“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 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 a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of 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 discovered piece by piece damning evidence 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 is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
I reviewed the CCTV tapes and worked out who the countess’s bodyguards were in the hotel, and remarkably traced them leaving the hotel by the back entrance, passing only one camera, one I suspect they didn’t know was there. The reason, it did not belong to the hotel but the owner of the building behind the hotel.
They did not leave with the countess, so the question was, why?
I called the office and asked them to do facial recognition on the two, and then trace their movements, and if they left the country by conventional means.
There was no sign of anyone leaving before or after them. Not for two hours on either side of their departure time. It was another lead, which might lead nowhere.
I called Cecilia to ask her how her investigation into Vittoria was going. She didn’t answer, so I sent her a text message arranging to have coffee at a French Pastry café near where I believed I would find Juliet.
I was still working out how I was going to bump into her.
The auditorium was off the Strand near Charing Cross station not far from the Victoria Embankment Gardens, and of course, a French Pastry café in Charing Cross Road I found quite by accident when looking for Foyles Bookshop.
I was still working on that plan when I stopped to have a coffee and a Mille Feuille.
The best idea is just to go and see if she is there and talk to her. I doubt that she would believe that I just happened to be in the same place at the same time, and perhaps if I just told her the truth…
Whatever approach I made; it was going to be a surprise.
I stood outside the building for a few minutes, thinking if I waited, she might just turn up but she didn’t. If anything, she would be inside, setting up for the following day.
Enough prevaricating, I couldn’t wait any longer. I crossed the road and went in. I hoped that it catered for visitors. At the front desk, I asked whether the organiser of the session that was running in one of the lecture rooms was available, I was attending and had some questions, and she directed me to the hall.
When I entered the room I saw her standing on the dais, fiddling with a control that was in the process of displaying slides on the screen behind her. She looked different to when I last saw her, and I couldn’t help but notice she had a presence about her, even if she was flustered.
Then she must have sensed someone had entered the room and looked up. She recognised me immediately.
“Evan? Is that you?”
“It is.”
I walked down the steps and stopped just short of the dais.
“What are you doing here?”
Good question. I was still not prepared for this moment.
“I read in the paper you were leading a discussion on your pet subject of car accident victim’s trauma, where it was, and I didn’t feel we ended things back in Venice very well. I was surprised to learn you were in London, and I was at a loose end.”
She looked me up and down with a curious eye.
“Someone I don’t think that’s, exactly true Evan. I was told, in a roundabout way, that you were responsible for getting my brother out of the fix he was in, and coincidentally solved my problem too. He was a rather creepy little man who was acting strangely. Please, sit down.”
She crossed to the front row of seats, chose one and sat. I sat two seats away.
“Yes, he needs to work on his people skills.”
“Then you are not who you purport to be. Are you still living in Venice?”
“No. There is nothing to keep me there. I have a place here. For the time being.”
“Are you working?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Does it involve me?”
“Why would you think that?”
“I have been involved in several shall we say enterprises because of circumstances, all of which I have tried to put in the past. I am not that person anymore, and thankfully some of the ghosts are just that. You and I though, I’m not sure what we are? Would you like to buy me dinner and talk about it?”
Was it an invitation I couldn’t refuse?
“Can you drag yourself away from this?”
“I have a computer guru. I’ll call him and ask him to make it work. You can tell me what you’re up to, and why you need my help. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
You would think, being one of a dozen colours that pip onto your head when asked, name a dozen colours, that it would be easy to find almost anything.
Wrong.
We are on a quest to find bridesmaid dresses in, you guessed it, any shade of purple.
We might as well be looking for gold nuggets. In fact, we’d have a better chance of finding gold than a purple dress.
And, seven stores later, five of which are specialty fashion boutiques, sorry, no one is doing purple. Maybe a dash here or there, but it’s lost in the overall dress that may have flowers or a Picasso abstract.
OK, so the dresses are for a 15-year-old and a 12-year-old, you would think you could go to a Target, or K Mart, or Cotton On, or perhaps the Guess type of store that caters to that 13 to 25 market.
Think again.
Purple, mauve, lilac, or any shade in between just isn’t on the rack.
I suddenly consider the notion of phoning a supermodel and then convincing her to wear every shade of purple every waking hour in public, thus setting a new trend.
I’m betting that within a week, every store on the planet will have purple clothes in stock.
Of course, there is only one flaw in the master plan. I don’t know any supermodels.
So, this search is going to have a bad ending. I’m guessing the bride’s decision for purple and white as the signature color scheme was made before discovering that practically nothing comes in purple.
