Exposure (41 page)

‘I could be,' he protested. ‘The new Ben Harris. Wouldn't you like me to be a New Age Man and do the housework?'

She laughed. ‘I wouldn't. I'd hate it. I like the old model. Grouchy, tough as old boots, and the best editor in the business!'

They shared the big double guest room, and he made love to her that night, and when they rested in each other's arms, he said suddenly, ‘Will you marry me, J?'

She turned to look at him. ‘Do you want to get married? We don't have to.'

‘I know we don't,' he said. ‘But it would stop you having drinks with Felix. I hated that, you know. It really churned me up to think of you with anyone else. Even him. That's when I knew I wanted a full commitment. I'm ready for it, and I won't make the same mistakes as last time. What do you say?'

Julia didn't answer. She held him closer for a moment. It was the wrong time. She couldn't give an answer and do what she was planning. In two days it would be Christmas. The house was decorated, the tree was up and the presents stacked beneath it. Even Pussy had a few parcels. Her parents were so happy, so ready to give to them all. Her brother and sister-in-law and their children were coming over on Boxing Day. It was all planned and it was going to be idyllic. A healing process for Lucy. A family gathering to celebrate the family. She wished with all her heart that he had waited until it was over.

He touched her tenderly. ‘What do you say? Can you take me on?'

‘Ben,' she said very gently, ‘we've just made love and all I want to say is yes and not think it through … That wouldn't be fair to either of us. Will you give me a little more time?'

‘As long as you need,' he said. ‘I'm not about to ask anyone else. Good night, sweetheart.'

He slept very deeply; Julia didn't. She saw the dawn creep through the edges of the curtains. The air ticket was in her notecase. It was dated 28 December, the Swissair flight leaving Gatwick at eleven in the morning.

Joe Patrick was in Dublin. He had lost his sinecure with Harold King, but he had plenty of money stacked away, and he didn't owe anybody except his bookmaker. And that wasn't much. He had decided to go into a different kind of business. He'd run girls, he'd come up through pimping and protection, he'd fixed a few nasty problems himself, like the old biddy at Midhurst, and travelled as King's troubleshooter to the States and the Caribbean. He had dabbled in drugs and he had a keen understanding and love of money. And in this new business, the money would be as big as King's retainer and bonuses. He had felt his way carefully in his native city, throwing hints to known sympathizers. He had baited his hook and the fish had struck.

The IRA could use a front man in London, a man with a business exporting leather goods to Europe. He could launder money through to centres in Amsterdam and Bruges, where they had units whose mission was to strike at military personnel in Germany and on NATO bases. He had a lot of criminal contacts in the city itself who would assist with safe houses and target surveillance. Joe Patrick had a lot to offer, and because he was a man with money, he wasn't expected to come cheap. He had done the deal in Dublin City itself with a man whose name he didn't know and didn't ask. He had a cash deposit in his briefcase when he flew home. Home was London now. He found Ireland too provincial, its rackets too seedy. He liked the high life. He hated Christmas. It reminded him of the grim celebrations in the orphanage that never varied year after year. He came back to his smart flat. No girls to greet him and wash the travel dust off him in the Jacuzzi. He'd find others. He had some correspondence … a few bills … some Christmas cards. He threw them away. He showered and changed and went out, making first for his favourite pub, and then, if he found a pick-up he fancied, he'd take them on to Soho to his favourite restaurant, and then home. He never went to a tart's place. He was fastidious about clean sheets and general hygiene. He got slightly drunk that night, and had to kick the girl out when he woke in the morning … Usually he sent them home with a taxi fare on top of the fee, whatever time of night. But he was in a good mood. He'd enjoyed himself, been welcomed back by cronies anxious to curry favour with him. God never shuts one door but he slams the other. He laughed. Life was looking good … It was Christmas Day and he'd bought himself a present. He was sitting with a Scotch in his hand watching a television sitcom about three girls sharing a flat when his front door buzzed. Joe wasn't expecting anybody. He turned the sound down and went into the front hall. He had closed-circuit security TV. Two men showed up on the screen. The bell buzzed again, and then there was the powerful knock.

‘Mr Patrick! Open up! Police!'

