The Hornbeam Tree (13 page)

‘One hundred thousand rupees! Where are you going to get so much money?’

‘Do you have it, Miss Michelle?’ he asked sheepishly.

‘No! I mean I can get it, but when does he need it by?’

‘Email not say. I forward on to you, so you can read too.’

‘Good. Listen, I’m going to look at it now, and I’ll call you back. Are you on your usual number?’

‘At my brother’s carpet shop,’ he answered. ‘Yes, I am there.’

Immediately she rang off and ran downstairs to turn on the computer. ‘Damn!’ she cried, remembering Katie had taken it with her. At the same instant she recalled Molly’s. She rushed back upstairs, threw open Molly’s door, ploughed through the discarded clothes, CDs and magazines on the floor, and turned on the computer. It seemed to take an eternity to warm up, but once there she clicked on Outlook Express and to her relief it made an automatic connection.

She wasn’t interested in Molly’s emails, only in getting to her own, so she quickly went through to hotmail and typed in her user name and password. She was just watching her messages download when a voice shrieked from the door.

‘What are you doing in my room! How dare you go on my computer?’

Mortified, Michelle swung round. ‘Molly, I’m sorry, it’s an emergency,’ she cried.

‘You’ve got no fucking right coming in here. No-one comes in unless I say so, so get out, NOW!’

Her anger was so palpable it almost felt like a blow. ‘Molly, I’m sorry,’ Michelle cried, starting to get up. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’

‘I don’t care. Just go.’

‘I am, but please, will you just let me check …’

‘
No!
’ Molly screamed. ‘My computer’s private …’

‘What on earth’s going on?’ Katie demanded, appearing behind Molly in the doorway.

‘
She
was on my computer,’ Molly raged. ‘I never said she could come in here. That computer’s private, and you’ve got no right …’

‘All right, all right,’ Katie cut in.

‘She better not have been snooping around my private stuff …’

‘I haven’t, Molly, I swear,’ Michelle told her. ‘I was just …’

‘Why don’t you go back to where you came from!’ Molly hissed. ‘We don’t want you here. You’re in the way and …’

‘Molly, you’re grounded for a week,’ Katie cut in.

‘No fucking way!’

‘If you use that language again it’ll be two.’

‘Fuck!’ Molly spat.

Ignoring her Katie turned to Michelle.

‘Sajid’s had an email from Tom,’ Michelle quickly explained. ‘He’s forwarded it on … Molly, I swear I haven’t been prying into …’

‘All right, let’s go downstairs and check on my computer,’ Katie said, putting an arm across Molly to let Michelle past.

Molly was glaring furiously, but before she could start snarling again Katie thrust her into the room, grabbed Michelle out of it, and quickly closed the door. ‘I think you’ve just learned never to touch a teenager’s computer,’ she said, wryly.

Still sobered by the experience, and not yet able to see the funny side, Michelle merely followed her sister down the stairs and waited for her to unpack her laptop.

A few minutes later she’d reconnected with the Internet and was reading the email Tom had sent to Sajid.

Bring 100,000 rupees to place in

next email. Tom.

M. YTNQQJ QQJXXZW

Katie looked at Michelle. ‘What do all those letters mean?’ she asked.

‘It’s a code we use,’ Michelle answered. ‘The M is for Michelle, the rest is going to take some working out. Do you have a pen and paper?’

After taking both from a drawer and passing them over, Katie went to the fridge and took out a bottle of wine.

‘How much is one hundred thousand rupees?’ she asked, watching Michelle count on her fingers, then jot something down.

‘About two thousand dollars. A virtually impossible sum for someone like Sajid to raise, so
the
answer to where he should get it is probably here.’

Katie filled two glasses and carried them to the table. ‘Can I help at all?’ she asked.

‘I’m almost there. I wonder if there’s any significance to the amount,’ Michelle continued, almost to herself. ‘It doesn’t sound much to buy himself out of prison, or a kidnap … XWVUT – S,’ she said, and wrote it down. Finally, she sat back, and turned the notepad round so that Katie could read it.

Katie frowned. ‘Toille Llessur,’ she said. ‘Would that be a rare form of Punjabi, or some kind of exotic undergarment?’

