do, they return on odd occasions for Sunday lunch, and there you begin to learn the stuff they did when they were younger that you never knew about
It seems a rite of passage for all children, and it’s odd to hear others discussing it, especially when you hear someone else referring to their children the same way you do.
Did they come from the same planet, too?
That’s when a friend told me the truth of the matter. All children are the same; they just live in different houses.
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well, not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end of it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum: find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father, who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and the question of who a friend is and who is a foe is made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
I spent another hour trading stories of Army life, none of mine bearing any resemblance to the truth before the party started.
I said to him, several times, that in my estimation, a part would start at a particular time. He seemed intrigued by how that could be possible when all my men were locked up and guarded.
The captain, it seemed, was a man of limited intellect.
Or just plain overconfident that he had quelled the incursion and attempted to take the prisoner’s home.
I was under house arrest, just not in the house with the rest of the men. The captain decided, being the ranking officer of our group, that I should be accorded facilities befitting my rank. It didn’t change my opinion of the captain, but it did raise the respect level slightly.
As an officer and a gentleman, as he described himself, he was also a student of Army procedures and practices, not only of his own army but that of others. I admired his hobby outside of working hours.
We were just discussing aspects of the First World War, and the part Africa played in it when both of us suddenly heard gunshots. So did the guard picked up his gun and carefully went out the front door.
The captain pulled his pistol from out of the top drawer and made sure the magazine had bullets in it. Just in case he needed to use it. All the men, suddenly increased to six, armed and dangerous, in that room had a gun, like the captain. They were commanded by another soldier dressed in fatigues, perhaps a Colonel or higher.
I’d notice some African countries had a higher proportion of Generals, to say Lieutenants, and deduced from that, field promotions were a regular thing. That was not my experience here. So far.
I heard another gunshot, this time closer to the hut. Was it my people, mounting their attack? Or was it the Commander, back to retake what was his?
There would be no love lost between the captain and the commander, and if was a betting man, in a fight, my money would be on the commander.
The sounds of gunfire continued for about ten minutes, then it became sporadic, then none. There were footsteps on the boards at the front of the hut, and then a cautious entry, gun barrel first, “if you have a gun pointed at the door, I suggest you put it down.” Monroe.
Having caught the captain’s attention from the front, the Colonel came in the rear and had his gun barrel pointing to the small of the captain’s back. “Drop it now.”
The captain did as he was told.
“You had more men on the perimeter?” he said with a sigh.
“Yes. I thought it prudent to have more than one sniper, a fact that the Militia commander hadn’t given a thought to.” I looked over at Monroe. “Have we secured the airfield?”
“Yes. 10 surviving soldiers, some of them in a bad way, are in the second barracks. They won’t be mounting a counterattack.”
I heard an engine; a large plane engine being started.
“That will be Davies playing with her new toy. Someone is on the runway lights; the rest are heading for the plane. Where are the hostages?” She glared at the captain.
He shrugged.
Shurl burst in the door. “Out, back through that door,” I said. “Be careful there isn’t a guard waiting for you.”
Monroe looked at me. “Can I shoot the insubordinate bastard?”
A look of surprise, not terror, crossed the captain’s face.
“Just take him back to the cells and lock him up.”
Shurl came out with the two hostages, just as the second plane engine fired. Monroe took the captain back to the cells and returned a minute or so later. Shurl had taken the hostages to the plane. Baines would be waiting to switch on the lights at the last minute, and hopefully, the rest were on board.
They would be waiting for Monroe and me.
Both engines were running smoothly, and Davies was testing the rudder and flaps. Suddenly the runway lights came on, and Baines came running towards the plane. Monroe and I jumped aboard, and then Baines followed, pulling the door shut behind him.
I heard the engine noise increase, and then we were moving.
I headed up to the cockpit and joined Davies. She was now in her element, her face a picture of concentration. We were slowly moving to the end of the runway, and I could see her working her way through the preflight checklist.
I tried to speak to her, but she couldn’t hear. She had headphones on. There was a pair near the co-pilot’s seat. I sat down and put them on.
“Everything OK?”
“Nearly. Be quiet for a minute.”
We were at the end of the strip and she turned the plane. She would have checked the wind, not that I’d felt any, and adjusted the take-off direction accordingly.
Then, after what looked like a deep breath and slow exhale, she pushed the engine controls to maximum, and we started moving, slowly gathering speed. The runway surface wasn’t exactly flat, but it was enough not to impede forward motion. Not long after the rear of the plane rose, and then in what seemed effortless, we were in the air.
Odd then, when we passed through 2,000 feet, I wondered who this plane belonged to.