No the way, it was originally lilac, but that is impossible, not unless there are about 3 years before the wedding and you can get to Hong Kong to have the dresses specially made.
We’ve got about three weeks.
Yes, there’s another thing about this wedding. From announcement to the big day, is six weeks. Logistically, it can’t be done. Practically, there’s going to be a ward in the mental hospital for the wedding party, even if they pull it off.
Meanwhile, it’s back on the trail. There’s one more level to trawl, in what is a very large shopping mall.
And for the first day after the easing of many of the drastic Covid restrictions, it seems everyone for miles around has descended on this very place.
Sigh!
Then, majestically appearing through the mist…
No, not sunshine! A purple dress.
I am all astonishment. And, it’s not just one, there are several.
Hold that thought…
Alas, we find the dress, but not the colour, well, not in that store. Now it’s a matter of phoning other stores to see if they have any purple stock.
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.
Alessandro had his hand on the door handle, the door open, and about to walk out.
“You have to be kidding?”
“I’m not. Their instructions are to drag you out of her with maximum exposure. I did inform several media outlets that there was likely to be a high-profile arrest at this hotel this morning, so it will hit the internet very soon after.”
“There are rules…”
“I don’t play by the rules when dealing with liars, Alessandro. Your last chance to get out of this with some dignity, otherwise it’s out of my control.”
Of course, the number one rule I’d broken was not to play bluff with men like Alessandro because if he called it, I’d be in so deep it would take a week to dig myself out of the shit pile Rodby would throw me in. This was exactly the rogue behaviour he hated.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Alessandro did, it would get Rodby off my back.
He stepped back in and let the door close.
This was a man who couldn’t afford a shit storm. And whatever it was he couldn’t tell me must have severe consequences.
“Heidi called me the morning of the day she went to the opera and told me she saw me with Vittoria in a newspaper, and said she had information about her, that she needed to see me in person.”
“Before that call, what did you know of Vittoria?”
“Not a lot. She had presented herself, whether it was a deliberate act on her part, or by accident, to me at the casino at Monte Carlo some weeks ago, at a function. She used a different name and looked different then. She said she had seen me in the media talking about one of the charities the family donates to and wanted to know more about it. We met a few times over dinner, but nothing intimate. She once again accidentally ran into me in London, and we had drinks. I perceived her to be trouble.”
“Where were you when she called?”
“In Vienna. I got on the first plane to London and got her about 10pm. I got to the hotel just before she arrived back from the opera. She said she had not expected to see me until the morning. We went up to her room, and she told me basically what you just told me about this Vittoria. I did not know about the daughter of the Count, nor do I think Heidi does.”
“Then what happened?”
“We went down to the bar and had a few drinks, because that news was quite shattering, and I needed a few to steady the nerves. I had yet to arrange a room, which I did when Heidi called it a night and went to her room. She did say she might have to leave early the following morning, but we would meet again at the legal office. That was the last I saw her. And until your fellow officers came to interview me, I did not, and still don’t believe she is missing.”
“Have you seen Vittoria in the last day or so?”
“Once the following morning, and only as she was leaving, very hurriedly I might add.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“I didn’t ask, and by that time, I didn’t care. Do you know who this alleged daughter is?”
“Only that she has a daughter by the Count and had irrefutable proof. I would get your legal team prepared because it might become an issue because she might become the legal heir in the countess goes missing. After all the terms of the will state that the line of succession is wife, then children, with no specific codicil that the child be legitimate.”
“Which if you said is correct, and I will have it checked, that removes my motive.”
“Unless you are working with Vittoria and the child. You may not be, but appearances can be taken either way. I suggest that you make enquiries as to where the countess might be.”
He still might know, but I was beginning to think he didn’t. Nor did I believe he was working with Vittoria. He made his feelings for her quite clear.
But Vittoria, where did she go?
“Thank you finally for your cooperation. Next time anyone asks you a question, just answer it. Other investigators won’t be as lenient with you.”
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.
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.
He paused by the front counter to talk to the manager who was running the desk now. Perhaps realising trouble was about to erupt in her hotel, trouble a hotel of this sort didn’t need.
She got a key from the office she came out of earlier and accompanied us to the mezzanine floor, unlocked a door to what was a small conference room and ushered us in. She didn’t follow us in but closed the door behind us. I did notice that Alessandro had two security staff follow us at a discreet distance.
In the time it took to get from the restaurant to the conference room, he had time to compose himself, and no doubt working on a story that I might believe.
He sat and gestured for me to do the same. I thought about standing, it would nominally give me an advantage over him, but decided against it.
