The doorbell shrilled, and she jumped, startled. Linnet glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten minutes to six. He was early. Endeavoring to keep herself as calm as possible, she walked to the front door, looked through the spy hole, and saw that it was Simon.
Opening the door, smiling, she said, “Hi,” and stopped because her mouth had gone totally dry.
“Hi,” he said back and stepped into the hall.
Linnet closed the door and turned to face him, shaking so much inside she was convinced he would notice.
“I’m sorry I’m early,” Simon murmured. “But, well, er, er, well, I couldn’t wait to get here, to see you.”
Linnet stood leaning against the front door, staring at him, thinking how wonderful he looked. He had dispensed with the tie he always wore to work and looked more casual and relaxed in his open-necked, pale blue shirt. She wanted to make love to him. Her mouth was drier than ever.
He cleared his throat, appeared anxious.
She finally spoke. “I know, I was the same. I came home far too early . . .” Her voice trailed off. She took a step forward, and then another, and so did he. Suddenly they were rushing into each other’s arms. His mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her with passion, pressing her close to his body. His tongue touched hers, and she clung to him, wondering how she was managing to stand; her legs felt weak, and she was trembling.
Against her hair, he murmured softly, “It was unbearable this afternoon . . . I wanted you so much.”
“It was mutual.” Drawing away from him, she took his hand, led him into the living room, asking him what he wanted to drink, speaking in a mumble.
“Nothing right now,” he replied. “I just want to hold you in my arms and kiss you.” As he spoke they half sat, half fell onto the sofa, and she drew closer to him, and their mouths met again. His hand was in her hair, on her cheek, touching her neck, and then he slipped it under her sweater, unhooked her bra, fondled her breast.
Linnet could hardly breathe. Every part of her ached for him. She wanted his hands on her everywhere, touching, feeling, probing; she longed to touch him, needed the feel of his skin under her hands. Her face was growing hotter and hotter, and the heat suddenly was spreading up through her legs into the pit of her stomach. Then unexpectedly he pushed her sweater up and brought his mouth to her breast, lavishly kissing her until she let out a small moan of pleasure.
Simon stopped abruptly and said, “Let’s find a bed . . . please.”
Pulling down her sweater, Linnet jumped up, took hold of his hand, and drew him across the room to the front hall and into her bedroom.
Simon closed the door, leaned against it, took her face between his hands, and stared into her eyes. But he remained silent and so did she.
Their clothes were swiftly discarded, and they lay together on the bed, still staring at each other, touching each other’s faces. But a moment later they were kissing again, and his passion for her soared. And soared. They found themselves clutching each other; their mutual yearning knew no bounds. When Simon finally entered her, and swiftly so, Linnet caught her breath, and so did he. And as he moved against her, saying her name over and over again, she said his name, and gave herself to him entirely.
Simon pulled her into his arms and brought the duvet up over them, and they did not speak for a while, lost in their own meandering thoughts.
Eventually he murmured, “I could stay like this forever. . . . I feel as if I have the whole world in my arms.”
“That’s a lovely thing to say. And I have the man of my dreams in my bed.”
“Can he stay?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight, and perhaps other nights,” Simon replied.
“Just try and leave!” she exclaimed.
He laughed; she had always had the ability to bring a smile to his face. “What I meant was can I stay the whole night, and have breakfast with you tomorrow?”
“If you really, really want to, I’ll consider it.”
His answer was to wrap his arms around her tighter and nuzzle the back of her neck. After a moment, he said, “Isn’t life amazing, Linnet? Just imagine, if that car hadn’t come too close to the cab, the cabbie wouldn’t have swerved—”
“I was just thinking that earlier,” she interrupted, laughing.
“But it goes backward, actually,” Simon went on. “Because if you hadn’t asked Jack if you could join us for lunch, we’d have never been in that cab in the first place.”
“I’ll confess something to you, Simon. I wanted to come to lunch because of you, because I wanted to be with you, sitting close to you . . .”
