Exposure (6 page)

‘For how long?' his wife countered. ‘How long before King realizes she's investigating him? And then what will happen to her? I wish I hadn't encouraged her. She trusts me.'

He squeezed her hand and held it between both of his. He looked tired suddenly, as if a light had been extinguished.

‘You did the right thing,' he said. ‘I've got to destroy him before he destroys me. And I'll use anyone – anyone – to stop it happening. Now you settle down and take a sleeping pill. I don't want you lying awake fretting. Come on, here's the water, swallow it down …'

‘Felix,' Julia called out, closing the flat door. ‘Felix?' There was no answer. She felt a chill of disappointment.

Why couldn't he have been there to share the excitement with her? Why did he have to go and play his bloody squash when he knew she was coming home?

‘Selfish bugger,' she muttered, feeling quelled. ‘I'll go home, I'm not sitting here all afternoon till he comes back. I'll ring up and see if they're in for lunch.'

Her parents lived in Surrey. Her father was retired; Julia's brother had taken over the partnership in the family firm of solicitors. He was doing very well and talking of opening an office in London.

He and his wife and two young children lived in the same suburb of Hampton. They were very close to the parents who doted on their grandchildren. It was not disloyal, Julia admitted, to say that since her career took off, she had drifted apart from the family unit.

Her mother answered the telephone. She sounded surprised and delighted when Julia suggested she drive down.

‘That would be lovely; I'll turn down the beef – how long will you be? Oh, don't worry, don't drive too fast – Daddy'll be thrilled to see you.'

It was warm and welcoming. Just what Julia needed. At least brother Tom and his brood of children wouldn't be there monopolizing her parents. She could tell them about the new job. They didn't appreciate the finer points of journalism, and secretly she knew they'd rather she had married a suitable man and settled down, but they were always supportive.

Felix could come back to an empty flat for a change. She jumped into her car and set off. She'd brought him down to Sunday lunch once, and she knew her parents didn't like him. She didn't like him much herself at that moment, and the realization surprised her.

The trouble was, as soon as he put his hands on her, she'd melt like a candle under a match.

It was an excellent lunch. Good plain English food, as her father liked to tell an audience, was the best in the world. He couldn't stand meat mucked up in sauces, and tarted-up vegetables you couldn't get a tooth into. Julia listened with affection. He never changed; he was solid as a rock in his integrity, his political right-wing bias, and his basic decency as a husband, father and professional. A lifetime spent as a solicitor had given him sharp insight into people's characters without making him a cynic. That was remarkable of itself. He beamed across at her.

‘You're looking very chipper, Juliette.' He used the pet name from her childhood. ‘Anything up?'

They'd cleared away and she'd helped her mother load the dishwasher. They were sitting outside in the garden with their coffee. It was a lovely, spring afternoon. ‘Yes,' her mother interposed, ‘you look like the cat that's got the cream—'

‘Well I have,' Julia answered. ‘I've been staying with the boss. I got back this morning. Mum and Dad, he's offered me a tremendous job. My own feature.'

‘Oh?' Her mother's bright smile faded a little. Julia realized she'd been hoping for a different kind of cream. A nice man, a possible wedding. Not Felix, who'd behaved like a conceited lout when she introduced him. ‘What sort of feature?'

‘Well something like “Insight”, only much tougher, more aggressive.' Her father was an avid
Sunday Times
reader.

‘Good Lord – well that
is
exciting. Are you going to run it?' he asked.

Julia nodded. ‘Yes, Dad. It's my baby, I'm the boss; except I'm answerable to Western. And Western wants me to start off by digging up any dirt I can find about Harold King! Isn't it amazing? Big salary, expenses, staff, anything I want—'

Her mother didn't say anything. The phrase about digging up dirt didn't appeal to her. Her father said after a pause, ‘Harold King … Didn't he ruin a High Court judge because of some investigation some years ago? Yes, I remember. I'd be a bit careful before you make an enemy of him. He's got a nasty reputation.'

