Slick Deals

by

Helen Carey

TSAP Books at Smashwords

Copyright © Helen Carey 2011.

All rights reserved.

The right of Helen Carey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published in 2011 by TSAP Books at Smashwords

ISBN 978-1908686053

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

ChapterSix

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

ChapterTwenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty SIx

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter FiftyThree

Chapter Firty Four

For Marc

Prologue

A few kilometres to the west of Monte Carlo, the small town of Cap d’Ail nestles between the Tête de Chien mountain range and the sea. The high limestone cliffs south west of the town shelter one of the most magical beaches of the Côte d’Azur. In high summer, La Bala beach is a haunt of the rich and famous who anchor their yachts in the turquoise, deep water bay. Some locals even call it James Bond beach due to the number of former 007s who have been spotted in the gourmet beach bar.

But by early September most of the yachts have gone and the only way to get to or from the beach is via a precipitous stairway cut into the cliff face.

Flushed from the exertion of the climb, a young woman dressed in a tee shirt, sarong and pink espadrilles rested her capacious beach bag on the stone balustrade and glanced back at a boy of about nine or ten who was struggling up the steep steps behind her, hampered by the huge, bright green, blow-up crocodile he was carrying. Stifling a smile, she transferred her gaze on down into the bay. The water was so blue and clear that even from this height she could see individual pebbles on the seabed.

A light, refreshing breeze rustled the eucalyptus trees behind her. Straightening up, she took a deep breath. She was conscious of that wonderful, tingling, salty, sun kissed, day on the beach feel on her skin. Pushing back her damp hair, she felt tanned and blonde and, suddenly, supremely happy. It came out of the blue. A wonderful, heady sense of elation. Of freedom.

School and A levels were behind her. She had escaped her humdrum family life in London. She had a great job and new friends. Tomorrow would be another day of carefree laughter on the beach, sun and illicit glasses of wine. The future fanned out in front of her, golden and enticing. The world really was her oyster.

With a final spurt of energy the boy caught her up and they crossed the cliff top Corniche road together, back into the car park.

Groping in her beach bag for the car keys, the young woman realised she had been so far away in her euphoric daze it was a wonder they hadn’t both been mown down by a passing vehicle. Guiltily, she glanced up to check on the boy.

He was standing beside the Clio, still clutching the green, blow-up crocodile. And right behind him was a man holding a knife to his throat.

She had never believed that time could stop, but at that moment it did, freezing her half smile into shock, then ice-cold rigid fear.

And even as she stared at them, the fair-haired man, the stricken-faced boy and the crocodile, another man materialised at her side.

Instinctively she flinched away, but he was too quick for her. She felt the bones in her wrist grind under his hard fingers as he propelled her forward. A moment later the door of a black Mercedes was open and she was pushed inside.

Outside, she saw the first man wrench the crocodile out of the boy’s arms. She tried to shout, ‘No, leave him alone.’ But no noise came out of her mouth. Then he was shoving the boy in beside her. The door slammed. The other man was already getting into the driver’s seat.

That was the moment she could perhaps have escaped, jumped out of the opposite door and run away screaming for help, while the blond man was deciding what to do with the crocodile.

But she didn’t.

Instead, over the boy’s tousled head, she watched in horror as the man hesitated for a second then deliberately thrust his knife straight into the crocodile’s kindly eye.

Chapter One

Four kilometres away in the Hotel Hermita conference room in Monte Carlo the Energie Mondiale senior management weekend was well into the final session.

The light changed as another slide came up. The reflection of a distant oil rig in a cold grey sea spilled across the glassy eyed faces in the room. The only person with any animation was the man up front, the talker. Roy Morris was the public relations officer from Energie Mondiale’s head office in Geneva, and he loved his job.

‘There are two types of environmentalist,’ he said. ‘The no-drilling-at-any-cost type. And the Ok-but-give-us-some-money-for-marine-research type.’ He gave a little snort of gleeful relish at his own slick word play and stabbed a derisive finger at the screen. ‘The only thing to do with the first lot is discredit them like Shell did with Brent Spar. The second lot we buy off by funding studies of the lesser spotted porpoise.’

The projector clicked up a map of the UK. ‘Neither matter too much. So long as the British government want oil, and more importantly, oil revenue, they’ll continue to license exploration blocks on the UK continental shelf,’ he tapped the map just off the jagged coastline of Wales. ‘Even in the so-called sensitive areas …’

As someone cut in with a question, Ella Crossley glanced at her watch. So much for the Energie Mondiale senior management weekend in Monaco being seen as a perk, she thought sourly. The only perk she had seen was courtesy of her mini bar, grabbed in desperation yesterday evening in the half hour gap between a talk by an expert from the Royal Geographical Survey and a desperately stiff, ‘casual’ dinner with Hugh Jardine, the American owner of the company, and his trophy wife, at his second home (or possibly third or fourth for all Ella cared), a sumptuous villa in the hills above Beausoleil.

In any case Ella didn’t consider herself to be senior management. She was an oil trader, not a manager. She was the company’s senior trader admittedly, but that was a very different thing from being a manager. Trading involved making money, hunting out surpluses or lack, weakness or desperation. The sort of deals she made involved spending $69 million on a cargo of Brent Blend before breakfast, and selling it an hour later for $69.3 million. Or else wrapping a ship around it and selling it to BP a week later for $70 million even though it was Shell UK who had pumped it out of the North Sea in the first place. Whatever. That’s what she did. And she was good at it.

What she was not good at was sitting in a conference room on a precious weekend listening to a lot of guff about environmental issues.

Behind her, the low, afternoon Mediterranean sunlight slanted in through Venetian blinds, warming her shoulders and streaking the faces of the men sitting opposite her. Soon she’d be on the plane back to London and virtually all she would have seen of Monaco was the inside of the hotel and the cab ride from Nice airport. After last night’s interminable dinner at Hugh Jardine’s, even a promised visit to the casino had failed to materialise, as by midnight everyone, Ella included, had lost the will to live, certainly the will to live dangerously.