“We’ve been a couple of fools, considering we’re grown-ups,” he asserted.
“Yes, we have. But sometimes timing is important, and the time is right for me now, Simon. For you to be in my life.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. And it is for me, too.”
“Are you . . . free?” she asked softly and wanted to add, to be mine but resisted the temptation.
He said, “I broke up with someone almost a year ago, and there’s been nobody since. . . . But I don’t know that I’m free.”
Linnet struggled in his arms and turned around to face him. “What does that mean?” she asked, her expression fierce.
“Don’t look like that! What I meant is that I’m not free because I’m so involved with you, Linnet. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be free again.”
“And neither will I,” she said, touching his face lovingly.
Linnet stood staring at her wedding photograph, which was on a chest in the living room, her throat tight with emotion. What she saw was herself gazing into Julian’s face, he into hers. It was a marvelous picture of them both, taken at Pennistone Royal. For a moment she felt sad, but she had to let sadness go.
There was a slight noise, and she straightened, swung around. Simon was standing in the doorway, obviously not wanting to intrude. She forced a smile and said swiftly, “Simon, don’t stand there, darling. I came in here to turn on some lamps and noticed my wedding picture as I passed the chest. We weren’t married very long before he suddenly died, but as you know, we’d grown up together—” She stopped, wondering why she was explaining. He knew about her life.
Simon nodded, walked into the room. He took hold of her arm and led her over to the sofa. As they sat down, he said quietly, “You were childhood sweethearts. I understand how you feel, Linnet. At least I think I do. . . . It’s hard to let go, in a way.”
“How perceptive you are,” she murmured, looking up into his face, noticing that his blue-gray eyes now looked bluer, a reflection of his shirt, she decided.
“You spent most of your life with him,” Simon remarked, “and he’s part of you. He’s deep in your heart, and he always will be, I realize that. No one can, or should, completely erase the past, especially if it was a happy past, and memories are very important, Linnet. You loved Julian, you were married to him, and naturally it’s going to seem . . . well, perhaps a bit strange being with me.”
“I know what you mean,” she answered. “But oddly enough, it doesn’t seem strange. I feel very at ease with you, and that’s because I’ve known you so long . . . and I trust you, Simon, feel safe with you.”
“You can, and you are. I’ll always look after you,” he answered, his sincerity apparent. “I just need to say this. I don’t think you should suppress your feelings about Julian because of me, or attempt to hide them from me. You have your memories, and you should cherish them. Look, we’re both in our thirties, bringing our pasts to this relationship, but we mustn’t let that stuff get in the way. Things happened before you and I were involved. I wasn’t married to anyone, but I did have a couple of relationships which were meaningful. However, they don’t have anything to do with . . . us. Nor does your marriage to Julian.”
Simon searched her face, his eyes full of concern, his expression serious. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that what we have together has nothing to do with anyone else or w
hatever it was we had with them.”
“I agree with you,” Linnet was quick to say. “And I’d like us to be truthful with each other.” She leaned closer to him, her eyes focused intently on his. “I don’t want to pretend to other people either, pretend we’re not seeing each other. Anyway, it’s nobody else’s business, is it?”
He pulled her toward him, kissed her on the cheek. “We are of like minds, Linnet, and I just want to tell you that this is the happiest day of my life, knowing you feel the way I do, and that we’re going to be together.”
“Oh, you mean this is not a one-night stand?” she teased, an auburn brow lifting coquettishly.
“No, it’s not, you little minx!” he exclaimed, grinning at her. “It’s a rest-of-my-life stand, that’s what this is.”
She gave him the benefit of a huge smile.
Simon stood up, pulled her to her feet, and started to walk out of the room, saying as he did, “Shall we go and make supper? I’m ravenous.”
Linnet caught hold of his hand, stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to look at her, his expression puzzled.
