Behind the Facade (12 page)

He looked back down at the suicide note he was writing as he
came to sign his name. He hesitated for a moment but a none too gentle prod
with Sebastian’s gun and a curtly ordered “Finish it!” prompted him to add his
signature. Something about the finality of this re-animated him and the thought
burst into his mind that, accepting the inevitability of his death was not the
same as accepting the way this psycho wanted to portray it; fighting him now
could screw up his perfect little suicide tableau.

Charlie clenched the pen in his hand and tensed, adrenaline
sluicing through his system. He began to get to his feet, intending to suddenly
swing his arm up and round, aiming for his tormentor’s eyes.

Sebastian was way ahead of him. Before he’d even stood, he was pushed
brutally forward onto the table, his head held down viciously against the
unyielding wood. The pen was prised from his fingers and Sebastian’s now
familiar voice breathed with merciless humour in his ear, “I am a professional,
Charlie. There's nothing you can do that I haven't already anticipated.”

Things now happened very quickly. Before he could form another
coherent thought, he was standing on the chair with the noose being tautened
around his neck. He struggled reflexively, his body now on autopilot, concerned
only with survival. However, this only served to tighten the ligature and he
began to gasp and cough, trying in vain to twist away, panic now turning his
guts to acid and causing
a caustic
bile to rise and
burn in his throat. The chair was kicked away from beneath him and his body
dropped,
the pressure on his oesophagus now an unremitting
vice.

Charlie swung and kicked out, clawing frantically but
ineffectively at the home-made garrotte, designed to drag out his dying throes
as long as possible. The pitiless laughter of his murderer boomed and then
faded in his ears, in time with the pounding of his blood, like a percussion
orchestra gone mad.  Bright stars burst in his vision and then a creeping
blackness began to seep around the edges, a remorseless tide that had come to
drown him.

As his life seeped away, his grandmother's face slowly formed
out of the swirling dark and, even in his agony, he smiled. She was the only
family who had ever loved and accepted him. Sebastian noticed this and stopped
laughing. Why is he smiling?
he
thought. He shouldn't
be fucking smiling! He almost moved towards his dying victim but managed to
rein in his anger, as a voice screamed in his head “Don't mark him! You don't
want to fuck it all up now!”

His high spirits deserted him and he watched with a scowl as
Charlie’s body stopped
spasming
and finally went
still.

Michael Hunter strode purposefully into the sales office of Pearson's
Bespoke Cars and introduced himself at the large reception desk. He was a
fairly tall man with warm hazel eyes, neatly cropped brown hair and a full but
beautifully clipped beard.

After fifteen minutes, he was called through to Harry Pearson's
office. Michael had been preparing for this meeting a long time and despite his
natural confidence, he couldn't help feeling the perspiration breaking out on
his palms, as nerves started to kick in. There was a lot riding on this.

Harry was facing away from him when he walked in and he turned
briefly only to direct him to a chair. He was smoking a fat cigar and surveying
the sprawling city spread out before him through the floor to ceiling window.
After leaving Michael to sweat it out a bit longer, he turned his penetrating
eyes upon him.

“So, Michael isn't it?” he
began. “I understand you have a business proposition for me?” He used his first
name deliberately to belittle his importance.

Michael was impressed by the sheer power radiating from this
man, but not to be intimidated, he replied firmly, “Yes, Mr Pearson. I think we
can come to a very mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Harry waved his hand
impatiently for him to continue, saying “Go on then. Sell yourself and do it
quickly. I'm a very busy man. If this is a waste of my time, don't think I
won't charge you for it.”

“I know that currently you
don't do business with the US, but I think you have overlooked a very lucrative
proposition.”

Harry frowned a little at this. Michael realised he shouldn't
have begun in quite so arrogant a fashion. He cleared his throat and continued.
“What I mean to say is, as a successful exporter of specialist US cars, I’m
well established and have excellent contacts. I can offer maintenance and
servicing as part of the whole package. US cars are appealing to the bespoke
customer because of their distinctiveness. I know you currently only import
European and Japanese cars but I think there is definitely an untapped market
for American vehicles. I think with our combined expertise, we will make an
unbeatable team.”

Michael then pulled out a memory stick, saying “All the
information regarding my own business is on here. With your permission, I'll
leave it with you to review at your leisure. If you like what you see, please
get back in touch with
me.
”

He then stood up, holding out his hand to be shaken. Harry just
glanced at it disdainfully. “I'll shake your hand, Hunter, if and when I think
there is a deal to be had here.”

Michael tried not to let his vexation show.  “I understand,
Sir. Thank you for your time. I won't take up any more of it.”

He was about to turn and leave but then he spun back to Harry,
locked his ochre eyes on Harry's obsidian ones and said, “You will be shaking
my hand,
Mr.
Pearson. I’m absolutely sure of it.”

