‘And what will you do for a living afterward? Are you willing to give up your criminal career and become an ordinary, honest citizen?’
‘If you give me time,’ John said carefully, knowing that any prospect of a reconciliation hung upon his answer. ‘I’ll convert the business into a group of companies with the help of Erick. My involvement will be that I own shares. It’ll take a few years to achieve, but it has started and once we’ve succeeded, I shall be a legitimate businessman. Is it good enough?’
‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘It’s Michael I’m thinking of. He needs you, I know that. I think your visit brought him out of his coma. That’s the reason I agreed to come. I won’t decide anything before you’ve spoken to him.’
* * *
The next day, Michael was up and ready to go fishing straight after breakfast. John followed him to his favourite spot and sat under a tree, watching him.
It did not take long before he had caught his first fish. By lunchtime he had five large trout lying on the grass.
‘Michael, there’s something I need to talk to you about,’ John began, when they were eating Campaigne bread and the local goat cheese. ‘It’s not easy, but you’re seventeen and old enough for us to speak man‑to‑man, as it were.’
Michael smiled. ‘If you and Mum want to get together again, that’s OK with me. I’ll never understand about that Mona woman, but I won’t hold it against you forever. I know Mum loves you and needs you more than you think.’
‘Thanks. That means a lot to me.’ John rolled over on to his back, staring up at the trees. ‘But there’s something else. You know I’m on the run. I don’t want you to think I’m just a common criminal. I want to try and explain...’
‘The main thing,’ Michael interrupted, poking at the fish, ‘is that you should get back with Mum. I don’t care what the papers say about you. How can I? You’re my Dad.’
‘Let me at least try to explain. When I was younger than you, I chose a career in crime. It seemed an easy choice back then. With hindsight, it was the wrong one. Now to get back with your mother, which is the all important matter now, I’ll have to go back to prison and finish my sentence, but in the meantime, I want you to study at catering college. After a couple of years, we’ll buy you your own restaurant if that’s what you want.’
‘Are you as rich as people say?’
‘I’m even wealthier. I don’t take much notice of what other people say.’
‘Some of the newspapers said that you were linked to the Mafia.’
‘Michael, I give you my word that I had nothing to do with the Mafia or any other international syndicate, except for some occasional trading,’ John said. ‘And from now on I’m going to be turning my business into a normal commercial enterprise so you’ll never be ashamed of me again.’
‘Don’t say that. I’d never be ashamed of you, Dad. But you and Mum told me not to smoke. You even promised me a car if I didn’t until I was eighteen! And all the time you were dealing in hash. I don’t understand?’
‘There’s no easy answer to that,’ John said wryly. ‘But I grew up with the hash culture. I even thought it was less dangerous than nicotine. I’ve never used it, but I have to admit that hash dealing will never be an honourable business. Which is why I’m getting out of it.’
* * *
‘How did your talk go?’ Catherine asked while they were waiting for Michael to come down for dinner that evening.
‘Very well, I think. He’s a sensible, intelligent boy. We just have to hope that he won’t follow in his father’s footsteps.’ He took her hand and smiled at her. For once she didn’t pull it away.
Michael came down dressed in a chef’s outfit. Laying plates on the kitchen table, he asked his mother, ‘Have you taken the old man back? Everyone deserves a second chance. Even Dad.’ Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the stove where the trout he had caught lay neatly filleted, ready to be cooked with butter and almonds.
After Michael had gone to bed that night, they sat in the yard drinking the local young wine. When it grew cold, they went inside. ‘Let’s have a drink to sleep on,’ John suggested.
In the kitchen, he poured cognac into two glasses. He offered one to Catherine, and she sipped it slowly. Putting his glass down on the table, he stretched out his arms to her.
She stood unmoving for a while, then took a step forward. He pulled her towards him, tilting her face to his. They kissed for a long time and Catherine clung to him after the kiss ended.
She drew away with a sigh. ‘Never deceive me again, John Forbes,’ she warned him.
‘I promise.’ He kissed her again. ‘I do love you.’
‘Maybe, in your own way. But you’ve been a very stupid man. I’m far too good for you.’
‘I know you are.’ He took her hand. Together they walked out of the kitchen and through the house, turning off the lights, then up the stairs, past her room and into his.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
_________________________
Lodeve, Languedoc, France, October 1983
Cecilia came back the day after Michael and Catherine had left. John saw her familiar figure, walking the dusty road between the lavender fields.
When they met in the yard, she handed him a carrier bag. Inside was a wide‑brimmed Panama hat of fine straw. It was obviously an expensive one.
‘Thanks so much. You shouldn’t have done it.’ John was surprised and touched. He put it on his head. ‘It’s just what I need! Does it suit me?’
‘Comme ca.’ With both hands she pushed the brim of the hat down all the way round. ‘This way you do not look like un Anglais!’
After his midday nap, she came in with his drink as before, then stood looking down at him. He hesitated, then held out his hand. Smiling, she stepped back, shook her head.
He joined her in the kitchen. ‘Tell me something. What do people in the village say about me?’
‘They call you a Parisian lavender grower. They think you will never be any good at growing lavender if you live to be one hundred and twelve.’