Drawing closer, leaning against him, she said softly, “When you saw me earlier, looking at the picture, I wasn’t comparing or anything like that. . . . I was saying good-bye to him. . . . And I know he would be happy for me, Simon. . . . Julian wouldn’t want me to be alone.”
Touched by her words, Simon took her in his arms and held her close, his heart overflowing with love for her.
Forty-two
James Cardigan threw Jack Figg a look that mixed curiosity and bafflement, and asked, “But when you have found Ainsley, what do you actually plan to do, Jack? Kill him?”
Jack looked thoughtful for a minute and then said, with a small, wry smile, “I don’t think murder in cold blood will be necessary in this instance. There are other things we can do to him . . . in cold blood.”
A look of eager expectancy flashed across James’s face, and he said, “That sounds a bit bloody mysterious to me, Jack. What exactly are you getting at?” His eyes were riveted on Jack’s face.
“From the things I told you about Ainsley last week, you know what makes him tick. I also gave you a list of his weaknesses. Basically he has three: his hatred of Paula and her daughters, his addiction to women who are beautiful and clever but genuine ball-breakers—those women whom he likes to break before they can cut off his cojones—and money. Very big money.”
Jack straightened up in the chair, and staring at James across his Georgian partners’ desk, he added, “I’m going for the money.”
“Thank God for that! I’d visions of having to get you out of some sweaty, flea-bitten jail in some moldering third-world country, but I should have known better. So, before we get to your real plan, why are you so anxious to pinpoint him on the map of the world?”
“Basically, just to know where he is, James, what’s he doing, and get details of his daily activities, his modus operandi, his friends, colleagues, visitors. I want my operatives tailing him, but believe me I’m not going to take him out. I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Neither do I. However, if need be, I have a handful of skilled guys who’ll do the job for you. They always deliver on a contract.”
“Thanks, James. What we do need are some really brilliant hackers. We might have to hit his computers in the not too distant future, and we want the best chaps available. Maybe my Chinese friends have some contacts.”
“No problem. Now, a bit of good news. I think I can pinpoint his whereabouts at this moment, at least within a few hundred miles.”
As he spoke, James got up, crossed his private office overlooking Mount Street in London, and pressed a button at the end of the long wall. The mahogany panels slid back to settle at each end, and a battery of television screens were revealed. When he pressed a remote control, which he pointed at the TV screens, they instantly came alive. One showed CNN, the next BBC World News, yet another Frost over the World on the Al Jazeera English network, the fourth an illuminated map of the world, the fifth the world financial markets.
James brought up Russia on the map, pinpointed the area of St. Petersburg, and turned to Jack. “Ainsley is currently in Russia. I’m not sure where exactly, but my Moscow operatives are certain he’s in Peter the Great’s impressive city of St. Petersburg, built on stilts by Peter as his new capital in 1703.”
“That’s great!” Jack said, playing on the repeated word, and beamed at James. “I knew I could count on you when we talked last week. You were one of the best damn agents MI6 ever had. Out of curiosity, how come they lost you?”
“Greed for one thing. I wanted to make some real money, then get married. And stay alive to do both.” James shot back and grinned. “A bit of information from my agent in Zurich, by the way. Angharad Hughes, Ainsley’s wife, owns a villa there, and has since the time of Ainsley’s car crash in France. She obviously lived there then, when he was in the clinic, and still does. Occasionally. The other bit of information I got is that Ainsley has no particular interest in his only child.”
“No, he wouldn’t. She’s a girl, and he hates girls in business. By that I mean business business, and not shady business, because he does apparently still have a predilection for whores. The pricey ones.”
Jack rose and walked across the room, joined James in front of the screens. “This is fabulous. Good to see you have all the up-to-date mod cons.”
James nodded and went on. “I got to thinking about my Hong Kong days over the weekend, Jack. I must admit I had a helluva time there, loved every moment of it. Well, almost. And I remember our nights in the Chinnery bar with Mallory Carpenter. We did have a ball, the best of times. Bachelor days. Well, a lot of water under the bridge since then. And listen, Jack, you’re in good nick, I must say that.”