Michael noticed that
Harry's eyebrows did twitch a little in obvious surprise at this but he left
the room before Harry could parry this parting riposte.

Once Michael had left, Harry picked up the memory stick and
looked at it contemplatively. On first meeting, the American had seemed a bit
of an idiot and he had been inclined to dismiss his proposal out of hand.
However, that last statement had shown him to be a tenacious bastard, clearly
uncowed
by Harry and very sure of himself. He turned the
memory stick over in his hand and then made a decision. He plugged it into his
laptop, did a quick virus scan on it and began reading.

Kate stood in front of her wardrobe, assessing the few dresses hanging
there and trying to decide which one to wear. She sighed. She wasn't much in
the mood for a formal dinner with her father, even if it was her birthday.
Surely, it being her birthday, she shouldn't feel obliged to go? All she felt
like doing was having a long, hot soak in the bath and then settling down for
the evening with just her cat, a good book and a nice glass of wine for
company.

She came across a luxurious gown in deep red that was one of the
last things Robert had bought for her. She frowned regretfully. Robert...why
had everything gone so wrong? After the kidnap and the accident, he had
expected to just pick up where they had left off. But too much had happened and
she had changed. She wasn't the same person any more. It didn't help that she
had big gaps in her memory that still evaded her. She couldn't even remember
the rescue and the ensuing accident – apparently Sebastian had saved her life.

Her father had always been very protective of
her,
and his own reputation of course, and had prevailed upon them all to keep her
kidnap a secret. She had been recovered after all, her unreliable memory would
not satisfy the police and, if knowledge of the kidnap filtered into the public
domain, it could have very unwelcome repercussions, perhaps to the extent of
inciting other kidnap attempts with the motive of ransom. Her father assumed
that this became the aim of her kidnapper when he discovered her identity, as
his reason for being in the building was never uncovered but was likely to have
been financial gain.

Robert was persuaded not to press the police to investigate his
assault and Kate’s disappearance was attributed to a misunderstanding between
them. Her kidnap was therefore never linked to Angela and Angela’s homicide was
treated by police as an isolated event. Sebastian maintained that her kidnapper
had killed his ex-girlfriend to ensure that she did not reveal his identity. It
appeared that this had been a judicious move as, though Harry pursued his own
enquiries and also ensured that he was kept informed of all the pertinent
details of the case, the killer’s identity had never been discovered.

Her father would clearly have preferred it if Kate had remained
ignorant of Angela’s demise, to save her further pain. However, Sebastian had
been too eager to boast that he had saved her from the same fate. Though she
was grateful to Sebastian, he never let her forget what she owed him. He liked
to stress that the woman had been violently raped before she was murdered. She
shuddered a little when she thought of Sebastian’s creepy smile, his
over-familiarity with her and his persistent attempts to insinuate his way into
her affections.

It had taken a long time for her to recover from the trauma of
her experience and she had never recovered emotionally. She was so relieved to
learn that Robert was alive that it had taken some time for her to realise that
she wasn’t in love with him any longer. In fact she still felt closed off
inside, as though not only her body but her heart had been injected with a numbing
painkiller, but one that had never worn off.

She was spared from feeling too much guilt when it ended, as
Robert had also changed, despite his protestations to the contrary. He had
misgivings about not reporting the kidnap and he hadn't been able to get over
the fact that he had been unable to protect her – it made him less of a man in
his eyes. Also, because of her amnesia, even though her instincts and the
evidence suggested otherwise, he could never be sure that she hadn't been
sexually abused by her kidnapper. He gave away subtle signs, he wasn't even
conscious of,
that
the perfect girl he had idolised
was forever lost to him.

She ran the smooth material of the crimson dress through her
fingers. Robert had bought it as a replacement for the dress he said she had
been wearing the night of her abduction. She suddenly let go of the dress as if
stung. A vivid picture entered her head of standing shivering in an unfamiliar
bathroom and flinging that original red dress, tattered beyond belief, to the
floor. The image faded only to be replaced by the face that haunted her
nightmares, the ruthless, grim face of her kidnapper. Kate slammed the doors of
her wardrobe door shut and slid limply to the floor, tears dripping slowly down
her face. Would she never be rid of him?

She eventually recovered
herself, stood up and wiped her face with a trembling arm. She checked her
watch. She'd better get a move on; her dad was a stickler for punctuality. She
ran for the bathroom, thinking as she went, sod wearing a
dress,
she'd just jump in some jeans and a top and if her father didn't like it, well
sod him too!

Kate entered the restaurant at just past eight o'clock. She had
worn jeans as avowed, but had made some concession to formality by putting on a
chic designer top and matching it with some expensive jewellery. She was shown
to her father's table but balked a little when she noticed that he was not
alone. She felt irritated as she approached them; would her father never learn
not to mix business and pleasure? Was his time so bloody precious that she
couldn't have him to herself even on her birthday?

