Breaking the Rules (39 page)

‘I will be, Jack. I’ve tried to analyse this whole thing, and I do believe we’ll be safe if we stick to the harbours.’

‘You’d bloody well better stick to them! Or I’ll have every-body’s guts for garters!’

‘Will you come, too?’

‘It all depends on what’s happening. I hate to be away from the store; on the other hand, Ainsley’s not going to hit the store again. He’s been there, done that, I believe that’s the way he looks at things. But a yacht’s an easy target, as you know, Simon.’ Jack’s voice trailed off; he cleared his throat, said, ‘However, not even Ainsley would be dumb enough to try and blow up a yacht in a harbour filled with police, as they are these days. Not to mention the yachts of his friends and colleagues in the world of high finance.’

Simon said, ‘M wants you to know she’ll stick to the harbour in Istanbul, and also skip the Greek islands, because she knows that the yacht could be vulnerable at sea. So, what’s the verdict?’

‘I’ll give M a ring first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll let them do their yacht trip…and, in fact, I’ll join you for several days.’

Simon gave him a big smile. ‘M will be ecstatic.’

Jonathan Ainsley knew that the best thing he had ever done for himself was build this yacht. This beautiful and most elegant yacht…safe, secure, streamlined and swift, and a sailing palace, to boot.

Now, standing on the upper deck, staring out at St Petersburg from the vantage point of the Neva River, he thought about the big party he was going to give towards the end of May. He had been planning it for a long time, just as he had planned the design of his yacht for a long time, and he couldn’t wait to welcome his friends on board. It would be a party to show off his yacht to the world he inhabited these days…a world of high society, show business, politics and billionaires. He himself was a billionaire, and he was at the pinnacle of his career. Of his life. He had become the man he had always wanted to be: successful, rich and powerful.
Untouchable.

He leaned against the rail of the ship, continuing to stare at Hare Island, upon which St Petersburg had been built by the will of Peter the Great, who founded it on 27 May 1703. And what a city of beauty it was, filled with palaces and buildings so magnificent that they boggled the mind.

Now, at this twilight hour, as the sun set and the lights of the city came on, it looked like the most magical of places, and such it was for him. When he wasn’t working on his desk, he enjoyed visiting those palaces, to admire the interior architecture and the unique art. Most especially he loved the European paintings bought, collected and transported to Russia by Catherine the Great, and housed in the Hermitage, that gallery of incomparable beauty which she had had built for this purpose.

It was there that he would happily spend some of his leisure hours, staring at the paintings by some of the world’s most talented and brilliant painters, filled with admiration for their genius and creativity.

To Jonathan Ainsley, St Petersburg was an extraordinary city, and it offered him many other pleasures, as well as its art and architecture. In particular, women of unusual beauty, who were willing and able, and generously catered to his many whims. Just as importantly, it was the perfect place to meet with his
Russian partner Grisha Lebedev, who rarely travelled, and who also enjoyed the luxury of this yacht.

And so he frequently brought the yacht here in order to do his business with Lebedev, but he was anchored most of the year in Istanbul. That was his favourite city of the two, and even though his yacht was both a home and an office, the centre of his working life, he had recently bought one of the loveliest
yalis
on the Bosphorus. This had been expertly renovated and remodelled by the best artisans, under the direction of Angharad, who had decorated it herself and turned it into one of the most unique and luxurious of villas.

Angharad Hughes.
Although at times she could truly aggravate him, he was glad he had married her. After all, she had brought him back to life by taking him to Zurich and the clinic there. And when the time came, she had made sure he had the very best of plastic surgeons. All of them had done a brilliant job in reconstructing his face. If he wasn’t the old Jonathan Ainsley, he was still a very handsome man whom women found alluring. All the scars had healed perfectly all over his face and body. She was to be commended for this.

Only one thing troubled him, and that was Angharad’s inability to give him another child…the son and heir he longed for. He did not bother too much with his daughter Elizabeth. The four-year-old was a poor substitute for the son he needed and who would inherit the empire he had built single-handedly. Besides, she had red hair and green eyes. His only child, Elizabeth Ainsley, was a daily reminder of Emma Harte, the grandmother he had hated with virulence.

The Harte women would soon be destroyed. He would make sure of that. So far his people had somehow managed to bungle things, but his next attack would be successful. Sam had assured him of that, and Sam would keep his promise. Otherwise he would be a goner, just like Bart: another failure. Yes, Paula and her hateful brood would soon be dead.