“I’m getting old.”
“No, not old. Older. And an older chap who’s in good nick can still make it with the gels.”
Jack began to laugh, shaking his head. “Not so much interested anymore. Now, back to business. I want to explain something. It’s about Richie Zhèng, the grandson of Zhèng Wen Li, whom you said you did meet with Mallory.”
“Yes, and what about him?” James probed, intrigued by these extraordinary machinations going on around M, her sister Linnet, and the Harte family in general.
“Let’s go and sit on the sofa, and I’ll tell you before M and Linnet get here. It’s an odd story, and it goes like this . . .” Jack stopped, looked thoughtful and then continued. “Wen Li has had a vendetta against Jonathan Ainsley for years, and his grandson positively detests Ainsley. He can’t wait to have his revenge on him because of what Ainsley did to his mother. So—”
“She was one of Ainsley’s women, was she?” James interrupted.
“Sort of, but hold on, my lad, and listen carefully, because I’m also going to tell you my basic plan of action. But it must remain confidential, James. Geo cannot know—”
“Geo’s in New York, working on additional paintings for her exhibition,” James cut in swiftly, his eyes not leaving Jack’s face. “And you must know I would never reveal anything.”
“I do. But this has to be top secret, otherwise it won’t work.”
“I get it, Jack, but you’re going to have trouble with M. She’s very dogged, and she won’t let go. She told me yesterday that she wants to look for Ainsley herself, have him arrested.”
“I know, I know, she’s very determined, and very clever, make no mistake about that. But I can’t have her wandering the world with a Kalashnikov in her arms, dragging Linnet along for the ride and all set to have a shoot-out. I have to deal with the elimination of Ainsley, or to put it a better way, I have to render him harmless to them. I know we can do it. Now, I need your promise, James, before I can continue confiding in you.”
“You have my promise as a former secret agent. I know the importance of keeping my mouth shut. What’s that old saying from World War II—Loose talk costs lives.”
“Yo
u’re damn right there, and that’s why you’re still standing upright. So, here we go. . . . Many years ago there was a very beautiful woman who came to see Wen Li.”
James leaned forward, listening attentively as Jack Figg told a strange tale, one of the strangest James Cardigan had ever heard, and it held him fascinated.
Linnet and Simon stood outside the building where James had his office in Mount Street. They were waiting for M and Larry to arrive for the meeting M had insisted on.
“I’m still not quite understanding,” Simon said, turning to Linnet, taking her arm, and walking her a few steps up the street. “Is M planning to invite the entire family on this yacht? Or just us?” He stopped walking and focused on Linnet.
“Not the entire family, no,” Linnet responded. “Just us, if you’ll agree to go. Oh, and Lorne. She was thinking of inviting Jack, and possibly James and Geo.”
“Jack won’t go!” Simon asserted, staring at her askance. “Can you see him cruising around the Mediterranean, taking it easy?” He shook his head. “Because I can’t.”
“Oh, darling, you’re right about that,” Linnet conceded. “But I wouldn’t mind going. Still, I don’t think I’d enjoy it much if you weren’t along. Can’t you go?”
“It depends on Jack, whether he needs me at the store.”
“I understand, but if he were to say it’s okay, would you like to go? Would you enjoy it?”
“I’d enjoy being anywhere with you,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling, and kissed her on the cheek.
“No, be serious. Could you really and truly cope with being a week or two on a yacht?”
Simon thought about it objectively for a moment and then nodded. “I could manage a week; in fact, I think I’d like it. I’m not sure about two weeks, though. And look here, Linnet, I’m not sure Jack is going to agree with this at all. I don’t think he could stomach M and you floating around the world on a boat. I think he wants you right under his nose so that he can personally protect you if that is required. He’s very adamant about that . . . and I can’t say I blame him.”