‘It's been such a lovely Christmas,' May Hamilton said. She smiled at her husband in contentment. ‘Everyone got on so well, and the children were so funny opening their presents … Patsy said “Granny it's like Christmas day come twice!”'

‘I know,' Hugh said. ‘She's a dear little thing. And did you notice Tom and Julia didn't cross swords once?'

‘That's because she's so happy,' his wife said. ‘Ben's such a nice man and he's so in love with her … That poor child Lucy … it was pathetic to see her fussing over that kitten.'

‘Clever thing to give her,' Hugh agreed. ‘She's young, she'll get over it. It's been a great success and it's all thanks to you, darling. You worked so hard to make it a happy time for all of us. Thank you.' He reached over and squeezed her hand.

Hugh Hamilton hesitated, but he never kept his thoughts on anything important from his wife. ‘Maybe it was my imagination,' he said, ‘but I felt Julia wasn't quite herself. She made a big effort, but she was strained … not
quite
herself …'

May nodded. ‘I did notice something,' she admitted. ‘I thought I was imagining it, but, since you say so, she wasn't relaxed, not really. I just wonder whether it isn't time for that girl to go home to her own mother?'

‘You think she's jealous?'

‘I think they're both a bit jealous of each other and they can't admit it. Ben doesn't see it, of course, men never do.'

‘Why should they? They only want a quiet life and everyone getting on,' he countered.

‘You're probably right. That's what was wrong with her … I think that's Ben and Lucy coming in now. I'd better get the lunch.'

‘What time will Julia be back then?' Hugh asked.

‘Not till tea-time. She's gone to buy shoes and get her hair done. Oh, Ben – there you are. Had a nice walk?' She turned to him, smiling. ‘Lunch won't be long, you must be starving …' She hurried out to the kitchen. Ben didn't find the letter Julia had written him till he went up to their bedroom later that afternoon.

Julia had booked into a small pension on the outskirts of Gstaad. It was a modest little chalet, scrupulously clean, the bedroom functional and sparsely furnished.

‘You're not for the skiing?' the proprietress asked her, helping carry her one case upstairs.

‘No,' Julia said. ‘I don't ski. I'm here to see a friend.'

She closed the door and looked round the rather bleak room. She unpacked her clothes. It might happen in the first twenty-four hours. It might take a week. She was prepared. The flight had been uneventful. She felt tired, but too tense to rest, so she went for a walk instead, wrapped in a thick coat and with a fur hat pulled down against a cold, crisp wind that carried flurries of snow with it. Harold King owned a luxury chalet in the smartest residential area. The Regent Hotel was close to the slopes, exclusive and expensive, a playground for the super rich and the parasites of both sexes who lived off them. She thought of Leo Derwent and King's daughter, Gloria. She was so hooked on him that she was paying for him to be near her during the holiday. And Harold King himself, probably adding the last refinement to his plan to seize Western's media outlets and make himself the single most powerful figure in mass communication in the country. Power was his lifeblood.

She had lost her job and her power base. He knew he was safe because Western had sacked her. He wouldn't bother sending any more nocturnal messengers armed with a knife. Soon King would be so powerful he could ruin her professionally by dropping a word. Her career was finished, and Ben's equally destroyed. She had come here to confront him, and she wasn't afraid. She was risking everything on one last challenge. Her future and, above all, her future with Ben Harris. He must have read her letter explaining what she had done and why, even as she ended her walk and sat in a café drinking coffee to warm herself.

He would see it as a betrayal, she realized that. He would be deeply hurt at her deception and very angry. He was a man who nursed anger, goaded by his own self-doubt. He might never forgive her, whatever the outcome. King didn't frighten her, but that did. She sat on for a time, while the lights went on and the town began to vibrate with disco music and the onset of the
après-ski
as the gilded young and the darlings of the gossip columns prepared to enjoy themselves after a day on the slopes. She ate at the pension; the food was heavy and too rich. The atmosphere oppressed her. She had called the hotel and left a message for Leo. He knew where to reach her. But though she waited up till nearly midnight, there was no call.