Chuckling, Michelle took a sip of wine, and turned the notepad back. ‘Actually, it’s a name,’ she said, ‘but not one I know. Elliot Russell?’

Katie’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. ‘Elliot?’ she said. ‘He’s a journalist, here in England.’

‘Tom must have guessed you’d know him,’ Michelle responded. ‘And presumably he wants to make contact.’

Remembering that Tom had lost all his personal belongings in the raid on his flat, Katie said, ‘If he’s pulling Elliot in on his story then there must be a British connection.’

Michelle regarded her warily.

‘He couldn’t have chosen anyone better,’ Katie informed her. ‘I’ve known Elliot a long time, and he’s good. He lives with Laurie Forbes, another journalist who produces an investigative report programme … Or he did. They were supposed to get married, about a month ago, but something
went
wrong, something to do with another woman, and the wedding was called off. Rumour has it they’re back together now, but I’m rather out of the loop these days, so I don’t know how true that is. What matters to us though, is getting hold of Elliot’s email address so we can pass it on to Tom.’

‘Do you have his number?’ Michelle asked, not wanting to waste any more time.

Katie glanced at the clock. Ten past eight. ‘The home number I have for him is out of date now,’ she answered, ‘but there’s a chance he might still be at his office.’

As she got up from the table, she could feel a stirring sense of excitement. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve needed my old contacts book,’ she confessed, opening a dresser drawer, and feeling as though she were reconnecting with a lifeline. Her eyes came up to Michelle’s and began sparkling as she said, ‘You know, there’s probably not much we can do to help out, being stuck here, but if there does turn out to be something, like making phone calls or doing some background research, I wouldn’t mind giving it a go.’

‘Do you think that’s wise?’ Michelle responded, clearly not thinking so. ‘It won’t have been what Tom intended when he sent the email.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ Katie said, ‘but I’m equally sure that I don’t want the rest of my life to be all about dying, so if this gives me the opportunity to be involved again, to focus on something beyond my own little world, I want to take it.’

Michelle was still uneasy. ‘What about Molly?’ she said.

‘I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere, and it’s only a small role I’m talking about. Something that makes me feel as though I’m living again.’

Not having the heart to refuse when she could see how much it meant to Katie, Michelle smiled and refilled her glass as she sat down at the table to dial Elliot’s number.

Chapter Five

IT WAS JUST
after eight fifteen as Elliot Russell knocked on the front door of his own apartment. He was late, which wasn’t a great start, but his timekeeping never had been a strong point, so with any luck Laurie wouldn’t be expecting him till now. He had his own key, of course, but after recent events he wasn’t too sure when he’d be given the go-ahead to use it again.

As he waited his strong, forbidding features were set in an even deeper scowl than normal, while his imposing height and physique somewhat belied how he was feeling inside. Indeed he was silently cursing the nerves that were making him feel like a damned schoolboy, for of all the difficult, even dangerous situations he’d faced in his life, and there were plenty, he didn’t recall ever feeling as anxious as this. He guessed that wasn’t true, since there were instances when he’d come very close to losing his life, but that, he’d learned recently, came second to losing Laurie.

He wondered why it was taking her so long to
answer
. It wouldn’t be like her to stand him up, or not call if she’d been delayed getting home, so she was presumably there. Maybe she was in the bathroom, or outside, on the wide balcony that overlooked the river and Tower Bridge. It was a nice evening, warm for late September, so she could have taken a drink out there and got caught up on the phone.

He was about to knock again when he heard the sound of the latch turning.

‘Hi,’ he said, as she opened the door.

‘Hi,’ she responded, standing back for him to come in.

He could see by her flushed cheeks and tousled blonde hair that she’d just woken up, which wasn’t surprising for she’d still be jet-lagged after the flight back from Bali two days ago. She was beautifully suntanned too, and if he’d ever seen her looking more desirable he was at a loss to recall it right now.

She left him to close the door and follow her into the huge, open-plan sitting room that included a state-of-the-art Poggenpohl kitchen, an open-tread staircase that rose to the mezzanine level and all their furniture, books, pictures and memorabilia from over the years. No matter that he wasn’t living here any more, it still felt like home. He’d give almost anything to come back, to be as they were just a few short months ago, together and happy and turning this fabulous old warehouse apartment into a uniquely styled home just for them. How could he have put it all in jeopardy? How was he ever going to make her understand the depth of his regret?

‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked, stifling a yawn.

‘Whatever you’re having.’

She walked round to the kitchen and took a bottle of vodka from the freezer. If she made Cosmopolitans he’d take it as a good sign, for they’d drunk a lot of them whilst in Bali on what should have been their honeymoon, but wasn’t, thanks to his betrayal. In fact, considering the magnitude of what he’d done, just weeks before they were due to get married, it was nothing short of a miracle that she’d agreed to go with him. She’d made it clear before they went, though, that it wasn’t instant forgiveness, nor was she offering any guarantees that it would eventually come. She’d merely accepted that they needed to talk without the pressures and interruptions of their everyday lives, and as the honeymoon was already booked and paid for it had seemed a reasonable idea to go.

How much easier it had been, all those thousands of miles from home, to feel that they were recapturing at least some of what they’d lost. He could only wish it felt that easy now, but after two days of being back it was already clear to them both that they needed to find a new way forward based on the reality of their lives here in London, not on the romantic idyll of a faraway island.

‘Did you go to the office today?’ he asked, relaxing a little as he saw the cranberry juice and triple sec going into the shaker.

She nodded, and licked the juice off her fingers. ‘Yes. Rose wasn’t there though,’ she said, referring to her partner. ‘She’s been invited to Baghdad by an
Iraqi
family who have a story to tell – don’t ask me what exactly, because I don’t know yet – so she’s out there now, and won’t be back for at least a month. She left the cuttings for the last programme though. We had some great reviews.’

‘I’ve seen them. Congratulations.’

She smiled. As a documentary film-maker with her own small production company, based just along the river in Limehouse, she’d recently made a programme exposing the plight of a group of Indian women who’d been smuggled into the country and forced into prostitution. It had aired while they were away so she was only now catching up with the response.

‘What about you?’ she said, after shaking the drink and filling two Martini glasses. ‘Did you go to your office today?’

‘Not difficult,’ he responded, with no little irony, for he was currently staying in the small studio flat attached to his Canary Wharf office, which he and his research team used for grabbing catnaps when they were on particularly long shifts.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sorry. So how is it? Are you comfortable enough there?’

‘It’s OK for the time being. I should probably start looking around for somewhere to rent though.’

‘You can always come back here, and I’ll go to stay with Rhona,’ she offered.

He shook his head. Returning was an option he’d only accept if she were going to be here too. ‘This place is yours as much as mine,’ he told her, ‘and I’m the one who screwed up, so it’s only right that you should keep your home.’

‘Hair shirts don’t really suit you,’ she told him,
‘but
I won’t argue,’ and bringing the drinks round she handed one to him. ‘What shall we drink to?’ she asked, looking up into his eyes.

‘Forgiveness?’

She smiled and nodded. ‘OK. To forgiveness.’

They touched glasses and drank. They were standing very close, and when she lowered her glass he so badly wanted to kiss her it was almost impossible not to, but this was the first time, since their return, that he’d come to the apartment, and he didn’t yet know the rules.

‘I love you,’ he murmured, remembering the passion with which they’d made love while in Bali, and wondering if it was as hard for her to hold back now as it was for him.

Her eyes remained on his as she lifted a hand to his cheek. ‘I love you too,’ she said, as he kissed her palm, ‘I just wonder if it’s enough.’

Having no answer to that, he watched her go to curl up on one of the large downy cushions scattered between the sofa and coffee table.

‘You can sit down too,’ she said with a playful light in her eyes.

Attempting to reflect her humour, he sat on the chair that was close enough for him to touch the soft silkiness of her hair, but though he wanted to, he didn’t. ‘Are we going out to eat?’ he asked.

‘I thought we’d stay in,’ she answered. ‘I bought some salmon steaks, we could make a salad.’

He nodded. Why couldn’t he focus his mind on anything but the image of her suntanned and naked in Bali, lying beneath him, sitting astride him, her face clouded with lust, her passion urging him to heights he’d rarely reached with anyone
else
. He wanted her now, though he understood it was not being able to have her that was making the need so much more intense.