Stifling a yawn, she caught the eye of the most senior man in the room, Claude Visconte, head of Energie Mondiale’s London office. One of those rugged, lazy looking Frenchmen, the sort some women drool over.

‘Any chance of winding this up before the shops shut?’ she murmured.

The surprise in the room was palpable. Followed immediately by a frisson of chauvinistic satisfaction that the only girlie present should show herself up so badly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Roy Morris spoke stiffly. ‘I didn’t realise I was boring you.’

Claude Visconte was more subtle. ‘What is the problem, Ella? You have a pressing engagement at Gucci?’

‘No,’ she said, as her colleagues smirked. ‘I’m actually more into Giambattista Valli at the moment, I find Gucci a bit passé …’ she allowed her glance to focus suddenly on the classic horse-bit lining of Claude’s open jacket and blinked in mock surprise, ‘Oh, sorry, Claude ... Of course with men’s fashion I’m sure Gucci are right up to the minute …’

Claude Visconte didn’t like it. But he laughed with the others. He had to. Anyway it was too late. Her intervention had done the trick. The other execs were checking at their watches. The mood was broken. Claude did the thanks. They did the applause. The lights came on, cold and bright. Everyone blinked and stretched.

Ella was already at the door, swinging a slim Coach document bag onto her shoulder.

Claude caught her up in the lobby. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

‘I’m an oil trader,’ she said. ‘You find the oil and I’ll sell it. But don’t weigh me down with all this stuff about endangered porpoises.’

Claude Visconte put his hand on her arm. ‘Everyone knows you’re a good trader, but you need to develop your skills.’ He shrugged. ‘To climb the corporate ladder.’

She moved away from him. ‘I don’t want to climb the corporate ladder. Or any other ladder, come to that. I’m happy where I am. Anyway, I’m scared of heights. The higher you get, the easier it is for someone to push you off.’

‘Nobody wants to push you off,’ he said. ‘On the contrary…’

‘I like trading and the only reason I’d move out of it is if I thought I was losing my touch.’

His eyes moved over her chic, Richard Ward bob, the Diesel denim jacket, the long tight black trousers, the high, square heeled ankle boots. ‘Believe me, Ella,’ he murmured, ‘you’re not losing your touch.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake …’

‘But you can’t afford to alienate people. You need to show some company spirit. A little commitment. Oh, je m’excuse, I forgot. My mistake. Commitment is not your strong point …’

She took a slow breath. ‘I’m committed to making money for the company,’ she said. ‘What I’m not committed to is spending my precious free time with a lot of toadying execs pretending to be interested in aspects of the business that have nothing whatsoever to do with me.’

Claude shook his head. ‘You think if you close your eyes you can ignore the side of the business you don’t like. But you are wrong. Whether you like it or not you are a senior player in this company. If you don’t like the ethics maybe you should look for another job. Or another industry.’

That stopped her. Her cool, grey eyes narrowed sharply. ‘Is that your private view, Claude? Or are you feeding me the company line?’

For a moment he met her gaze, then he looked away. ‘You’re a smart cookie, Ella. But you know better than most that the time comes when we all have to move on … that is the way it goes.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Your words, not mine.’

He caught her arm as she abruptly moved away. ‘By the way’ he said. ‘Were you serious before?’

‘Serious about what?’

‘About being scared of heights?’

‘Yes.’

He shook his head. ‘I never knew.’

‘There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Claude,’ she said. ‘And one of those is that I don’t take kindly to threats.’

He laughed and patted her shoulder. ‘You are a little tense, Ella. A little er ... premenstrual perhaps? But you shouldn’t let it cloud your judgement. You will feel differently next week.’

Chapter Two

The café on Jalan Sultan in Kuala Lumpur was dirty, hot and airless. A ceiling fan turned sluggishly, but the only thing it cooled was a brown cockroach resting on the rim of a faded picture of an incongruously clean tropical beach. A row of unappetising Peking duck hung in the grimy window opening.

Sitting at a plastic table by the open door were three men and a girl, almost indistinguishable from each other with their long hair, dull eyes, frayed clothes and thong sandals. They were smoking roll-ups and drinking green tea from small, handle-less cups.

The owner of the café, Li Ho Fat, a thin man with wide, unblinking eyes glanced at them with disdain from behind his counter. Western wasters like these had been drifting through Kuala Lumpur for years. These four had sat in his café on and off for weeks. He spat on the floor. They were nothing. A waste of space. Like cockroaches.

But today Li Ho was edgy. His normally inscrutable gaze reverted constantly to the window, and from time to time he went to stand in the doorway and glanced up and down the dirty alley. When his phone rang he answered immediately and gave a quick affirmative grunt before taking up his position again at the door.

He didn’t even glance at his four customers, so he didn’t see them adjusting their positions slightly, didn’t see one of them lift his hand and murmur something apparently into his rattan bracelet. All Li Ho saw was a black, top-of-the-range Mercedes approaching slowly up the pot holed alley, followed by a transit van. Once more, his gaze flicked up the narrow street and was apparently reassured. Apart from the approaching vehicles, Jalan Sultan was empty.

Even before the convoy stopped, three men jumped out of the Mercedes brandishing Uzi sub machine guns. One of them rapped twice on the door of the building opposite Li Ho Fat’s café. Two more emerged from the van to cover the rear. Li Ho put on an ingratiating smile and wiped his hands nervously down his dirty apron. But nobody paid any attention to him. Not even the corpulent, suited Chinese man in the dark glasses who got out of the Mercedes and walked quickly though the door on the other side of the street.

Li Ho’s smile faded, then disappeared completely when one of his shabby customers got up and ambled towards the door.

‘Hey man, what’s going on?’

Li Ho barred the doorway. ‘No,’ he grunted, ‘You wait. You no pay yet.’