It came in the morning, while she was having breakfast. There were two couples staying and a single woman, well into middle age, who left for the slopes before the others came down. There was a German husband and wife, keen skiers who made no effort when they found out she wasn't a devotee, and a French boy and girl who seemed to be either quarrelling or fondling each other regardless of an audience. Julia hurried from the dining room into the hall.

‘I got your message,' his nasal voice said. A less than Oxbridge accent came out when he talked on the telephone. ‘I'm going to try and fix it for tomorrow. I'm having lunch with them today.'

‘You think he'll fall for it?'

She heard a snigger. ‘He will if golden girl asks him to; and she'll do anything I tell her. She loves it!'

‘When will you know?' Julia cut in.

‘Give me till this evening,' he suggested. ‘We're having some time together and she can go back and work on him. I'm pretty confident he'll say yes. And then we put your theory to the test.' He lowered his voice slightly. ‘What do we do if he gets violent?'

‘I'm sure you'll deal with it,' Julia said. ‘You're a man, after all. When will you know?'

‘This evening,' he said. ‘They're all going out to dinner – I'm not included. I'll come over to you.'

‘All right,' Julia agreed. ‘I'll be here.'

Then she hung up. She hated him, but she had to trust him. Not because of his loyalty or his obligation to her, but his malice and desire for revenge. Whatever she felt about him, he was her only ally.

Gloria had gone off skiing, and Marilyn had decided to have a full beauty treatment instead. She had come back to lunch, and she was pleased with the result. She didn't look a day over thirty-eight … well, maybe
just
forty and she decided to be nice to her husband. He'd given her a set of crocodile luggage and half a dozen sets of Janet Reger underclothes that were mouthwatering. He was working as usual, and he grunted when she came up and kissed him.

‘You smell good,' he remarked.

‘I ought to, at a hundred and eighty francs an ounce,' she giggled slightly. ‘I've been very naughty. I had everything done this morning. Does it look all right?' She stepped back and posed for him, one hand on a slim hip. She was beautiful. King nodded. He was proud of her, proud of the way even the glitz glamour queens of the resort stared at her. Not to mention their men. But she didn't arouse him any more. He enjoyed her as he would a piece of lovely Dresden china.

‘It looks very good,' he said. ‘That little shit Leo has asked me to come over this evening.'

‘Oh?' Marilyn was wary. She knew how much he hated Gloria's lover. And lover he obviously was. She was so libidinous when he was near, it made Marilyn squirm. And he was playing his part very cleverly. Deferential to King, charming to her, and attentive to Gloria. Marilyn didn't claim to be clever. She had got where she was without brains, but she was acutely streetwise. Leo Derwent was in the game for big stakes. And Harold King knew it.

‘Hasn't he asked both of us? That's surprising. He's had a lot of hospitality. It's about time he returned it.'

She sat down and crossed her fine legs, and wiggled her foot. It was a habit he found irritating.

‘For Christ's sake stop doing that,' he snarled at her. ‘I told you, he wants to see me. He called up while Gloria was here.' He scowled. ‘She went on and on at me to go.'

‘And you said yes in the end,' Marilyn prompted. ‘You always do. She's crazy in love with him, you know.' She couldn't resist needling him, just a little.

‘She doesn't know what she's doing,' he said scowling at her now. ‘This is the first man she's ever had … what do you expect?'

‘Well, what did he say? What reason did he give?'

‘He said he wanted to discuss something with me. It was very important. I suggested he come here, but he wouldn't do that. And there was Gloria standing beside me, listening and saying, “Oh please, Daddy; please, Daddy, he does want to talk to you.” So I said yes, I'd go. If he thinks he's got a proposition with my daughter, he can bloody well think again.'

His wife looked at him. He was jealous of Leo Derwent. He hated the idea of his daughter shacking up with anyone. Personally she couldn't imagine how anyone would want to; she was so big, so brutal, with her clumsy body and mannish ways. Drooling like a lovesick girl over the mean-faced, foxy man. If only King was right and he wanted to marry her … what a relief it would be to get her out of the house and leave Marilyn some space … She said softly, ‘Don't be too hard on them. You could lose Gloria over this. If she's really in love, she'll never forgive you if you scare him off.'