Moving away from the rail, he turned, went down the stairs, holding on to the banister. Jonathan Ainsley was heading for the lounge and bar, admiring everything as he moved slowly through the rooms, pleased when he realized he was barely limping tonight. He had named the yacht
Janus,
after the Greek god, who, in mythology, was the god of portals and beginnings and endings. He had thought it appropriate, since this 380-foot yacht was a portal for him, a door to the world, and surely his reinvented life was a new beginning.

Jonathan took immense pride in this yacht, built to his own specifications by Blohm & Voss in Germany. He smiled to himself. The Russian oligarch and billionaire, Roman Abramovich, owned the 377-foot yacht
Pelorus,
which had been known as the largest privately owned yacht in the world. But Jonathan’s
Janus
was larger, and this pleased him.

Angharad looked around as Jonathan walked into the bar. She couldn’t help thinking how fantastic he looked tonight. He was her own creation, in a sense, since she had put him back together. Or rather directed everyone to do that. She had given him back his health, his good looks, his very life. And she had presented him with a child. But a girl wasn’t good enough for him. Especially a girl with red hair and green eyes who looked like a miniature replica of Linnet O’Neill and Emma Harte, and was therefore not very beguiling to him. Quite the opposite. Angharad knew she would give him a son eventually. She had to. No alternative.

Even though he messed around with other women the entire time, he still wanted
her
in his bed every night. She made sure of that by using her expertise, and many clever and innovative wiles. And yet she did not get pregnant. She was forever disappointed. And so was he. But she managed to hold him captive sexually, and made him happy in other ways.

Jonathan interrupted Angharad’s thoughts when he stopped and said, ‘You look ravishing, Mrs Ainsley. Are you available tonight? Much later of course, after our guests have left?’

She gave him the benefit of a seductive smile, and said, ‘I am indeed. And I have a few new presents for you, my darling. They will certainly amuse you, and titillate you, I have no doubt.’

Sliding off the bar stool, Angharad walked around to the other side of the bar, swiftly mixed him a dry vodka martini, which only she could get
exactly
right. ‘Here you are, my sweet,’ she murmured as she slid it towards him across the black marble top.

He thanked her, and took hold of her as she came back to the bar stool, pulled her close, kissed her on the mouth, and held her away from him. ‘You look like a long strand of beautiful pure silver in this dress. Divine, Angharad. Is it new?’

‘Yes. It’s from Chanel. I’m happy you like it.’

‘I love it on you, it’s extremely sexy. Better order another one. I’m literally going to rip it off you later.’ He brought his face to hers and whispered something in her ear, but so quietly that she could hardly hear him. Knowing him as well as she did, she knew what he had said. It was vulgar but nevertheless it pleased her. He was obviously hot. A chance tonight to make a baby.

Lifting his martini glass, Jonathan now said, ‘Here’s to you, my darling. And death to the Hartes.’

Angharad burst into laughter. ‘Death to the Hartes! That’s a new one, and a nasty one even for you. Toasting their deaths. Good God!’

‘Please don’t laugh, Angharad. It
will
happen. I promise you. But if it doesn’t, and if I should die before them, you must promise to pick up my sword. You
must
destroy them.’

She gaped at him, and then smiled lovingly. ‘You know I’ll do anything you want, Jonathan.
Anything.
’

‘I do know. That’s what I’ve always loved about you: your willingness to please me. That’s why I married you. The reason
I stay married to you. I know you’ll even commit murder for me.’

Angharad cringed inside at these words, knowing he was verging on the psychotic again. She forced a smile, picked up her glass of champagne, touched it to his. ‘Here’s to our rendezvous later. And to the joy of making babies.’

He laughed. Then he swiftly turned around at the sound of voices, recognizing the growl of Grisha Lebedev. And, as he set eyes on one of the stewards bringing his partner and a woman across the lounge to him, he caught his breath.

Hanging on to Grisha’s arm was probably the most wondrous-looking young woman he had ever seen. Ever in his life. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen and she was a willowy, gorgeous blonde with an hourglass figure, big voluptuous breasts and endlessly long legs. He wanted her. He had to have her. No matter what the cost. He had to have this woman.

Grisha was kissing Angharad on her cheek, then giving him a bear hug, and all Jonathan could think of was this girl. All he wanted to do was feast his eyes on her.

Suddenly, he was holding her hand, leaning forward, inclining his head. And wanting her. Vaguely he heard her saying hello, heard Grisha exclaiming, ‘This is Galina. My fiancée.’

Angharad, who rarely had her eyes off Jonathan, and missed nothing, had witnessed his reaction to the Russian girl, and she was furious. Clever and skilful, as always, she hid her feelings behind a smile, and said, ‘Let’s go to the bar, Galina, and you too, Grisha. We must celebrate your engagement.’