‘No, my friend,’ the man drawled, ‘actually it’s you that’s going to pay,’ and before Li Ho could protest, a hand clamped over his mouth and he was jerked back into the café, muzzled with duck tape and bound to a chair.

The other ‘wasters’ were already in action. MK 23 pistols had materialised in their hands. The one with the rattan bracelet was speaking rapidly into his wrist.

‘OK. They’re inside. Fat out of action. This is go.’

A moment later the narrow street was full of Malay police. Gunfire rattled and echoed off the high buildings as the convoy guards were taken out. Glass shattered. The Mercedes sank as its tyres deflated.

Li Ho Fat’s four customers ran across the street and through the doorway opposite. The stairs were narrow and dark but at the top the building opened out into a gruesome storeroom. Animal skins were piled on the floor. The shelves were stacked with tusks, horns and hooves. A pile of small dead monkeys festered in a corner, buzzing with flies. Snakes and lizards hung from circular ceiling racks like gruesome wind chimes. The smell was unbelievable. A rangy, gagging blend of feral and death. Li Ho’s ‘wasters’ didn’t even look around. They only had eyes for the fat businessman and his guards, who were emerging at high speed from an office at the back.

The man with the bracelet started shouting, ‘Stop. Police. This is a raid by the CITES international agency for illegal animal traffic. You are surrounded. Put down your weapons. I said put down your bloody weapons.’

The guards took no notice. On the contrary one of them started blasting off with his semi-automatic. Shots ricocheted. The fat businessman sprinted towards a distant door. But already police were thumping up the back stairs. That didn’t stop the two guards though. They were clearly determined to go down all guns blazing. Now even the businessman was shouting for them to stop.

One of the CITES agents ran along behind a rack of wolf skins and tried to sneak up on the second gunmen. But the man was quick and swung his fire round. The agent jolted and fell back with a yell. The girl fired a sharp burst and the gunman dropped like a stone. Suddenly it was quiet. One of the policemen relieved the other gunman of his weapon and smashed it round his head. Blood spurted like a geyser.

Holstering her gun under her cheesecloth shirt, the girl snapped handcuffs on the businessman then ran over and crouched by her fallen colleague. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Bloody idiot,’ his left hand was clamped to his upper right arm. Blood was staining rapidly through his fingers. ‘He could have killed us all.’

‘I think that’s what he was trying to do,’ the girl said dryly. She unclipped the rattan bracelet from his wrist and lifted it to her mouth. ‘Control, can you hear me? It’s over. We’ve got Wang. But we have an agent down. I need a medic up here right now.’

Ella hadn’t really wanted to shop. She’d just wanted to escape from the conference, stretch her legs and have a quick look around before her flight. So she consulted the hotel concierge who recommended her to take a taxi up to the castle where he promised ‘une vue spectaculaire’ of Monte Carlo.

And spectacular it certainly was. Spread out below her were terracotta roofs, squares, fabulous hotels and even the Casino with its wildly over ornate, turreted frontage and shining green roof, set in its own formal, fountained gardens. She wished now that she had summoned the enthusiasm for some decent gambling last night, it seemed a bit lame to go back to the UK without even treating herself to one spin of the roulette wheel.

Behind the casino, cut back into the town was the big, square harbour, carpeted wall-to-wall with sparkling white gin palaces and yachts. Quite a number were the size of small cruise ships with helicopters perched in readiness on top and speedboats hanging casually in cradles.

But among all the conspicuous wealth was one incongruous sight. A Greenpeace vessel. Even from right up here, Ella could see the telltale rainbow logo on its side. What on earth was it doing in Monaco, she wondered. How ironic that it should have been sitting right there while Ray Morris was spouting off about environmentalists and the lesser spotted porpoise.

Squinting against the low afternoon sun, she realised that the Greenpeace boat was manoeuvring out of the harbour, a small tug at its bow. She was just wondering what would happen if it bashed into one of the priceless yachts on each side when her phone rang.

‘Ella? It’s Claude. Where are you? You’re needed. Something’s happened.’

‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’ Who could possibly need her on a Sunday in Monte Carlo? Her mind ran quickly through her recent deals. Some of the producers liked to flex their muscles. If the Israeli-phobic Saudis found so much as a Jaffa orange on board a tanker they’d refuse to turn the tap on. A loading delay? Or God forbid, a spill? BP’s Deepwater Horizon disaster in the Gulf of Mexico was still fresh in everyone’s mind. But there was nothing loading this weekend. In any case one of the junior traders would be on call. So what on earth …?

‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘Not a hijack?’ Despite an increased naval presence off the horn of Africa, the risk of piracy was still a threat. At current prices, a VLCC (Very Large Crude Carrier) fully laden with Saudi crude was worth well over $200 million. A tempting target.

‘No, not a hijack. Just come back to the hotel. I will explain you there.’ Claude obviously sensed her hesitation, because he added, ‘Please, Ella, it is important.’

She groaned, but his slight slip in fluency worried her. She knew Claude, and she knew when he was stressed his almost perfect English sometimes missed a beat. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll come. But it better be good.’

Claude was waiting for her in the lobby of the Hermita. Before she could even take off her sunglasses, he drew her to a couple of chairs.

‘Hugh Jardine wants you at his villa.’

Ella blinked. Why would Hugh Jardine want to see her? The blasted man had already given them an hour’s ‘motivational’ speech earlier that afternoon on top of the turgid dinner at his villa the night before. Her eyes narrowed sharply. ‘Is this something to do with what you were saying earlier?’

For a second Claude looked blank, then he shook his head impatiently. ‘No. This is not to do with work.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Attend, Ella. It is very confidential. His son is missing.’

‘What are you talking about? I’ve never met his son. Anyway, what do you mean missing?’ She saw Claude’s expression. ‘Good God, surely you don’t mean kidnapped?’

Claude hesitated. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. But Hugh wants someone he can trust. Someone calm. He asked for you.’

