Dear Beneficiary (32 page)

‘Eugh, I don't know why I drink, it always makes me feel like someone has stuffed me head with candyfloss and stuck acid down me throat,' said Tracey, still wearing the dressing gown and wiping sleep and mascara from under her eyes. One of the false lashes she'd managed to stick on after finding them in her luggage was dangling to one side of her right eye, causing her to blink rapidly.

One of Buke's staff brought over some breakfast rolls, fresh coffee and yogurts, and gave us a message from Buke that we'd be needed later that day to talk to the prosecution team for the forthcoming court case against our kidnap gang. They would be meeting at the Forensix Inc. offices.

I can't say I was thrilled at the idea, although the thought of seeing Darius made me feel like a drug addict about to get a fix. It would be bad, but seemed worth the consequences just to see him. What I didn't want was the opportunity to see the raven-haired beauty again.

A car came to pick us up at eleven, by which time I'd given some serious thought to what to wear. He may no longer be mine, but I could at least try and get him to remember what he was missing.

Meanwhile Tracey had managed her hangover with copious amounts of the bitter-sweet coffee and a cold shower. She'd asked for some Diet Coke, but had been told it was against Buke's principles to support the Coca-Cola enterprises, a fact that flew over her head.

‘I only want a bleedin' drink,' she said, settling for a glass of water and an ibuprofen I'd found in my wash bag, along with an old plaster and an empty tube of haemorrhoid cream. I promised myself I would sort out the bag when I got home, replacing all the tatty remnants of traditional holidays with some more useful items.
Like a gun
, I thought.

During the car journey I thought we were being followed. The same car was behind us even after we'd stopped for petrol, and I just had that feeling you get when someone is staring at you without you knowing. But after everything we'd been through I suppose I was just being over-sensitive. Surely no one else could be out to get us now?

We arrived at Forensix Inc. to a vista of sweeping driveways, sparkling white buildings and manicured gardens. The chauffeur, who was dressed in a light blue suit with white piping and a collarless jacket, making him look like something from
Thunderbirds
, told us the company employed over fourteen hundred people across Nigeria and also the USA, the UK, Japan, China and Brazil. They specialised in technological fraud prevention and were working on a number of projects to track down spammers.

Darius hadn't told me that much detail. I hoped this was because his position in the UK was sensitive, not because he thought I would neither understand nor care.

Once in the foyer of the main building we were given a security pass each and asked to take a seat while they telephoned someone to say we'd arrived.

Within minutes a tall, white, sinewy-looking man wearing tight, Chino-style trousers, a polo shirt and thin, gold-rimmed glasses perched at the end of a very thin nose came to greet us. He was sweating, despite the efficient air-conditioning system.

‘James Grant, Head of Operations,' he said, offering his hand. ‘You must be Mrs Hartworth.'

Disappointed I hadn't been met by my former lover, I stood up in my tight grey pencil skirt and low-cut white T-shirt and returned the favour, noting that his palm was wet. He clearly had an issue with perspiration.

‘Call me Cynthia, and this is Tracey.'

We walked into a large, open-plan office with a number of people sitting around a large table. Darius was there and he embraced me, pecking my cheeks with the faintest of kisses, soft as a butterfly's wing. I shuddered and relished the memories of more powerful contact, and was delighted when he shook hands with Tracey, not offering her the benefit of his inviting lips.

‘Everybody, this is Cynthia Hartworth and Tracey Burton. I'm pleased to announce they have arrived unscathed, despite some recent adventures, and are willing to help us complete our mission to capture the four-one-nine gang operating around Lagos,' Darius said.

He continued to direct the meeting, during which we learned how the investigation found Chike's car after I'd driven it into the ditch, and how it led them back to the camp where we'd been held. I could barely take in the details as I looked wistfully at Darius's chest moving as he spoke. I wanted to undo his shirt buttons and put my hands inside.

‘We traced the car to Chike Buhari, who was already suspected of running a number of ransom plots, including the kidnap of oil workers from Canada. You'd be surprised at how many clues the vehicle gave us.'