Since marrying Jonathan Ainsley, Angharad Hughes had become a clever and charming hostess, and she managed to make the evening work for everyone.

Throughout dinner she kept Grisha engaged in conversation,
and left her husband to monopolize Galina. But she was concerned. Not about the girl, and his obvious lust for her—after all, she herself would reap the benefit of that later, in their marital bed. Jonathan would fantasize that he was making love to the Russian beauty, and be at his best sexually, and she prayed that she would conceive. What concerned her was his mood.

Angharad knew he was entering one of his psychotic phases and this genuinely troubled her. Also, he was talking about a party he was giving in Istanbul next weekend and she had never even heard a word about it. What was going on in his head? she wondered. Surreptitiously, she watched him, distracted him constantly, and so prevented him from making a fool of himself in front of Grisha, a valuable partner in business. One they could not afford to lose. And he was a proud man who could turn vindictive if aggravated enough; he could easily become a ruthless enemy.

‘T
hat was a splendid dinner, Tessa; everything I like,’ Lorne said, his voice full of affection, his eyes loving as he looked across the table at his twin. ‘And I especially enjoyed the
fraises des bois
which are so difficult to find.
Anywhere.
’

Tessa looked back at him. Her expression was as warm as his when she said, ‘I really had to hunt them down, those little elusive wood strawberries. God knows why they’ve become so rare. And I’m glad you enjoyed dinner.’

‘And being with you, my darling, and talking to you. It’s not often we get to be alone these days, is it?’

‘No, we don’t. And I’m so glad you decided to come and stay for a few days. I always seem to have so much to tell you. Or ask you—which reminds me, I want to ask you about Simon Baron. How involved is he with Linny?’

‘Very. And I for one am awfully happy about it, Tess. She’s been so lonely, and you know how stubborn and independent she is, and whenever I’ve asked her out she’s either been going away on business, or going to Pennistone Royal, or working. Usually it’s working.’

Tessa began to laugh, and she shook her head wonderingly. ‘And just think,
I
used to be like that. The workaholic woman, always at the store, my head bent over a desk, or my feet running along corridors or up and down through the floors, checking different departments. I must have been quite…
awful.
’

‘Not awful,’ Lorne said, ‘just frightfully ambitious and determined to be the Dauphine…the heir apparent. And you were bossy, stern at times, and very tough. Tough as a bloody old boot, actually.’

‘Was I that bad?’ she asked, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.

‘Yes. And thank God I introduced you to my dear friend Jean-Claude Deléon. He took you by surprise, didn’t he?’

She smiled beatifically. ‘He did, and he took my heart in one minute in front of the whole of Paris, at his book signing, and he still has it. He will always have it, Lorne. He’s the love of my life.’

‘I’m so happy for you. You’ve got the best marriage in the world. I don’t seem to have much luck these days—with women, I mean.’

‘You’d better hurry up, my lad, otherwise you might well turn into a crusty old bachelor.’

‘
Me?
‘ he exclaimed, staring at her, giving her a look of mock horror, and then he chuckled. ‘I’m not yet forty, so I won’t be crusty for a long time yet. I think I’ve got a bit of time left to find the right woman. Actually, do you have any girlfriends you could introduce me to?’

‘I wish I did. But we digressed, Lorne. What about Linny and Simon?’

‘They’re good. As good as gold, and I think he’s the best thing that’s happened to her. She’s mourned Julian for too long, and in Simon she’s found a kindred spirit. I’ve always liked him myself, and he’s a good guy. To borrow one of Linny’s favourite phrases, he’s true blue.’

‘And good looking in a blond, Greek god sort of way. Quite a hunk, I’d say.’

‘That’s true, but he’s extremely intelligent, and tough as nails.
I mean tough in the sense of strong and masculine, and I think he’s tough mentally. If push came to shove, he’d be terrific. Our little sister is going to be in good hands. And let’s not forget,
Jack
helped to raise him.’

‘How’s everybody reacting?’

‘I don’t think they are, not really. It’s almost as if it’s a given. Jack’s taking it in his stride, full of geniality about them, and so are Mum and Dad. I might even detect a sense of relief floating around, especially at Pennistone Royal.’

‘That’s marvellous, I’m happy for her; she deserves a life of her own away from the store. That all-demanding store.’

‘Spoken like a happy woman, a Dauphine no more.’ Lorne chortled to himself and pushed back his chair, went over and kissed his sister. ‘Come on, let’s have coffee in the library.’

‘You go ahead, I’ll bring it to you,’ Tessa said, getting up. She waved him out of the dining room, adding, ‘I think I might have a cognac with my coffee, Lorne. Please do the honours, darling.’