Ella didn’t feel at all calm. She didn’t like Hugh Jardine, he had the looks of a playboy, the mind of a calculator and the temperament of a shark. But he was the owner of Energie Mondiale and, as such, her ultimate boss …

She clearly had little choice. ‘OK.’

Claude stood up. ‘Good. The taxi is waiting. The driver knows the address.’

‘Aren’t you coming too?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I must go back to London. And not one word to anyone, Ella. It might be dangerous.’

Ella’s brows rose sharply. ‘Dangerous?’

‘For the child.’

‘Right.’ Ella held his gaze for a moment. ‘I don’t even know his name.’

‘George.’ He pronounced it the soft French way, Jorje.

Chapter Three

Hugh Jardine’s villa was a white, modern, cubic affair, built in kind of balconied layers up the hillside. It was set in its own gated garden with an infinity pool and views over Beausoleil and on out to sea.

As Ella was ushered into the tiled lounge by a stiff French butler, the woman at the far side of the room jerked round as though she’d been shot.

Last night at the dinner Miriam Jardine had been stunningly beautiful in a long, slinky white, sling back, Julien Macdonald evening robe. A former model, nothing in her twelve year marriage up to that point had done anything to spoil her Barbie doll looks.

By this afternoon she seemed to have aged ten years. A wad of sodden tissue was in her hand, her eyes red and staring, uncomprehending. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you, Ella, isn’t it? Thank you for coming.’

‘You poor thing,’ Ella said inadequately. She came forward and held out her hands. ‘What happened? Claude said …’

‘George,’ Miriam took a step towards her, then her face crumpled and she almost fell into Ella’s arms.

She was still there, sobbing, when the butler came back into the room with a tray of tea.

Ella met his eyes over Miriam’s shoulder. ‘Elle a besoin de son mari,’ she said.

To her irritation, the man responded in pedantic English. ‘Monsieur is in his study,’ he said. ‘He knows that you are arrived.’

Great, Ella thought, detaching Miriam from her shoulder and easing her gently onto a huge white leather sofa. It was an odd sensation having to physically manhandle another woman, especially one like Miriam, so incredibly thin and unexpectedly bony.

The butler withdrew. ‘They took George,’ Miriam whimpered. ‘My little boy.’

Chilling visions of the Madeleine McCann case flashed across Ella’s mind. She hadn’t met the Jardine child yesterday evening, but she had noticed him playing in the swimming pool outside. A skinny child with tousled hair, dark like his father’s. About ten years old she guessed. ‘Who took him?’ She asked. ‘When?’

‘We don’t know.’ Miriam said. ‘We don’t know anything. Just a text message telling us to keep our mouths shut if we want him back alive.’

So it was a kidnapping. My God, Ella thought. This kind of thing only happens in films. But then of course Hugh Jardine was exceptionally wealthy. For that reason alone his family would be a target. She was aware of feeling suddenly sick.

She wondered how much ransom a kidnapper would legitimately be able to demand for the son of Hugh Jardine. He owned both Energie Mondiale and PanGlobal, but the two oil companies were by no means his only financial interests. But how much would he, could he, pay to get his son back?

Ella began to pour the tea. It didn’t bear thinking about.

But Miriam was thinking about it. ‘Hugh will pay, won’t he?’

God knows, Ella thought. Who could tell what anyone would do in this situation. In films they hired men like Russell Crowe to negotiate the deal or track down the kidnappers. In real life where on earth did you find kidnap negotiators? Maybe that’s where Hugh Jardine was even now, she thought wildly, trawling the Internet for Russell Crowe.

‘Where is Hugh?’ Ella asked irritably. ‘What’s he doing?’

‘He’s on the phone,’ Miriam said. ‘Talking to Amanda’s father.’

‘Who’s Amanda?’

‘George’s nanny,’ Miriam said.

Ella stared at her. ‘They took the nanny as well?’

Miriam became tearful again. ‘She must have been in on it. I never liked her. A friend of Hugh’s recommended her. She hasn’t been with us long …’

She stopped abruptly as Hugh Jardine strode into the room.

Even in this situation he brought a sense of dynamism with him. ‘Ella, it’s good of you to come,’ he said, but his brief smile was perfunctory, as was the glance he threw his wife. He moved straight on to help himself to a cup of tea.

He was a tall, well-built man, and he had that gym look about him. Ella could imagine him heaving away on a rowing machine at five o’clock every morning. Or maybe she’d read somewhere that he did that. In any case, unlike his wife, the kidnap of his only child certainly hadn’t affected his appearance. His features were regular, his healthy tan showed off white, all-American teeth, his thick hair was stylishly cut, and even a slight hint of grey at the temples didn’t detract from his clean, wholesome Ivy League look.

He was wearing a pale blue Lacoste polo shirt over chinos and pristine deck shoes. His only jewellery was a heavy silver watch, a Tag Heuer probably, Ella thought. Altogether, exactly what you’d expect a thirty nine year old American oil tycoon to be wearing on a September Sunday in Monte Carlo.

‘I don’t know how much you’ve been told,’ he said abruptly to Ella.

‘Not much,’ she said.

He waved her to the sofa next to his wife. Standing in front of them, he briefly outlined what had happened. Sometime during the morning, the nanny, Amanda Saville, had taken George to a beach at Cap d’Ail. Hugh got back from giving his talk at the management conference at 4pm and almost immediately received the text. When he called the number back it was unobtainable. He stopped and his cold eyes flashed suddenly. ‘I don’t know who the hell has done this, but they will pay for it, I’ll see to that.’

It seemed to Ella rather more likely that he was going to be the one that did the paying, but she kept the thought to herself. ‘What about the nanny?’ she said instead. ‘Does she have a mobile? Have you tried calling her?’

Hugh Jardine nodded. ‘It goes straight to voicemail.’

‘Did they mention her in the text?’

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘I just spoke with Andrew Saville, her father. He didn’t take it well.’

‘Have the kidnappers contacted him?’ Ella asked.