‘Then one day I’ll prove them wrong.’
* * *
Arthur Black arrived in a taxi from Montpelier Airport, Erick Elgberg came by train via Marseilles, William Webster flew into Nice and rented a car, Bernard Boucher drove down from Paris.
‘So how do you like my choice of hiding place?’ Arthur said after he and John had greeted each other. ‘It meets your requirements, wouldn’t you say? Peace and solitude.’
‘I’ve fallen in love with it,’ John said. ‘I’m seriously thinking of moving here permanently one day. But first we have business to discuss. ‘I’m going back to England as soon as possible.’
Arthur whistled through his teeth. ‘You’ve decided to give yourself up?’
‘Yes. It’s one of Catherine’s conditions if we’re to get back together. See that I’m moved from Maidstone to an open prison as soon as you can.’
‘Do you want me to talk to Rubinstein? He could maybe make a deal with the Home Office.’
‘No, keep him out of it. I’ll just turn up,’ John looked at Boucher next . ‘Update me on the European business and Serissa.’
For the next few minutes Boucher and John discussed the hemp operation, and John gave his instructions. Then Boucher turned his attention to the finance company.
‘Auto‑Trade‑Factors invested two hundred thousand about a year ago. That was to finance the silver bullion robbery near Heathrow Airport you probably read about.’
John frowned. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that. There was enormous publicity. I didn’t even know we were involved.’
The bullion raid had occupied the headlines for weeks, he remembered. The gang had got away with several hundred bars. Many had been arrested, but a major part of the haul was still unaccounted for, thereby putting the spotlight on the police. We took half the silver as our profit the day it happened,’ Bertrand continued unperturbed. ‘It’s now
in a safe place here in France. It won’t be touched until we can find a way of melting it down and selling the silver on legally.’
‘What’s it worth?’
‘More than ten million pounds.’
‘Christ!’ For a moment, even John was taken aback. ‘What happened to our clients who borrowed the money?’
‘There are three of them. They’re in Parkhurst, doing fourteen years each. Penniless, but not talking.’
‘Offer them one‑third, say three million, to be paid on release. If they’ve got dependants, we’ll look after them while they’re in prison.’
Boucher nodded, then said, ‘I have had a recent inquiry about an investment of several million. I have known this man for several years. He needs the funds to set up a bank fraud. The details are complicated. Someone with a better brain for finance needs to look into it. I wanted to tell you, John, not only because it involves a large sum, but because it could open a new market for us. One with enormous potential and hardly any risk. The man is Russian.’
‘Russian?’ Erick looked surprised.
John hesitated. ‘It might be worth looking into...’
Arthur heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘John, I thought you were winding down, remember? Not starting up with someone we hardly know.’
‘We can’t stop overnight. Erick, do me a favour. You and Bertrand talk over the details, then get on a plane and have a chat with this fellow. What’s his name, Bertrand?’
‘Osov. Ivan Osov.’
‘Right. So that’s settled.’ John pushed his Panama back on his head and looked at William. ‘I don’t want the old team involved in anything for the time being, but we keep paying their wages as usual. Frankly, I don’t know what to do with them.’
‘Shastri and Ramona want to retire. They have their own chain of travel agents now. The others still want some kind of employment, more for the team’s sake than the money,’ William said. ‘I’ve told them to be patient.’
‘Have you given any thought to my idea of your going to the States?’
William nodded. ‘Vera and the kids are all for it.’
‘Then do it. Somewhere fairly low‑key, stay away from the big cities. Get settled in, then look for a suitable legit business. Find someone who can sort out all the paperwork, whatever the costs. Then advise Bertrand on the American market. Talk it over, you two.’ John looked at Bertrand, who nodded. John turned to Erick next. ‘How are your investments going?’
‘Fine. We’ll soon be ready to get into first gear.’
‘I want us to go ahead, Erick. Now. It’ll give me something to think about for the next couple of years. Have you spoken to Andrea? What does Karen think? Have you mentioned anything to Sam? He could be useful as a trusted courier between you and me...’
‘I’ll get started,’ said Erick, sounding overwhelmed.
John glanced from him to Arthur, who was getting stiffly to his feet. He looked older than his 50 years. They were no longer young. All middle‑aged, and still doing the same thing!
It was time to move on. Now.
* * *
Since his friends had left, John had enjoyed his solitude more than ever. He knew that soon he would have to endure cramped prison conditions once again, the smell of sweat and urine, the degradation, the same mind‑numbing routine.
It was getting cold in the evenings. The leaves on the trees were changing colour. His neighbours, the Popougnots, had been with their people and farm machinery and harvested the lavender. The fields looked dry and grey. John walked round the outbuildings, then went inside and sat in front of the fire Cecilia had made.
He had decided to leave the farm to her to look after. Her involvement in it had grown and John had overheard her in angry discussion with Monsieur and Madame Popougnot when they had offered a low price for the lavender harvest. He also wanted to give her a substantial amount of cash to run the place and make improvements. A new kitchen, a large room for Michael, a study for himself, an outside terrace and garages.