The news reports from home asking the kidnappers to release us were very emotional, with Jonjo telling the world how worried my family were about me. He'd said to a row of microphones: ‘Her children and grandchildren miss her.'

I was shocked to see them looking so upset about my plight. They let me go to Croydon unaided and never thought about all the things I have to do alone like use the petrol mower or answer calls from Jehovah's Witnesses. The fact I was kept locked up in a shack for a while was only marginally more intolerable, but seemed to have evoked emotions I thought were reserved for large Irish families with drinking issues.

‘The team gathered a lot of data and then it was a matter of liaising with all the relevant authorities to raid the settlement,' Darius said.

‘Part of the information was tracing money the gang had taken from your account after you'd received one of their scam emails, Cynthia. It all went back to a central suspect who is part of a much larger ring operated partly by Nigerians and partly by Brits who have access to international data through their work with big corporations – all very clever and all very greedy. You'll be pleased to know we have recovered the ten thousand pounds, and it is back in your account.'

Any issues with money became irrelevant compared with everything that had been going on, but anger rose in me. All that time I'd thought I was helping a friend, not funding a group of gangsters.

The reality of being taken for a mug started to sink in, and where before I might have had some kind of sympathy with our kidnappers, I was furious they thought helping themselves to my husband's hard-earned savings was morally acceptable. I thought about Chike's car and just wished I'd done more damage. It had probably been paid for by some young family's inheritance or the remnants of a pensioner's life savings.

Bastards
, I thought, using a word usually reserved for the delivery men from Cundy's electrical store, who refused to adjust the legs on my new oven on the grounds I'd served them Earl Grey tea. They said it tasted like Brut aftershave, spat it into my sink and walked off, leaving me with a wobbly hob.

‘I wish I'd seen the raid,' I said to Darius, once I'd regained my composure. ‘I bet they were shocked,' I added, wishing they'd been shocked even more. I was too embarrassed to admit I thought the money had been taken legitimately, and to help him with his mother.

‘Well, we thought we were going to find you there, particularly after we found so many clues to suggest you would be,' he answered. He moved in closer and whispered, ‘Like that red bra of yours.'

I'd forgotten we'd had to leave some of our luggage behind, taking only what we thought would be absolutely necessary. I regretted leaving my underwear, knowing it had an effect.

As I lost concentration on the meeting, the proximity of Darius brought back many feelings, including rising lust, which I'd tamped down in recent days. It was like an unfinished fire in the hearth, glistening with dying embers until a gust of air breathes fresh life into its ability to produce flames.

It wasn't the same with Gowon. He was just there as a memory.
Maybe of my blackest times
, I thought, and nearly laughed.

I was wondering about Gowon and Chiddy and whether they were further punished by the leaders, when Darius said: ‘There were two guards, who were only too willing to give us all the information we needed to arrest the big men.'

I hoped they hadn't given too much information.

‘By all accounts they'd beaten them for letting you go and were going to mete out their own kind of brutal justice. We let the young guards go with a caution, and I expect they will be in hiding for some time to come, at least until after the trial,' he continued.

A smartly dressed blonde woman of about forty-five, clutching a large briefcase, came into the room and introduced herself as a representative from the British embassy. She was in an immaculate black suit that would look more appropriate in Canary Wharf than a commercial centre on the outskirts of Lagos.

‘Virginia Jones,' she said. ‘You must be Cynthia Hartworth and Tracey Burton. I recognise you from the press photographs. I hear congratulations are in order,' she added to Tracey, as she opened her case to reveal a number of pictures, including one from Tracey and Baz's wedding.

‘Yeah, thanks,' muttered Tracey. She'd been very quiet throughout the proceedings, and I couldn't work out if it was her hangover or whether she didn't have anything to say.

‘I am the lawyer working on this case, which as you know has been led by the very capable Chinaza Medoc. She has instructed me to put together the prosecution case against your kidnappers, and I hope you are happy to work with me on this and will also be willing to give evidence.'