He looked surprised at the question. ‘No, of course not. I don’t suppose they even know who he is.’

‘Who is he?’

His shoulders lifted slightly. ‘Some kind of civil servant in London,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met him.’

‘Poor man,’ Ella said. A civil servant wasn’t going to be able to raise much in the way of ransom, which presumably made Amanda to all intents and purposes expendable. Unless, as Miriam had suggested, she was involved in some way.

‘I expect he put her up to it,’ Miriam said suddenly. Her voice was shrill. ‘They’re in it together. They’ve stolen my baby.’

For a second, as Hugh Jardine’s hand clenched, Ella thought he was going to slap her. ‘Don’t be paranoid, darling,’ he said. ‘We don’t know anything yet. Sure, it’s a bad situation but we must try to stay calm and rational while we figure out what to do.’

‘Well, figure it out then,’ Miriam screamed at him. ‘Don’t just stand here talking about it. Do something.’

‘And what do you suggest I do?’ He shouted back at her. ‘Don’t you understand? They’ve tied our hands. We can’t do anything. We can’t trust anyone.

Miriam blinked and slumped back into the big white sofa. ‘Why don’t you ask Nicky to come?’ she whispered after a moment. ‘We could trust Nicky.’

Hugh’s colour rose suddenly. ‘We don’t need Nicky,’ he snapped.

He swung away and went to stare out of the huge French windows that led out to the terrace and the pool. After a moment he spoke over his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Ella. We’re not ourselves. This situation …’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Ella said quickly, wondering who on earth Nicky might be. ‘How can you be yourselves when all this is going on?’ She hesitated. ‘I’m really sorry but what exactly do you want me to do?’

He turned round and nodded towards his weeping wife. ‘I just wanted someone to be with Miriam, someone I trust, until her mother arrives from Australia.’

Chapter Four

Dr Xian, a Chinese surgeon in Singapore, was delighted to hear that a ballistic trauma patient was being flown in from Kuala Lumpur. He had recently attended a conference on wound closure and this would give him an opportunity to show off his skill with the very latest products and procedures.

The X-Ray showed a .45 steel-cased bullet lodged in his patient’s upper arm. It had grazed the humerus, splintering a fragment.

Dr Xian used a streaming technique to pressure the blood away from the wound. Having extracted the bullet he applied ultrasound to encourage the formation of free radicals to accelerate the clotting process. Instead of stitches he used tissue sealant to fuse the internal wound by making use of the body’s own collagen.

It was a clean, swift operation and Dr Xian was confident that his cutting edge techniques would impress his patient. ‘Lucky it wasn’t hollow tip bullet,’ he told him later. ‘Or you would have lost arm, and perhaps life. Lucky you sent to me. Is world class hospital. State-of-the-art. Prognosis for full recovery very good.’

His patient did not seem to share his enthusiasm, however. ‘I was hoping for a nice, long convalescence,’ he murmured, groggy from the anaesthetic. ‘If you tell them that, they’ll expect me back at work tomorrow.’

‘No, no,’ Dr Xian was shocked. ‘At least three weeks to regain strength in the arm. Giving good time to heal is very important. You must remain calm and comfortable. No activity. No activity at all.’

If Hugh Jardine’s ‘informal’ dinner party had been hard going, that first evening after the kidnap was a hundred times worse.

Ella had to feel sorry for him and Miriam, of course she did. Desperately sorry. It was the most horrendous situation. Even though she didn’t have children herself, she could understand what they were going through, the anger, the pain, the anxiety, the frustration and the bitter silent recriminations.

They were both in a state of shock of course. Gripped in a sudden, agonising situation outside their control. But the most startling thing was their lack of concern for each other. And for the child.

Miriam, whimpering and crying, totally self absorbed in her grief, seemed unable to focus her mind on anything except her own loss. Hugh, on the other hand, was all logic and calculation. He seemed more angry about the lack of communication than about the affect the kidnap would have on his son.

‘Why the hell don’t they contact me and get this thing over,’ he muttered over an exquisite dinner of seared swordfish steaks, served by the butler and clearly cooked by some culinary artiste in the kitchen.

‘I think they deliberately use delay tactics to build up the pressure,’ Ella ventured.

‘What do you know about it?’ Hugh snapped.

‘I’ve seen films,’ she replied, thinking of Russell Crowe again. And hadn’t Harrison Ford had a child kidnapped in some film too? Or was it Mel Gibson …?

‘Films,’ Hugh snorted. ‘My God, don’t you realise this is for real? They have my son, Ella. My son.’

‘George,’ Miriam dripped tears into her uneaten food. ‘My baby.’

Ella put her hand on Miriam’s arm. ‘I’m sure he’ll be OK,’ she whispered. ‘They won’t hurt him. And he has his nanny with him. She’ll look after him.’

‘I didn’t like her,’ Miriam said for the hundredth time. ‘I’m sure …’

Hugh’s knife and fork clattered into his plate. ‘Stop it, Miriam,’ he said. ‘Just leave it. It doesn’t matter what you think. All that matters is paying what they want and getting him back.’

Although she didn’t like to ask, it occurred to Ella that he might be insured against kidnap. If not, she was pretty sure he would have already estimated the likely ransom demand and totted up his liquid assets. And with at least two oil companies to his name there were plenty of those.

‘But there must be something we can do,’ Miriam said.

‘There’s nothing we can do.’ Hugh’s tone was sharp. ‘Why can’t you understand? We’ve been told to do nothing. For goodness sake, Miriam, do you want to jeopardise our chances of getting him back? We tell no-one, do you hear me? That applies to you too, Ella. Not one word. The staff here know they will lose their jobs if they talk to anyone. We just have to wait until the kidnappers contact us again.’

But the waiting was clearly agony. It was a great relief to Ella when they eventually decided to go to bed.

‘Call me if you need me,’ she murmured to Miriam as they parted at the foot of the wide, open tread staircase. She wondered about offering some liquid flu medicine, her own remedial tipple for anxious nights, but decided against it. Hugh would only bite her head off.