‘I will,’ he answered, wandering through the circular entrance hall and into the library. He had always loved Clos-Fleuri, Jean-Claude’s charming eighteenth-century house set in a little private park on the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau. He had visited Jean-Claude here long before he had introduced his twin to the well-known writer, and it was out here in the country that he and the Frenchman had developed an enduring friendship.

Walking across to the French doors, Lorne looked out at the gardens, thinking what a truly beautiful night it was: a black velvet sky, filled with sparkling stars and a brilliant full moon. A romantic night, if one had someone to be romantic with. Lorne Fairley had been feeling lonely lately, and he envied his sisters and their new-found beaus. Well, Larry Vaughan was no longer a beau; he was a husband, and he obviously adored M.

Portia Vaughan suddenly crept into his mind. She was a beautiful woman, and she’d always knocked his socks off with her looks and talent, but she’d never shown any real interest in him.
Until now. But was it really
interest
? All she had apparently said to her mother Pandora was that she would go to the dinner for M and Larry if he came too. Well, perhaps it was a start. He did fancy her, always had.

Tessa glided in carrying a tray, and he went to take it from her, then set it down on the iron and wood coffee table near the fireplace.

Tessa said, ‘Do you want a fire? It just needs a match, you know. I think I ought to have started one earlier, the house gets so cold in the evenings, even in summer, and it’s still only spring.’ She shivered. ‘Of course, who wears chiffony things like this dress on a cool night? Only me, naturally. Well, let’s see if the coffee warms me up.’

She poured, added cream and a sweetener, and took a cup to her brother. ‘How about that cognac, sweetie?’ she asked, flashing a smile at him.

‘Coming right up, Beautiful One. What time is Jean-Claude getting here?’ Lorne asked as he went over to an old wooden garden cart used for drinks, picked up a bottle of Napoleon and poured cognac into two balloons.

‘It’ll be about eleven thirty or midnight, I think,’ Tessa replied. ‘There was a reception at the Élysée Palace and then a dinner, and it’s hard to get away from those sort of evenings. But Hakim will drive him, and he’ll be able to relax on the way out here. And anyway, there’s less traffic at this hour.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Goodness, it’s already eleven, Lorne. How time flies when you’re with your one and only twin.’

After drinking a cup of coffee and taking a few sips of cognac, Tessa was still shivering; she stood up, went over to Jean-Claude’s desk, and picked up a box of matches.

Lorne, who was standing near the fireplace, stepped to one side, and Tessa bent down, struck a match, put it to the paper and chips in the grate. The fire took hold immediately, started to crackle and burn, and flames flew up the chimney.

Suddenly there was a huge explosion in the chimney, and the grate and logs were thrown out into the room. The inside of the chimney began to tumble down.

Tessa and Lorne, standing in front of the fireplace, didn’t know what had hit them. They were thrown backwards by the blast. Lorne hit his head on the edge of the coffee table, and Tessa landed with a crash against the stout legs of a wooden table. They both passed out amidst the burning logs blown out of the exploding grate.

The fire on the carpet burned quickly. Flames instantly spread to the floor-length draperies at the windows, then to the chairs with their summer fabric slipcovers. Within minutes the room was an inferno.

It was Lorne who came around first; as he struggled to his feet, he realized his sports jacket was on fire. He struggled out of it, threw it on the floor, ran over to Tessa, saw that the chiffon dress was aflame around her body. Regardless of his hands, he tore off as much as he could, then, taking hold of her feet, he dragged her out into the hall. He closed the library door to contain the fire.

Loath to leave her though he was, he ran down the short corridor to the kitchen. There was none of the help in sight, but he shouted, ‘Fire! Fire!’ as he filled a pan with water, ran back to his sister. Lorne threw the water over her face, hair and shoulders, and ran back to the kitchen for another panful.

He was filling two pans when Gerard, the houseman, appeared, looking frightened as he pulled on a shirt. ‘Fire!’ Lorne shouted at him, and ran out of the kitchen. ‘Get everyone out of this house. And bring the pan of water first,’ Lorne thought to say as he headed back to Tessa.

He emptied the water on her, dousing the smouldering dress. Then he heard Adele screaming, ‘Mummy! Mummy! What’s happened?’ The nine-year-old clattered down the front stairs, followed by the younger children’s nanny, Christabel.

‘Uncle Lorne, what’s happened to Mummy?’ Adele cried, and then screamed when she saw her mother’s inert body and the burned chiffon dress.