The mere mention of Chinaza's name made me want to be a bit sick. If I'd had a bigger breakfast, I might have been.

‘Yes, of course,' I said, for both of us.

‘We have been dealing with your family, Mrs Hartworth, who have shown considerable concern about the kidnap, and so we have arranged for you to speak to them via Skype so they can be assured of your safety.'

What is Skype
? I thought to myself.
Sounds like one of the diseases the children got when they first started school.

‘Have you also been in touch with Tracey's family and friends?' I asked.

‘We haven't been able to contact anyone as yet,' she replied, flushing red. ‘The kidnappers sent one email to someone called Jimmy but he said he didn't know you, I'm afraid, Tracey.'

‘Well, I suppose he would say that,' she said. ‘His wife was probably reading his messages over his shoulder.' Ms Jones coughed and said they'd also tried to make contact with Tracey's daughter but had no reply.

‘That'll be down to Posh Git. Don't worry. I'll let them know what's happened when I get back. If I ever go back, that is. Now I'm married and whatnot.'

The room went quiet for a few seconds before we went through the details of the charges for Chike and Fasina.

‘We have retrieved at least three hundred thousand dollars from their business bank accounts, not to mention piles of cash and other assets, such as cars. Or car, actually, now that the black Audi has been trashed,' said Darius, smiling in my direction.

He stood up and stretched, revealing an inch or so of his chest through his shirt as he did so. I so wanted to touch the skin I could see revealed between the gaping buttons. Once the information had been exchanged, Ms Jones snapped shut her briefcase, shook hands with us and left, telling us she'd see us in court.

‘The Skype service is ready for you, Cynthia. I will take you down to the communication room,' Darius said.

As Darius opened the door to show me out of the office, I brushed against his arm, quite deliberately. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it.

I was put into a cubicle in front of a computer screen, and within a few moments a bad picture flicked into life and I saw it was a group of my family huddled round talking at me. I was initially excited to see them and wanted to tell them all about my adventure.

However, after I'd spent a few minutes being patronised by Bobbie and Jonjo via a screen that stretched their faces in various directions with comedic effect (it reminded me of when I used to take them to the Hall of Mirrors at the fun fair when they were young) I lost momentum. The whole of Nigeria saw me as a heroine who bravely took on a dangerous gang of criminals; my family saw me as a silly old woman who got herself into a mess I was lucky to get out of, and more or less told me so.

After telling them I wouldn't be home for at least a week, probably longer, I pretended I didn't know how to work the computer and ‘accidentally' shut it off, thereby shutting them up. I wasn't in the mood for being morphed back into the Cynthia they expected me to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Darius collected me from the communications room and escorted me back to his office, still occupied by people discussing our case. Then he invited me to dinner.

‘I would love you to see where I live and get to know more about my home,' he said, and I couldn't help wondering if the invitation was just for me. At first I thought I shouldn't go, but curiosity took over and accepted on my behalf.

I certainly hoped going to his house didn't involve that woman, who I'd seen flitting through Forensix Inc.'s corridors with the air of someone who knows they can catch a man's eye. I didn't want to get to know any more about her. I knew enough about her slender legs, healthy skin and a décolletage without a hint of wear and tear. If anything I wanted her to fall off a cliff and be swept out to an angry sea, never to be found again.

My hands shook as I got ready. Tracey had made arrangements to go out with Baz and his friends, so I at least knew she wouldn't be part of the evening's entertainment. I sat in the bath and did as much maintenance as I could with a rusty razor and yogurt as a face mask.

A car picked me up at seven-thirty, by which time I'd considered cancelling on at least five occasions. Apart from the fact I'd been getting increasingly nervous about going out, constantly feeling I was being watched, Darius hadn't mentioned Chinaza so I wasn't sure if she would be there or not. I hoped she wasn't going to be, but then tried to push ideas of sexual activity as far from my mind as possible. The last thing I wanted was a whole load of disappointment brought about by kind rejection.