But perhaps she maligned him, because he called up after her, ‘Thank you for your help, Ella. I’m sorry, it’s not easy for us.’

She forced a smile. ‘I know,’ she said.

In the sanctuary of her own bedroom, she turned on the plasma TV, which took up a good part of a wall, lowered the sound, then took out her iPhone and dialled her boyfriend’s number. It rang for a while then clicked to voicemail.

‘Paul, it’s me. Where are you? Something’s come up and I’ve had to stay on in France. I’ll try to call you at work tomorrow.’

Disconnecting, she glanced at her diary and grimaced. She had a lunch fixed for the following day with Robin Miller, the Managing Director of Hugh Jardine’s other oil company, PanGlobal. They were trying to sort out a deal for some new Argentinean production. She found his number and punched out a text. ‘Hi Robin. Sorry. Stuck in France. Can’t make lunch. Can we rearrange for later in week?’

After that she lay back on the bed. A moment later she grabbed the remote and switched up the sound on the TV. The BBC news were covering an environmental rally in London: ‘The concept of Peak Oil, the view that existing oil supplies have peaked and are now in decline, has given environmentalists new concerns that the government will sanction more exploration in and around the UK,’ the reporter said. ‘This, combined with the current unrest in the Middle East, have fuelled fears that BP, Exxon, Cairn Energy and a number of smaller companies, such as Energie Mondiale and PanGlobal are already applying for licenses off the coast of Wales.’

The camera flashed to a placard, ‘SOS. Say No to drilling. Say NO to polluting our seas. Say NO to oil company greed.’

‘Oh no indeed,’ Ella groaned. ‘This is all we need.’

Chapter Five

Ella was woken by her phone. It was 7 a.m. Her sleep had been fitful despite the memory foam mattress and the thousand count, Egyptian percale bed linen that the Jardines provided for their guests.

‘Ella? It’s Paul. Where are you?’

Ella slumped back onto her goose down pillow. ‘I had to stay on, I can’t really say why but I’ll explain when I see you. I’ll be back in a day or two.’

‘What do you mean you can’t say why? What’s going on? Who else is there with you?’

Ella groaned inwardly. ‘Nobody. Jardine asked me to stay on. I’m at his villa now.’

‘Ooh. Lucky you.’ Paul’s voice was sarcastic. She and Paul had met when they both worked at IP Oil. He had always been jealous that she had subsequently been head-hunted by Energie Mondiale. ‘What are you doing? Fixing up a top secret deal?’

‘Something like that,’ Ella agreed, shivering as the awful reality of the situation hit her once again. She wondered fleetingly how she and Paul would cope in similar circumstances and decided that maybe Hugh Jardine and Miriam hadn’t actually done so badly last night after all. ‘Look, I’ll be back soon and I’ll tell you everything then. Did you see the demonstration last night? It was on the news.’

‘Bloody environmentalists,’ Paul said. ‘Peak Oil, my arse. Apparently half of them came up to London in four-by-fours and then complained there was no parking. Look, I’ve got to go, the train’s coming.’

Hugh Jardine did not have kidnap insurance for his family. He told Ella over breakfast on the terrace that he had considered it. Miriam wasn’t present. She was apparently having breakfast in her room. ‘If we’d been living some place like Columbia, or India, of course I’d have gotten it. But living in Switzerland … and here …’ his voice tailed off. ‘People sometimes say you’re more of a target if you have it.’

‘But how would anyone know whether you had it or not?’ Ella asked.

Hugh shrugged. He seemed calmer this morning. More rational. ‘Certain colleagues would have to know. Family. Friends.’

Ella stared at him. How awful to be so filthy rich that you couldn’t even trust your friends or colleagues. Let alone your family. And then she wondered suddenly how much she could trust her own colleagues. She knew Claude would happily sell her down the river, he had as good as said so yesterday. And of course she, herself, had never really trusted Hugh Jardine. But trusting someone not to fire you if your trading results dropped was one thing, trusting someone not to kidnap your only child was quite another.

She frowned, ‘You’re not suggesting you might actually know these kidnappers?’

‘Of course not, but they’d got hold of my cell phone number. They must know quite a lot about me. Or they must have done their research.’

‘Everyone knows you’re very wealthy.’

‘But not everyone knows I am here. Not everyone knows my son was going to the beach with his nanny yesterday. ’

He was right. But someone could have been watching. Ella cast a quick involuntary glance around the spacious, manicured grounds. Nobody could see in, the gates were closed and solid, and a high, bougainvillea clad wall ran round the perimeter. A watcher would have to have been outside somewhere. There must have been some kind of routine. A pattern. Everyone knew that routines were manna from heaven for kidnappers.

‘Did they go to the beach often?’

He looked pained. ‘Quite often. There is a group of nannies, they tend to do the same things together with the kids.’

‘Maybe you should talk to the other nannies,’ she mused. ‘Somebody might have seen something.’

He made an impatient gesture. ‘For God’s sake, Ella. Don’t you get it? I can’t do anything ...’ He stopped as suddenly as he had started and stared fixedly at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing sharply.

‘I can’t,’ he went on slowly, ‘but I guess you could. No ...’ he held up his hand as she went to interrupt. ‘It’s a thought. You could go down to the beach later today and talk with them.’

‘But you’ve been told not to tell anyone …’

‘You don’t need tell them anything. But sooner or later they’re bound to wonder where Amanda is and it would be good to distract them with some excuse before they start asking questions. And you might just find out, kind of casually, what time she and George left the beach yesterday, if they were with anyone …’

He closed his eyes and she could suddenly see the strain he was under. She suddenly felt a furious surge of anger towards the kidnappers. How could anyone deliberately put people through this kind of ordeal? She thought again of little Madeleine McCann in Portugal. Taking an oil tanker hostage in Somalia was one thing, but to take someone’s child, a living, breathing child, how could anyone, any human being, be so utterly cruel?