Cecilia never made any demands on him. She never disturbed him, but kept herself to herself. John could hear her working in the kitchen. In a moment she would bring him a tray and ask the same question she did every day at this time: ‘Where do you want to eat?’
‘Here, in front of the fire,’ he answered. ‘Come and sit with me. There’s something I want to say to you.’
‘I know.’
‘How can you know?’
‘You are going away.’ She spoke flatly, still standing. ‘You have had something on your mind for several days. I shall soon find other employment.’
‘Please sit down, Cecilia. I can’t talk to you while you’re standing up.’
She sat on the worn carpet between him and the fireplace.
‘You’re right,’ he said at last. ‘I am going away for about two years. But I want you to live here. Would you be happy to do that?’
‘Alone?’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’d need a rifle and a dog.’
‘I’ll buy you both. What do you say?’
‘Tres bien. A dog will be company enough for me. I will stay.’ She lifted her face and stared at him. ‘But how will I reach you?’
‘You can’t.’
‘There may be a fire?... I might get ill? I’ll need to know where you are.’
‘I’ll give you the telephone number of a friend of mine.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Cecilia, when I come back, my wife and son may be with me.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good. Now, I want you to take some money.’ He explained to her the improvements he wanted. ‘Here are six hundred thousand francs for the rebuilding and your wages.’
‘Mon Dieu!’ She looked at the large envelope he held out to her. ‘I will hide it in the kitchen.’
‘And in here,’ he said, taking another envelope out of his pocket, ‘is one hundred and fifty thousand francs. I want you to go to Lodeve, open a bank account in your name and pay it in. It is yours. Tu comprends?’
‘Non.’ She drew away, shaking her head. ‘I want only my wages.’
‘Don’t make me angry,’ he said, putting the envelope into her hand and closing her fingers round it. ‘You’ve earned it, and when the money from the harvest comes in I want you to put it in your account too. You’ll need it when you’re old.’
She picked up the first envelope, rose to her feet and left the room. When she came back, she said, ‘I have hidden the money for the work.’
‘Now take the other envelope and promise me you’ll do as I say?’
She gave up arguing. ‘Tell me something?’
‘What?’
‘Where are you going? A place without a phone? Un monastere?’
John laughed. ‘Not quite. Though I’m certainly retiring from the world.’
‘You laugh at me! It is not funny, I think.’
He blew out a long breath. ‘I am going to prison.’
Cecilia recoiled from him in horror. ‘Mon Dieu! You joke? Ah, now I understand! You are fugitif? C’est vrai?’
‘Oui. Je suis un fugitif.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Two years is not so long. They will soon pass and then I’ll be back as a free man.’
‘With your wife and your son’ She was silent for a few minutes, but left her hands in his. ‘But why? What have you done? You are a gangster?’
‘Oui.’
Amused by her expression of disbelief, he bent forward and kissed her lightly. When she slid her arms around his neck, he did not protest. The next two years would be long, cold and lonely.
PART SIX
FATE, A RAT IN THE NIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY
_________________________
Leningrad, Russia, 7th November 1983
From the airport, Erick took a taxi to Leningrad and the enormous Pribaltiyskaya Hotel overlooking the Finnish Sea. His room was large and simply furnished, but felt cold and damp. He complained at reception, but was politely told th
at there was nothing else they could offer, as all the rooms were of the same standard.
The hotel restaurant was empty and also reeked of damp. Erick ordered blini, one with caviar another with salmon, both uneatable. Even the beer was undrinkable. He retired early to bed.
Next morning the room temperature was just above zero. There was no hot water. He looked out of the window and saw that another foot of snow had fallen during the night. He dressed quickly, shaved and went down to reception to order a taxi. The address had been written down for him by Bertrand Boucher.
The taxi driver demanded to be paid in American dollars. The price was outrageous, but Erick wanted to get the trip over as quickly as possible. The driver then refused to go anywhere until he’d got the money in his hand. When this problem had been sorted out, his attitude changed completely. He became unctuously friendly and spoke reasonable English.
The Catharine Palace was, like many of the buildings in Leningrad, painted blue and white. It was about a thousand feet wide, with golden onion domes embellishing each corner of the roof.
‘You’d better wait,’ Erick told the taxi driver, wondering if he had come to the right place. ‘Don’t leave until I tell you.’
In the reception area Erick asked the young man behind the desk if he could speak to Ivan Osov. The man nodded and smiled.
‘Please sit down,’ he said in good English. ‘I will see if Mr Osov can see you.’ He picked up the telephone and spoke in Russian. Then he looked at Erick. ‘Mr Osov is very busy today. Will you kindly write your name here and tell me what you want to talk to him about? He will try to fit you in later this week. He was not expecting you.’
‘Please tell Mr Osov that I am an associate of Monsieur Bertrand Boucher.’ Erick wrote both his and Boucher’s name on the pad the young man held out. After another short telephone conversation, the receptionist smiled. ‘Mr Osov will be here in five minutes.’
A dapper little man of about fifty hurried up to Erick, one hand outstretched, the other casually in his pocket. ‘Mr Elgberg! I wish you had told me you were coming. Did you arrive here by taxi?’ His English was perfect, without any discernible accent.