‘I know his reputation,' Julia answered. ‘And it's pretty obvious that he's cultivated it because he's got plenty to hide and he wants to scare people off. I'm not scared, Dad.'

‘I know you're not,' her father said. ‘You were always a gutsy girl. But just be careful, won't you? Even in my little backwater practice we heard some very disturbing things about that gentleman and the way he manipulated the law.' And then, because he felt he was damping her enthusiasm, he added, ‘But congratulations, darling. We're very proud of you – aren't we, May?'

‘Oh yes, very,' her mother responded. And it was true. They were proud of their daughter, even if she had moved into a world they couldn't relate to; her success was visible in the very expensive car, the smart clothes, and the generous presents she gave them at Christmas and on their birthdays. But her lifestyle was alien. They admitted to being old-fashioned, and tried not to judge.

But they felt more at ease with their son and daughter-in-law, a nice sensible girl – and the darling grandchildren. Glamour and high-flying was all very well, but in the end, a woman needed stability.

It would come in time, they assured each other. They were indeed proud to have a daughter who was such a star in her profession.

It was a happy afternoon for Julia. It went past tea-time and she was easily persuaded to stay for supper. It was, inevitably, lunch-time beef served up cold, with a salad and hot potatoes, and it took her back in a rush of nostalgia to her childhood. It had been very happy. No traumas, no teenage upheavals, just stable and predictable, from her earliest memories. She owed them a lot, these elderly parents, caught like the proverbial flies in the amber of their class and upbringing.

With the money she would be making, she had the happy idea of buying her father a new car. And she resolved, on the drive back to Central London, to make more time to go down to Hampton and see them.

When she came into the flat she knew Felix was back, because he'd dropped his racquet and sweatshirt in the hall. He was untidy, and she usually picked up after him to avoid an argument. He didn't mind a bit of a mess, he said; if she did then OK it was up to her to clear it up. He didn't care if
she
left things lying about.

She went into the sitting room. He was sprawled in the chair; for once the TV wasn't on. He was reading the
Observer
. He looked up, grinned at her and threw the paper aside.

‘Hi – where've you been?'

‘Down to Hampton; I had lunch with Mum and Dad.'

‘Oh – good for you. What news, sweetheart? Come on, tell—'

If you'd been here when I got back, you wouldn't have to ask, Julia thought, but didn't say it. They had an independent relationship, mutually agreed. ‘I've got a very good offer.' She sat down and said, ‘How about a drink for me?'

He brought her a vodka swimming in ice. ‘Great. What is it?'

She told him, but without the rush of enthusiasm. She sounded quite cool about it. And for some reason, born of resentment, she didn't mention Harold King, as if she were punishing him by keeping the best part back.

He was very pleased for her. He wasn't jealous – sometimes she thought it was because he was so confident in his own abilities. No trace of a chip on the shoulder with Felix. Thank God.

He got up and stretched, and looked across at her.

‘It's late and there's nothing on the telly. How about bed?' She wanted to say, no, you go ahead, I'm not tired, and dent that maddening self-esteem, but she didn't. It wouldn't have worked.

She'd tried that approach once, after a row, and he'd simply shrugged and said, ‘Suit yourself.' In the morning she'd capitulated and initiated sex between them.

‘You're a clever little piece, aren't you,' he murmured, biting and poking at her ear with his tongue. He used low-grade slang during love making; he called her a bimbo and a piece and she didn't care. He hoisted her on top of him, and for a few seconds Julia thought, I can't go on with this, I've got to stop. And then the flame seared the candle and it began to melt.

Julia's phone rang just before lunch. She'd been making a list of staff she was going to need. Western had offered a suite of offices on the penthouse floor, and she'd taken it, and asked for a private telephone line, not connected to the switchboard. She was glad she hadn't mentioned the name of Harold King to Felix. They'd gone their ways the next morning, and she had felt diminished by the sex they had shared.

