Chapter Forty-Five

3 September, Early Evening

He’d been in the office for hours, signing things.

Well, at least one hour.

The sound of voices, door slamming and feet on the stairs had died away some time ago. Geraldine had gone into the next room to take a call from another client, raising perfectly arched brows at the slightly hysterical-sounding male voice, audible on the other end of the line. He’d finished skimming the paperwork she’d insisted he read. He got up and wandered over to his favourite place in the office, the old-fashioned multi-pane window. It was getting dark, long shadows creeping across the courtyard below. He traced a shape on the pane of glass – a heart, he realised – September already, and soon it would be Christmas again.

And this year …

He turned at the sound of a door closing in the corridor, hoping it was Geraldine coming back, but the door to the office remained shut. He leaned on the window ledge, looking into the courtyard. There were pigeons roosting on one of the window-sills on the adjacent building, which reminded him of the old lady with the bird seed. This morning. It seemed longer.

He really wanted to get out of here. He still had to pick up the car before he could get on the road, or perhaps a taxi would be better considering the champagne? Could he just leave Geri a note and go? He rejected the thought immediately. He wasn’t scared of Geraldine, even in her best Bette Davis mode – well, not much – but he did owe her gratitude and good manners. She’d always done well by him.

With a sigh he went back to the desk and flopped into the visitor’s chair as the door opened.

For this relief …

‘Sorry about that.’ Geraldine crossed to the desk. ‘You’ve been very patient.’ She scooped up another wad of papers and pushed them towards him. ‘Now that the trial has resolved itself – have you thought about that tour of Australia? The publishers are keen. I can get someone on to it straight away – not someone who wants your heart, this time.’

It was a tiny slip, an unguarded reference that he might not even have noticed.

It was her sudden stillness that gave it away.

A dark cloud chased across his vision.

‘Oh, God. You knew.’ He looked up at his agent’s face, which had suddenly frozen like a mask, everything inside him turning sickeningly to ice. ‘You knew what Aveline was going to do.’

Barely realising that he was moving, he got to his feet. They faced each other across the desk

‘Of course I knew.’ Animation was coming back to Geraldine’s face and with it a flash of disdain. ‘You think there is anything going on in this office that I don’t know about?’

‘But …’ Drew tried to focus. ‘Why?’

‘You were seen.’

‘Seen?’ Drew echoed, blankly. Doing what, for God’s sake?

‘Having lunch with Tanya Trevelyan,’ she flicked the words at him like drops of acid.

Drew put his hand to his head. ‘You were willing to see me dead because I had lunch with another agent! It was a coincidence, we were in the same restaurant and we shared a table.’ And you know that maybe it wasn’t such a coincidence on Trevelyan’s part, but in the event she never made a move and nothing happened.

Except it almost got you killed.

He shook his head, unable to find words.

Geraldine leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk. ‘You were just a snot-nosed kid with a scrappy manuscript and a dream when I took you on. I made you. And you were having lunch with Trevelyan.’ Geraldine’s face sparked back to full bitter life. ‘If I was losing my star client – but maybe not so star …’ She tilted her head. ‘The books aren’t so good now, are they, Andrew? Just a little tired? Same old, same old. I don’t have to bother to read them these days. I know what will be in them. And how much longer are you going to be able to keep up all that schoolboy daredevil stuff?’ Her eyes raked over him. ‘If I was losing you anyway, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to let that girl make it permanent, knowing you’d already passed your best?’

Drew just stared, still unable to speak. Madness …

‘And of course there was that life insurance policy you took out three years ago, naming me as beneficiary.’ Her tone was almost meditative. ‘Never anticipated collecting on it in quite those circumstances, but what the hell …’ She flashed him a grin where the eyes didn’t match the mouth. ‘An unexpected bonus. Every little helps, as they say.’

‘But …’ Drew was struggling to keep up. ‘I remember we talked about insurance …’

Three years ago – after the fall in Switzerland and before the trip to Indonesia. Geraldine had been uncharacteristically prickly about the risks he was taking.

Which might have been influenced by the plaster casts on your wrist and ankle?

He shook his head. ‘We talked, but we never took it any further.’ The conversation had raised a superstitious aversion that he hadn’t known he possessed. He hadn’t wanted to think about it.

‘Oh, but we did, darling. A modest nest egg, just in case one of your stunts finally did end in terminal damage. You never noticed the policy in amongst all those forms and contracts you sign so impatiently, without really reading them.’ Her chest heaved as she drew in a deep breath. ‘Bit of advice, Andrew. Always read the paperwork.’