‘I’m happy to have a go,’ she said. ‘If you think it’s worth the risk?’

He was silent for a moment then sat back and nodded. ‘Yeah. No-one could possibly know who you are. And we might just get lucky. At very least we’ll know if the car is still there. If it is, you can bring it back before the police start thinking it’s abandoned.’

He left her then and the silent butler cleared the breakfast away. She wondered if she should go and see if Miriam was OK. Instead she got out her phone. She checked the Close of Business reports, NYMEX prices and the latest world news on Reuters. Then with a quick, guilty glance over her shoulder, she clicked onto Google.

What she found was not particularly encouraging.

Kidnaps rarely fail. Statistics show that 95-98% of kidnaps are successful. Many for obvious reasons go unreported.

There are two kinds of kidnap: economical and political. In politically motivated cases the victim is more likely to suffer badly or be killed.

Over the last six years Kidnap, Ransom and Abduction cases have increased 100%. Fatality occurs in 2% of cases handled by consultants and 9% of cases managed by family or friends.

Typical KRA insurance per $million cover costs $3000 in USA, $7000 in Brazil, $50,000 in Columbia.

Rescues are very rare. Even if the kidnappers’ location can be found, there is a danger of hostages being killed in the process.

Go betweens often can’t be trusted.

Kidnappers usually have surveillance near the residence to check out patterns.

‘Miss Crossley?’ Ella nearly jumped out of her skin as the butler spoke behind her. ‘Madame asked if you would go to her room.’

The master bedroom was on a mezzanine floor that peeled off half way up the main stairs. Before they reached it, Ella noticed another door half open and, on the wall behind it, a poster of David Beckham.

‘Is this George’s room?’ she asked, and the butler inclined his head in a discouraging affirmative.

Ignoring him, Ella pushed the door open. George apparently didn’t merit a sea view, but nevertheless it was a large room, and equipped with every gadget a ten year old boy might conceivably need; a flat screen telly and DVD player, a Wii, balance board, steering wheel and controllers, an Apple computer. Track for an electric train set ran on a specially designed shelf round the walls in front of a life size, signed poster of Michael Owen. A chart of the world’s reptiles adorned the other wall and on the bed a large teddy bear embraced a six foot long green furry snake.

‘Good God,’ Ella said, averting her gaze from the small pair of striped pyjamas on the pillow. ‘And this is just their holiday home?’

‘He has many more toys in Geneva,’ the butler said.

‘I’m sure he does,’ Ella said dryly. ‘What about the nanny? Where is her room?’

‘Upstairs,’ the butler said. ‘On the top floor.’

‘Servants’ quarters?’ Ella asked sweetly.

Not deigning to answer, he proceeded along the passage and tapped on the door at the end.

If George’s room had been large, the master bedroom was palatial with huge French windows and a terrace outside. Miriam was lying on the left side of an impressive wrought iron bed.

As soon as she saw Ella she struggled to sit up. ‘Don’t do it! Don’t go to the beach. They told us not to do anything. Don’t put George’s life at risk. Please, Ella, don’t listen to Hugh …’

Ella grimaced. ‘I have to listen to him,’ she said. ‘He’s my boss.’

‘But you are supposed to be here to help me,’ Miriam pleaded. She was getting tearful again and Ella wished she could ring Hugh Jardine’s neck. She sat down on the bed. ‘Miriam, listen. Hugh may be right. The last thing you need is for Amanda’s friends to start asking questions.’

But Miriam started crying. ‘You’re going to betray me. I know you are.’

‘Oh come on, Miriam. It’s not a question of betrayal. I work for Hugh. If he wants me to do something I pretty much have to do it, whether I think it’s right or not.’

‘He said you suggested it.’

Oh great, Ella thought. Thanks a bunch Hugh. She was just wondering how on earth to extricate herself from what promised to be a lengthy scene when her phone rang. ‘I’m sorry, Miriam,’ she said giving silent thanks. ‘It’s the office. I have to take it.’

But ten minutes later back on the terrace she wished she hadn’t. A broken deal had left one of her traders with an un-hedged, physical cargo of Saudi Light, which was slowly making its way through the Gulf of Aden between Yemen and Somalia, before heading up to the Suez canal. The American bank of the company they had sold it to had belatedly realised the carrying vessel was Iranian. And as there was a US embargo on trading with Iran, they had immediately cancelled the letter of credit. So the Saudi Light was back on the Energie Mondiale books. And they were well past the normal trading window.

It had been a bad mistake to buy the blasted cargo in the first place and now it was getting worse. If Ella had been in the office she would have sold it on again straight away. But now prices were dropping sharply and her trader wanted to wait for a rebound rather than face a big loss. Ella wished she was in London. Already she felt as though her finger was off the pulse of the market. She couldn’t operate effectively like this. ‘I’ll have to trust your judgement,’ she told her trader reluctantly. ‘But for God’s sake don’t leave it too long.’

Chapter Six

Hugh had ordered a taxi for 2 p.m. Ella had assumed that Philippe, the butler, would drive her down to the beach, but it turned out that, for all his supercilious pomposity, he apparently couldn’t drive.

The taxi came promptly and there was nobody lurking in the road outside to watch her leave. By 2.30 she was standing at the top of the steep cliff stairway down to La Bala beach, cursing silently.

She had found the blue Renault Clio, the car provided by the Jardines for their nanny’s use, sitting innocently in the car park, and she sincerely wished she could just get in it and drive back to the villa. Because it was true what she had told Claude the previous day. She really didn’t like heights, and nobody had thought to tell her that she would have to climb down a virtual precipice to get to the beach. What’s more, she couldn’t even see the beach from up here so didn’t know if there were even any blasted nannies on it.

Resisting the urge to treat herself to a restorative Cappuccino at the café behind the car park, she gritted her teeth and began the descent.