It was no longer making love. It was just having sex. It was an unhappy sensation. She put it out of her mind and got down to work. Reflection had convinced her that secrecy was paramount to get the project going. It was one thing to tell her parents, and a phone call bound them to discretion. Very different to set the hare of rumour running through the office, and then through the tight little world of media.

One of the conditions for new staff joining her had to be secrecy on pain of immediate dismissal. She picked up the phone; ‘Julia Hamilton'.

Ben Harris's voice said, ‘I've had a private memo from upstairs. Don't come to my office. Meet me at the pub in half an hour.'

He was sitting in a corner when she came in; the lunch-time crowd were gathering. ‘Hello, Ben, sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up just before I left.'

‘No problem. I haven't wasted good drinking time. Usual for you?'

‘Why don't I get it?' she said. ‘Scotch for you?'

He nodded. ‘I'll get the next lot.'

She sat down beside him. ‘Why didn't you want me to come to the office?'

‘Because I wanted to talk to you,' he said. He lit a cigarette. He was a heavy smoker. ‘I got a memo about you from the old man. About the new job.'

‘Yes,' Julia said. ‘I knew he was going to tell you himself. I didn't ask for it. I didn't go behind your back.'

‘I know you didn't,' he said gruffly. ‘You never have. Unlike some. My contract is up in five years. I wouldn't have minded handing over to you, Julia. Never thought I'd bring myself to say that to anyone, but I mean it. You'd make a bloody good Editor.'

‘That's a real compliment, coming from you. You're the best.'

He narrowed his eyes against the cigarette smoke and then peered at her.

‘Remember the time I told you not to go on the Rhys murders? You wouldn't listen. And you were right. You coped with it, wrote your book, made a name for yourself. But before I say anything else, I want you to know I'm not trying to knock you or cramp your style.

‘You're a clever girl and you're not a cow either. Quite an achievement in this game. I like you. So listen to me this time.

‘For Christ's sake don't touch this one. Don't go after Harold King!'

Julia set down her drink. ‘I didn't know he was going to tell you
that
. Nobody is supposed to know at this stage—'

‘He had his reason,' Harris muttered. ‘I know about King. He wants me to help you. I said no.'

‘Oh God,' Julia exclaimed. Her anxiety was for Harris, not herself. ‘You didn't, Ben – you know what he's like. He'll think of an excuse and throw you out on your ear.'

‘No he won't,' Harris said sourly. ‘Let me tell you a few things about King. No, just listen. I'm not talking about public knowledge. He thrives on that. I'm talking about who and what he really is. He came out of nowhere, and he's covered his tracks so well, no-one's ever been able to find his country of origin or anything about him. Except that he says he's Polish, but even that's a guess.

‘He speaks it fluently, without an accent. But he speaks German like a native son. He could be anything. You've heard about the business deals, and the borderline stuff. Anyone opposed him, he wiped them out with lawsuits.

‘It's rumoured he has links with the Mafia, contacts with drugs, illegal arms shipments. He's up to his armpits in every dirty deal you can think of – he's bought people with money or blackmail or both.'

‘How do you know all this?' she asked him. He stubbed out the little butt of cigarette and fumbled for another.

‘Because I started looking into him myself. Ten years ago. Western told me to call it off or lose my job.'

‘I don't believe it,' she protested. ‘After what he said to me – he made you drop it? Why?'

‘King had something on him,' he said, and his voice was very low. ‘My guess is, he's about to break it, and that's why Western is going to stick his neck out and strike first. Or stick your neck out. That's the bottom line.'

‘What is it?' she asked. ‘What could he have on the old man? Why hasn't he used it before? They hate each other, everyone knows that.'

Ben Harris didn't answer her. He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I'll get us a drink. You want a club sandwich?'

‘I'm not hungry and I don't want a drink. I'm working this afternoon. Ben, you can't just throw out hints like that. Tell me!'

‘Are you going to take my advice?' he demanded. He was still on his way to the bar.

‘No,' Julia said. ‘No, I'm not.'

‘Then you might as well get back to your smart new penthouse,' he snarled, and it was the old Ben Harris, jealous, difficult, a man nobody liked.