Abruptly something snapped inside his head. The ice in his chest travelled upwards, leaving his thoughts cold and clear. ‘I’ll take it, you can be sure of that. But whatever and wherever I sign next, it won’t be in this office.’

Somehow he got to the door. He wondered if she’d come after him, try to block his passage on the stairs, call him back to her. When she comes to her senses.

To his bone-melting relief, nothing happened. His footsteps sounded hollow on the narrow wooden treads and that was all.

One set of stairs.

And out of the door.

He had to struggle to get it open. For a moment panic flared, then his stiff fingers closed on top and bottom locks and the door swung towards him.

The shallow portico outside was blotted with shadows, although the sky, high above the buildings, still showed a vestige of pale grey. As Drew stepped out, a motion sensor activated a light beside the door. It wasn’t very powerful and it didn’t reach very far, but it was enough for him to see his way down the shallow steps.

He’d moved away from the entrance when there was a muffled curse and a figure walked out of the darkness at the edge of the light.

Adrenaline fizzed through Drew’s system, screaming run.

But the figure was between him and the only way out.

Drew took a pace back. The figure took a pace forward. Tall, male, dressed in black, with a wicked looking commando knife glinting in his hand.

Drew barely recognised the ravaged face as Brandon Phipps.

‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ Phipps’ voice was hoarse, but something in the timbre clicked. The man that Geri spoke to on the phone, who’d sounded near hysteria.

‘What—’ Drew coughed and tried again. ‘What have I done?’

‘Aveline. She k … killed herself. This afternoon. You were drinking champagne at a fancy hotel and she killed herself!’ It came out almost as a sob. ‘Her stupid parents persuaded her to plead guilty, to protect the family name.’ Phipps’ voice rose. ‘So that it wouldn’t be dragged through the court in a trial. Then, when she realised she would be in prison for years—’ Phipps’ head dropped to his chest. Drew wasn’t sure if he was weeping.

‘Look, I’m sorry.’ A bloody inadequate word. Drew spread his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘I didn’t want that …’

Phipps’ head came up with a jerk. ‘Who cares what you want … It’s always about you. I loved her. She did it for me.’

Phipps took a step forward. He was holding the knife in a surprisingly business-like way. Drew had a brief mental flash of those violent war sagas. Oh shit. His body was tense, teeth clenched, eyes darting around the small, enclosed space in front of the doorway.

Walls all around and only one way out.

There was no way out.

Only through Brandon Phipps.

Brandon Phipps and his knife.

If that’s all there is, get on with it—

With a sigh and almost without conscious thought, his body relaxed into the stance that Chris and Ray had drilled into him in all those painful self-defence classes. He was no knife fighter, but if the alternative was getting his throat cut …

When Phipps lunged he counter-moved with a jerk to one side. He saw the surprise on Phipps’ face as the man stumbled. He dragged in a breath, already starting to sweat. He had to stay on his feet. If he went down …

Phipps swung towards him and thrust the knife. Drew feinted again.

One more move and he’d be out of the circle of light and running for the alley that led to the main road. Where there are people, traffic.

Drew kicked out, making his opponent jump back in surprise. It bought him just enough time. He took off, flying, feet skidding dangerously as he hurled himself into the alley, activating another light as he stormed past.

Phipps caught up with him halfway down the passageway, spinning him and slamming him against the wall. The knife rattled against brick, an inch from Drew’s head. Drew used his arm and his knee, the way he’d been taught. Gasping, Phipps fell away from him. But he still has the knife.

‘Andrew?’ A woman’s voice. Geraldine was standing under the light at the top of the alley, peering into the darkness. ‘Oh my God.’ She’d seen that there were two of them, seen the knife. ‘Brandon, this is crazy. Stop.’

At the sound of his name Phipps turned, still bent over and half staggering. Drew didn’t wait; he took off again in the direction of the street, dimly aware of a noise, a hard metallic voice. ‘This vehicle is reversing. This vehicle is reversing.’

The flash of the tail-lights spilled across his eyes as the reversing lorry kept on coming and the voice kept on repeating. ‘This vehicle is reversing.’

With a massive effort, that pushed the muscles of his legs to what seemed like tearing point, Drew threw himself across the alley and into the narrow shelter of a bricked up doorway, bracing himself against the frame as the side of the vehicle ground past, inches from his face.

Over the roar of the engine he heard the screams.

Two voices.

One female, one male.