I knocked on Juliet’s door and before I could speak, she told me to go away. In my book that was an invitation to go in.
I closed the door behind me. She was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling.
“I thought I told you to go away.” She gave me the go-away look.
I sat in the chair beside the bed. The hotel must have thought someone would want to read in peace in their room, otherwise, I didn’t see the point. “Why is it everywhere I go these days, you’re there.”
“We’ve had this discussion.”
“I haven’t got an answer yet? My problem is that I have a suspicious mind, and generally, I can see conspiracies before others. You being here has conspiracy written all over it.”
“I was not responsible for crazies like Larry or that Vittoria singling me out to cause others grief.”
“You’re the wrong place, wrong time kind of girl? Or has your brother got himself into another jam?”
“No. He’s safe. And I thank you for getting him out of the mess he was in. That was my fault, and I won’t let it happen again.”
“Then how did you get involved in this mess?”
She rolled sideways to look at me. Perhaps she shouldn’t, I could see the tear tracks. She had been crying, though I’m not sure why.
“A phone call. My real name is Giulietta Moretti, and the woman who asked for me by that name sounded like one who had been ringing a great many of them. I just happened to be in a certain Italian town at a certain age, and she said she had something that might interest me. Call me dumb, but after the life I’ve had, something sounded better than nothing.”
“Changing your name no doubt improves your prospects, like an alias. Is this Giulietta Moretti a doctor also?”
“She could be, with a forged certificate, but I wasn’t going to play that card. I was working with dead people, so I didn’t think it mattered. You can’t kill dead people, Evan.”
“Unless they rise from the dead and try to kill you.”
She looked at me strangely.
“Don’t worry. Different lifetime. I like your real name, by the way. It has a lovely ring to it.” And I had no idea why I said that. “Perhaps I should stop calling you Juliet. We digress. Continue.”
“I met her in Milan over coffee, and she said if I could find the relevant documents, I might be her missing daughter, and if I was, then I might be an heir to a Count’s estate. She said she had once worked in the residence and had a relationship with the Count, and the Countess didn’t know about it. He was, she said, very discreet.”
“Of course, he was. You can imagine just how discreet he would be. A house full of pretty servant girls, for him, would be a smorgasbord. You went along with the plan?”
“Of course. I found my birth certificate and some old photos of my mother and I, who looked nothing like the woman who called me, so I took them and then asked her what her game was. When she looked at the photos, she said the woman was a friend of hers who worked at the residence, and that she had given me to her to look after, and being the bad mother she was, basically abandoned me. Well, I told her where she got off and left.
“A week later, she turns up again, and tells me I am her daughter, and shows me another birth certificate and photos of her, my mother and me at the residence. It’s possible she was telling the truth, so I decided to run with it. She said that the will was going to be ratified, which is not in a few days and that I should wait for her call to come and stake my claim.
“The moment I did that, my life went crazy, and then you turn up, and people are shooting at me. I was glad to see you again, though.”
“Is that it?”
“Basically.”
“It’s a good story.”
“It’s a true story.”
“It’s a story with elements of truth woven into another story, the story that lives between the lines. I’ll tell you what I told Francesca out there. I live in a world of lies and deceit, and smoke and mirrors. I was taught by the best not to believe anyone or anything. Or trust anyone. If you want to have any chance of seeing me again, you’d better be prepared to tell me the whole truth, irrespective of what you think I might think. Hell, you’re the most confusing, irritating, aggravating person I’ve ever known.”
“That far under your skin, eh?” She smiled.
“You’re still at the top of my list. Don’t push it. You’re going to help me sort out this mess tomorrow, and then you and I are going to have this out.”
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
The hut was a barracks, with bedding and ablutions for twenty men. Since this was one of two, I assumed the other hut housed the twenty soldiers that the Colonel had alluded to. There would be no more than one or two others including the Captain.
Hopefully, there were not more in Nagero.
The two hostages had been taken to the Captain’s office where I assumed there was probably a brig for them to be locked in. Not quite what I was expecting, but no plan was ever perfect.
I went to the rear and sat down at a table that could accommodate about ten.
Davies and Shurl joined me.
I looked at Shurl. “Good work, and glad they didn’t shoot you.”
“So am I. Monroe had joined the others. I had to make a lot of noise before they found me, so I don’t think this is a crack troop.”
“The Captain, or whatever he is, looks sharp,” Davies said.
“New command perhaps. Can’t believe his luck, I’m guessing. Did you get a look at the plane?”
“As much as I could without looking like I was looking at it. It’s been well maintained, and I have no doubt we can get it off the ground. It just depends if we need help to get the engines started. It’s possible they don’t, though it’s not usual for this type of plane. We shall see when the time comes.”