He gave me a hard stare, then said, “You tell me you are only called when the situation is serious. Who are you? I don’t believe for a moment you are a Detective Inspector. They do not confront foreign natials at their table in a restaurant.”
“Believe it or not I am. From time to time. Who I am is irrelevant. What is, is the whereabouts of your sister-in-law. You were at the hotel when she arrived back from the Opera. A matter of hours later she disappears. Why were you here to see your sister-in-law?”
“If I tell you that is none of your business?”
“Let me tell you what I know about your business. Firstly, you are associating with a woman by the name of Vittoria, who is allegedly responsible for two attempts in the countess’s life. Secondly, the terms of the Count’s will pass the who of his possessions to you if the countess does not arrive at the law offices to sign the official inheritance documents. Thirdly, you are on record saying quite vehemently that the countess should not, and will not if you have anything to do with it, inherit the family business. Fourthly, had Vittoria told you that she had a daughter to the Count, and was blackmailing him until he died, culminating in the last attempt on the countess’s life. Allegedly.”
Always, it was interesting to watch the expressions and responses of people when telling there a story that has a mixture of truth, supposition, and outright lies. Alessandro was no different. He started the story expressionless and was most likely going to stay that way.
The first response was when I mentioned Vittoria, with a look that wasn’t complete contempt, but a very deep dislike, though that might be for me mentioning her name. I purposely didn’t say he was dating her, just associating, and it might also be at the mention of her name.
“Vittoria is, by the way, in London at the moment, and she is a person of interest in my investigation. We know you have seen her several times in the last few days, so I will be talking to her at some point.”
The second response came when I mentioned the will, and that look was of surprise, whether he thought anyone know of the provisions other than family would be interesting.
“Am I under surveillance?”
“When reviewing the CCTV tapes during the time we estimate the countess went missing, and only via the CCTV in the hotel, in case the disappearance of the countess is not part of a wider attack on the Bernhardt family. I notice you have your own security outside.”
“I would prefer they not accompany me everywhere, but it is necessary.”
“The countess’s security detail? Are they still in the hotel.”
“Gone, with the countess, which is why I don’t think there is anything to worry about.”
“And if she doesn’t make it to the signing in five days?”
“Do you have any reason to believe she will not.”
“You have motive, and you had opportunity. In my book that’s enough for me to have you arrested until you tell us what we need to know. It’s the old story, if you have nothing to hide, you’d answer the question. Stalling, dodging, and obfuscation only indicate guilt. So, I will ask one more time. What were do doing here after she returned to the hotel on the night of the opera, and where is she now?”
Another withering look in my direction, and he stood.
“I do not have to answer your questions. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
He headed towards the door.
“Fine. You will not be leaving the hotel, and I suggest you call your legal representative.” /I pulled out my phone and pressed speed dial. When one of the two men below answered, I said, “Pick him up. You know where to take him.”
How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
My turn to put him under the spotlight, for a minute, then two.
“There are no optional questions here, Mr. James.”
No, but some needed careful consideration, like throwing the dead pilot under the bus.
“Roy, the pilot, was adding some hours to his fly time, probably looking for a promotion.”
“So it was not a proper sanctioned operation.”
Looking for a scapegoat higher up the food chain.
“You need the commander’s authority to go up, so it was sanctioned.”
“Then this commander could have ordered the pilot to fly into the no-fly zone.”
My thought too, but I wasn’t going to fuel his suspicions.
“For what reason, after all, it’s not called a no-fly zone just so people can write the words on a map.”
He didn’t reply. I had thought he might tell me he was the one asking the questions.
He let me stew for a few more minutes, then, “You don’t seem to know much about anything Mr. James, whereas we know a lot about you.”
The ‘you’ he was referring to wasn’t just me, but our whole operation and what we were doing, which, of course, I wasn’t privy to. Did we have a spy in our midst?
“One more time, Mr James, can you tell me what the helicopter was doing in the no-fly zone?”
It was accompanied by another of those smiles, all-knowing perhaps, or trying to make me believe he did. But the bottom line was, if he did, he was not going to tell me.
Instead, the smile turned to a scowl. “I do not believe you are as uninformed as you say you are so I suggest most strongly that you give up this appearance of innocence. I shall ask once more Mr. James, and if you are not forthcoming, the matter will be out of my hands. I assure you, you will not like the alternative.”
I was sure I wouldn’t like the alternative.
“The answer sadly will still be the same, so if you must, I’m sure I won’t be able to talk you out of it.”
He simply shook his head and left the room, leaving me to ponder what my fate would be.