The man sitting next to him stood up as she drew near and held
out a chair for her. She tried to catch his eye but he seemed to make a point
of avoiding eye contact. He sat down and her father introduced him, saying
“Kate, this is my new business associate.”

The man held out his hand and finally met her gaze, introducing
himself in a strong American accent, “A pleasure to meet you Kate. I'm
Michael.” His grip was firm and now that he had decided to look at her, she was
a little unnerved by his intense scrutiny. “I had no idea Harry had such a
pretty daughter. Thank God you haven't inherited his looks.”

Her father chuckled at
this and Kate glanced at him in surprise. This man must truly have been
accepted into Harry's inner circle, if he was allowed to make comments like
this.

Her father offered her a
gift as she sat down.

“Ah, so you hadn't
forgotten,” Kate commented wryly. Her father looked at her in puzzlement, “Of
course not, darling girl. Why would you think I had?”

“Oh, no reason,” she
replied. She opened the box, thanking him for the exquisite earrings nestled
inside, knowing it wasn't worth explaining to him how much more time alone with
him would have meant. She smiled bitterly to herself.

When she raised her gaze,
she noticed Michael watching her. He quickly looked away but, before he did so,
she caught sympathy in his eyes. This riled her even more. If he knew he would
be an intrusion, he shouldn't have bloody come!

As dinner was served and the evening progressed, she was amazed
by the easy banter between her father and this man. This was something she had
never witnessed before. Her father usually found it impossible to abandon the
austere persona he had long cultivated, even with her. The raw wound that was
her affronted feelings was now further abraded by jealousy and, though Michael
possessed a charisma that was almost palpable, she was irked not only by his
presence but by his inexplicable refusal to engage in conversation with her.
She could eventually take no more and, before dessert was served, she stood up,
tears pricking her eyes and announced that she was leaving.

She collected her purse and stalked out of the restaurant. When
she reached the street outside, she remembered that she hadn't brought her car
and she clenched her teeth in frustration, the tears flowing freely now. She
was certainly not going to humiliate herself further by going back into the
restaurant to ring a taxi. She spotted the lights of a cosy looking pub across
the road and headed there,
  glad
now that she
hadn't dressed too smartly. At least she could lose herself in a stiff drink
while she waited.

As she stood at the bar, she noticed Michael enter the pub. “Oh
shit,” she murmured to herself. He came over to her and ignored her protests,
as he paid for her drink and ordered himself a whisky. He followed her to a
corner table and sat down across from her.

“I'm really sorry to have
spoiled your birthday. I wouldn't have come, only Harry insisted.... just as he
insisted I come and find you.” He smiled and she was a little disarmed by the
genuine solicitude in his honey-coloured eyes.

“He did think about coming
himself but he felt it was really me who owed you an apology. After all, I'm
the real reason you left.”

Kate was still far from
being mollified. She kept a frown on her face and peered down at her drink.
“Can I ask you something, then?” she asked.

“Ask away.”

“Why did you make it so
much more difficult for me to tolerate your presence? Why did you spend the
entire night ignoring me?”      

She gazed intently at him
but was surprised by the colour that began to creep across his bearded jaw. He
dropped his eyes to the table. “I'm not sure I can explain that.” He drained his
glass and abruptly stood up.

He didn't look at her as
he said, “Look, he just wanted me to check that you were OK. I'll go and order
you a cab and then I'll be out of your face.”

Kate was utterly
confounded by this and her anger began to re-surface. She grabbed his arm.
“Hey, don't apologise and then go and do exactly the same thing!”

He looked at her then and
she read something in his face that made her heart beat faster and the blood burn
in her veins. His golden eyes seared into her as he whispered, “Don't you know
what effect you have? You only have to look at me and I am bewitched.”

He glanced down at the
hand holding his arm and said slowly, “You'd better let go of me. If you don't,
you’ll only have yourself to blame for the consequences.”

She dropped her hand from
his arm as if she'd been scalded and stared at him in utter astonishment. “I
think it's better if we don't meet again,” Michael said, roughly. “I can't
afford to risk letting an unhealthy attraction to you spoil the relationship I
have with your father.”

He walked away from her,
confirming that he would call her a taxi.

Kate continued to gape
after him.

She spent a sleepless night, turning her
bedsheets
into a confused muddle, as she tried unsuccessfully to make sense of both
Michael's reaction to her and her own stirred up feelings. It was as if his
outburst had been like an electric shock to her system and this made her feel
strangely furious and elated at the same time. As dawn broke on her tired face,
she realised that she wanted to see him again, despite his determination to
have nothing to do with her. She couldn't deny that part of the reason for this
was because she was attracted to him and she’d thought this kind of attraction
was something she would never feel again. But also, after everything she’d been
through, it infuriated her that another man was trying to control what she did.