“Can you take off at night?”
“It’s a bit dangerous without lights. I see they have a lighting system, so I suggest, if and when we break out of here you get someone to find the switch.”
“Noted.”
“Any idea when that’ll be?”
“I’m sure we have people working on that as we speak.”
The door at the entrance to the hut opened and the Captain stood next to his officer, with a gun pointed loosely in our direction, just in case we got the idea we could escape.
“Mr. James. Time to tell me all about your escape plans.”
“I’m not so sure they could be called that, now.”
His tone hardened. “Don’t keep me waiting. I have people waiting for my report.”
I shrugged and got up. “Just make sure everyone is ready to move when the time comes. Tell Baines that I expect him to find the generator and get the lights working.”
The Captain’s impatient look told me not to keep him waiting any longer.
The Captain led the way, and his officer kept the gun pointed at me, just in case of what I’m not sure. Inside his office, rather spacious, and with a door which likely led to some form of accommodation and the brig where the hostages were being held. The door was closed so I couldn’t see, so it had to be an assumption.
The officer remained in the doorway, while the Captain sat behind a large desk, and gestured for me to sit the other side. It didn’t look like a comfortable chair.
I thought I’d start the ball rolling. “I’m assuming that there isn’t always an army guard on this airstrip?”
“No. When we heard you were coming for the prisoners, a detachment was sent. Fortuitous wouldn’t you say?”
“For who.” Time to sow some seeds of discontent.
“What do you mean Mr. James?”
“Your mate back at the militia camp just pocketed two million US dollars’ worth of diamonds for those two men. What was your cut?”
A shocked look, one that eased back into benign slowly. No cut from that look, I’d say.
“We pride ourselves on being above bribery. That was the old way of doing things.”
“Clearly the militia don’t agree. Are you going to give them back to the commander so he can raffle them again?”
The Captain didn’t seem to understand the word ‘raffle’.
“Sell them back to us for another two million. Maybe you should talk to your superiors and see what they think. If you left us go, I can arrange for five million, for you and your friends to share.”
Disdain, or disappointment.
“What did I just say about bribery.”
“That it’s not the way things are done. Maybe not in the capital, but this is the boondocks, and you’re the man in charge. Five million can go a long way, but I suspect if you tell your superiors, you won’t get to see any of it. Or perhaps you should take a few men over to the Militia commander’s camp and demand your share, or just take it. After all, Captain, who is in charge of this sector, him or you?”
At least he was thinking about it. Five million was a lot of money, but in US dollars, that could take him anywhere.
I remembered my old instructor saying, one, ‘every man has his price’.
I just had to find the Captains.
“Aside from trying to bribe me, Mr. James, what were you hoping to achieve here?”
“A rescue. I know we tried once before and not succeeded, but you know how it is, if you at first don’t succeed, try, try, try again.”
“That it failed before should be a warning that we are not as weak as you might think we are. The US Army is not necessarily the best in the world.”
“So I’m beginning to discover. Did we train you?”
“No. I spent some time in England, training with the British Army.”
So that was where he got his accent and ramrod stiff never a crease out of place posture.
“But,” he said, “this not about me, but you. And your so-called film crew. How did you expect top escape through this airstrip, flights are restricted, and you can’t possibly fly in a Hercules? The runway is not long enough.
“No, we were hoping for something a bit smaller than that, but we’ll find out tomorrow what it is. I’ll be standing on the patio looking as surprised as you are when it arrives. Now, let me ask you a question. Do you know who those men are that you have in detention?”
“Militia prisoners.”
“For doing what?”
“I don’t ask questions. I obey orders.
“Then I’ll tell you. They were trying to set up a trade agreement for some precious metal you have in abundance here. Good for the country for income, and employment. Might even help you get on better terms with the rest of the world. Unless of course, you don’t want to.”
“I am a soldier, not a politician. That’s their problem. I was told to hold you until my superiors arrive.”
“Who told you?”
“The Colonel. He’s based in Ada.”
So, we had a leak. Surprising given the limited circulation of the plan. It might be down to Jacobi, but somehow, I didn’t think it was him. He had several opportunities to turn on us and he didn’t.
“So, you’re saying we basically drove into a trap?”
“Yes. So much for the smart Americans who have all the technology and answers.
I could understand his contempt, especially when the attempt had failed so badly. Pity then he didn’t understand what was about to happen to him.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines frequently visited and had recommended.
Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.
It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.
Aside from the half-frown, half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It had been months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it and me, for a week or so after.
For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.
She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.
I even had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more, I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others out there who were more appealing.
Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.
More than once, I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”
Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.
The battle lines were drawn.
Jimmy was looking fashionable, with a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.
The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out, she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.
Then it was gone.
I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.
When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.
I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’, but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes, Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and me, are there, Al?”
I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.
I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting that her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.
Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaines thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.
And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realised I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.
“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”
No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.
The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.
Then, a toast.
To a new job and a new life.
“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.
Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.
Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realised it would be churlish, even silly, if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.
Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decided there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”
I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or, I told you he’d come around.
I had no idea the two were so close.
“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.
“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some studying in with one of her friends.”
“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up and immediately got the ‘shut up, you fool’ look that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.
It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”
A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”
I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.
I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.
There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.
I drained my champagne glass, gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”
He looked startled when he realised I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.
He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”
“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”
Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; she might have been telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?
We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”
“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”
“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”
At last, the voice of reason. “Me? No.”
“Yet you accepted the job.”
I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me, I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”
“Barclay?”
“My boss.”
“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay who recently moved into the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognised the name.”
“How did Elaine get the job?”
“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. Why?”
I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanted to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work, I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”
I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted, and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.
And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”
Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.
When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and me. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough that the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.
But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.
Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her and pretend nothing had happened, rather than tell her how much I was enjoying the evening.
She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.
At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent-up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, that Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was, but neither made any comment.
It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which, to a large degree, it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, as warily as a cat watches its prey.
I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.
We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaines back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health and asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.
She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.
And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.
It left me confused and lost.
I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.
And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.
“No. She spoke on the phone about an hour ago and didn’t look happy. Who is she?”
“Someone you might have to shoot, so don’t get attached. Wait till I call you first, then invite yourselves in. Does it look expensive?”
“She does, and yes. It’s very posh. Why?”
“Curiosity.”
We were back in the hotel room. Francesca was working her way through a bottle of red wine.
“I can go now if you like. Cecelia told me the countess was dead. My work is done,” she said morosely.
“Not yet. Can’t have you telling people information I don’t want them to know yet. We still have people to catch.”
“OK. Does your current squeeze realise this one has feelings for you?” She nodded in Juliet’s direction, stopping her in her tracks.
“It’d be misplaced affection. Right now, she’s at the top of my shoot first and asks questions later list.”
“You know, if you don’t want to end up grumpy and lonely, you are going to have to work on your small talk. I don’t think women go for this shoot first thing. Whatever; just thought you ought to know.”
I glared at Juliet. “Is that what this is about, you being here?”
“Why on earth would you think that. You’re probably the snarkiest person I’ve ever met. She’s right, you need to work on your small talk.”
Then proceeded to turn around and go into one of the rooms, slamming the door.
“Exactly,” Francesca said.
13 minutes after that the call came.
Male voice, distorted.
“You are looking for an Englishwoman, Martha Rodby, yes.”
“Yes.”
“We know where she is, and once the money is transferred, we will tell you.”
“Nice try. You get the money, in a duffle bag, when I see her with my own eyes. No mirrors, no magic, no obstacle courses, and multiple phone booths and time limits. You tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”
“Alone?”
“If you’re not stupid, and I don’t think you are, there will be plenty of people around. Dark alleys and dank tunnels are not my thing.”
“I’ll call you back soon with the details.”
It was a quick call, so he was worried about me tracing it. I was not, or at least I wasn’t, but Alfie might.
A message popped up, after making a dinging sound. “Call came from Rome, can pin it down to a half kilometre square.”
I typed in, “Don’t bother. I know who it is.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Who?”
I ignored it.
“Your kidnapper?”
“A concerned citizen.”
“Your kidnapper. Do you ever say anything that means anything?”
“I try not to. You do know my shadowy world consists of nothing by lies and deception, and smoke and mirrors?”
“Do you actually get anything done?”
“Mostly not, but at least this time I haven’t got to kill anyone. Yet.”
“You should tell your girlfriend that?”
“Which one, according to you?”
“Juliet. You want to tell her you don’t have feelings for her.”
“Are you trying to annoy me?”
She gave me one of those looks, yes, I’d known her long enough to be able to classify them.
“How did your wife actually put up with you all those years?”
“I’m sure it made interesting reading?”
“What?”
“My file.”
She smiled. “It did. My boss thought if I stuck close enough, I might learn something. I did. Stick to Art History. By the way, I like you too, but I’m not going to compete with those other two. Oh, and I assume you have a plan or will have a plan by tomorrow, on how to take this guy down?”
“You assume correctly.”
“Good. Do I get a gun?”
“No.”
“Just when relations were improving. Do you want anything from room service? I’m getting some pasta.”
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 