‘Stop it! Shut up, Adele!’ Lorne shouted at her. ‘She’ll be fine. Go back upstairs, get the little ones out of bed. Go on! Go! And you too, Christabel, don’t stand there gaping.’

The two of them fled, and Gerard ran to him, shouting, ‘I’ve called the police. They come quickly. And ambulance. Here’s the water.’

‘Thanks,’ Lorne said, and poured the water on Tessa once again. And then kneeling down he looked at his sister, and gulped. Her hair and one side of her face had been badly burned. He took hold of her hand, put his fingers on her wrist and found a pulse. It was slow but steady. All of a sudden Tessa began to moan, and her eyes fluttered slightly. Then she lay very still. He stifled his fear.

Looking up at Gerard, Lorne said, ‘Go upstairs, please, make sure Adele is rounding up the twins, and François.’ Just as he finished his sentence, he saw them all trooping down the stairs, being led by Christabel; behind them came Adele, who was as white as a sheet and looked horrified.

Lorne stood up, went to meet them, and shepherded them out through the front door, endeavouring to shield them. ‘Go and wait for Papa,’ he said to them, motioning to Christabel, not wishing them to see their mother’s burnt clothing and hair, not to mention her face. He realized that her legs were also badly burned.

Adele hesitated, and he said to her in a kinder tone, ‘You’ve got to be brave, darling. For your mother’s sake. You’re the eldest, so please go and look after your little sisters—see to Chloé and Constance.’

‘Yes, Uncle Lorne, but—’

‘No buts. Go on, do as I say, darling.’

One of the three-year-old twins escaped from Christabel, came
running to him. He saw that it was Chloé, although it was hard sometimes to distinguish between them. ‘Oh, Maman, poor Maman!’ Chloé cried, and before he could contain the child, or stop her, she was kneeling next to Tessa, patting her hand gently. Lorne scooped her up, hugged her to him and carried her outside. ‘Now we shall wait for Papa,’ he murmured, as he handed her over to Adele and went back into the house.

In the meantime, Gerard’s wife, Solange, had appeared carrying two fire extinguishers. She and Gerard cautiously opened the door of the small library; together they sprayed foam into the room, and did the best they could to blanket the burning carpet and curtains with it. Warning Solange to watch herself, and not to go inside the room, Gerard ran down to the kitchen.

He returned within seconds carrying two large buckets of water, which the two of them threw onto the fire, successfully dousing some of the flames. The couple hurried back to fill the buckets once more, and they made a good job of containing the fire finally. They had been determined to prevent it from spreading through the house.

When he saw their efforts, Lorne exclaimed, ‘You’re doing great! Keep going, I have to attend to my sister.’

Kneeling down on the floor next to Tessa, he let his eyes sweep over her, endeavouring to ascertain how badly burned she was. He really couldn’t tell, although he believed her legs were the worst. The chiffon dress had been ankle length and it had really been set aflame. He closed his eyes momentarily, and then snapped them open as he heard her moan. Her eyes were still closed and she was inert. There was nothing he could do but wait. He knew better than to move her. That would endanger her life.

Suddenly he felt cold; shivers were running through him and his hands were hurting. He looked down at them and
realized for the first time how burned they were. But he had been lucky…

A commotion was erupting outside, and Lorne struggled to his feet, feeling slightly nauseous and dizzy as he made his way to the front door. There were two ambulances coming to a standstill, two fire engines and three police cars. Behind these vehicles he saw Jean-Claude’s vintage Jaguar. The firemen and paramedics went into action immediately.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Lorne went down the steps to tell Jean-Claude what had happened and give him details of the explosion. And it was only at this moment that he suddenly realized why he had made everyone go outside the house, except for himself and Gerard. At the back of his mind had been the name ‘Jonathan Ainsley’. He had wanted Clos-Fleuri empty because he was worried there were other explosives planted in other rooms. He must inform Jean-Claude immediately, explain why he suspected this.

Lorne began to sway just as he reached Jean-Claude, and before he could say a word he passed out. The ambulance men ran forward with a stretcher.

It was Gerard who told his boss, Jean-Claude Deléon, what had happened, but because he knew nothing about a man called Jonathan Ainsley, he did not mention his name. However, Jean-Claude thought of him immediately, and experienced a sick feeling inside. That maniac could have been responsible for the explosion. It also occurred to him that he should have Clos-Fleuri searched at once by the police. But first he must get to his injured wife and his children.

As he ran forward, heading towards the ancient house, his heart was pounding and fear was spreading through his limbs. He saw his two little girls, Chloé and Constance, and
his four-year-old-son, François, and waved to them. And went on running. To get to his darling Tessa, the light of his life. He prayed to God she was alive.