About half way down she steeled herself to glance over the edge. The beach was visible now and Ella finally understood why the nannies felt it was worth struggling down this cliff to spend the afternoon there with the children in their charge. A crescent shape, it had lovely clean sand, turquoise shallows and a smart looking café bar with sun beds and umbrellas ranged out in front. A couple of chic speed boats were anchored a little way off and the water was so clear you could see their anchors lying on the sea bed. A muscular lifeguard sat alert and tanned in a high chair, even though there was hardly anyone swimming. Most people seemed to be taking advantage of what the beach bar had to offer, which even from this height smelt pretty good.

At the edge of the water, however, a group of young women had pulled some sun beds together under a couple of umbrellas and were sitting watching some children play in the shallows.

‘Aha,’ Ella murmured to herself.

At the bottom of the steps, feeling distinctly over dressed, she took off her boots and rolled up her trousers as best she could. She checked to see that nobody was paying any attention to her. Then, trying to ignore a sudden stab of nervousness, she wandered casually down the beach and approached the nannies

‘Hi,’ she spoke brightly. ‘I’m looking for Amanda?’

There was a moment’s startled silence then one of the girls leaned forward slightly, squinting against the light. ‘She said she’d be here today, but she had a problem with her car yesterday so …’

‘Oh?’ Ella said. ‘What happened?’

The girl shrugged slightly. ‘I don’t know. I suppose she couldn’t get it started. All I know is her boss sent some guys to pick them up.’

Ella tried to hide her surprise. ‘You saw them?’

But the girl shook her head. ‘No. But Jenny was coming down for an afternoon swim just as they were driving out. She called Mandy on her mobile to see what had happened. And that’s what Mandy said.’

‘Jenny?’ Ella glanced hopefully towards the other girls.

‘She’s not here today either. Her family have gone down to Italy for a few days.’

Ella sensed the girl was starting to look suspicious, so she just shrugged and backed off a step. The plan was to allay suspicion not provoke it. ‘Oh, well never mind. I was just passing. I thought I might catch her before she left.’

One of the other girls joined in then. ‘I didn’t know Mandy was leaving?’

Ella tried to look innocent. This was the idea Hugh had come up with to prevent the nannies subsequently asking any awkward questions about Amanda’s disappearance. ‘Yeah,’ she took another step away. ‘Tomorrow, I think. The family are going back to Switzerland. Anyway, thanks.’ She waved an airy hand. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you …’

The sun was hot and Ella was sweating before she even began the steep ascent up the cliff, but her mind was racing. Her ‘boss’ had sent a car …? Hugh? If that was true …? But if not, then either Amanda was indeed in on it, or she and George had been abducted and she had responded to the phone call under duress.

After about ten minutes’ climb, Ella was seriously out of breath and leant gasping against the protective wall. Glancing up to see how far she still had to go, she saw a man at the top of the cliff holding something in front of him. A phone? A camera? Whatever it was, it seemed to be pointing straight at her.

Quickly she turned away and looked down over the parapet. But that was a mistake. Her head swam at once.

Furious with herself, she sat down abruptly on the step, heart thumping. Then she twisted round to look up at the top of the cliff again.

Nothing. Nobody. She took a long breath and let it out slowly. It could just have been someone holding his mobile phone at an odd angle. It could have just been someone with a camera snapping the view. Or it could have been someone deliberately taking a picture of her.

For a moment she considered calling Hugh. Then dismissed the idea. He would think she had freaked out. And there was nothing he could do anyway.

Grimly, carefully avoiding even one glance at the drop on the other side of the wall, she stood up and carried on doggedly up the cliff.

There was no-one at the top or in the car park. Nobody looking suspicious at the café tables. And the view was great. Hundreds of people probably stopped to take a picture from here every day. Feeling foolish for her fear, she pulled out the spare keys Hugh had given her, bleeped the Clio open, got in and drove out of the car park.

She had watched too many spy thrillers not to give a thought to whether she was being followed, but no car turned out behind her and, deciding she was being paranoid, she drove straight back to the villa.

Hugh pounced on her as soon as she got back in. She told him what the nanny had said about Amanda and George driving away on a car her ‘boss’ had apparently sent.

‘Good God,’ he said angrily. ‘I never sent a car. And surely the stupid girl would have more sense than to get into somebody else’s car.’

Ella was relieved by his reaction. As far as she could tell his anger sounded genuine. She really didn’t want to think he had kidnapped his own son. ‘Maybe she knew them,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘Or maybe she didn’t have much choice ...’

He swore again under his breath. ‘So basically we are no further ahead …’ His voice was accusative as though it was all Ella’s fault, and she had moment’s struggle to stop herself snapping back. The tension was clearly getting to her too.

‘Well, there is still this Jenny, the girl who saw them,’ she said, watching him carefully. ‘It would be worth talking to her when she reappears.’

He spread his hands irritably. ‘And who the hell knows when that will be?’ He noticed the phone in his hand and shook it slightly as though willing it to ring. It seemed that it was the waiting even more than the worry that was driving him mad.

It was at dinner that night when the envelope arrived.

It had been another stilted meal, painstakingly prepared by the chef, a young man Ella now knew was called Jean-Luc. She had ventured into the kitchen during the afternoon to ask if someone could make Miriam an omelette after she had failed to eat anything at all at lunchtime. It seemed to be up to her to keep Miriam going, Hugh clearly didn’t want to bother with her. And the poor woman was so thin already. Ella feared for her health if she didn’t eat. Miriam was picking at some succulent grilled prawns when Philippe came in carrying a white envelope, but none were actually getting into her mouth.

‘This was in the box, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought you would …’

Hugh snatched the envelope and opened it. ‘Oh my God,’ he muttered and withdrew a piece of paper about the size of a comp slip with a small lock of hair sellotaped to it.

What colour there was left Miriam’s cheeks as she gave a convulsive scream.

Hugh glanced at her, then back at the paper. ‘It says, Keep your mouths shut. If you want him back alive, you do exactly what we say. Your instructions will come in due course.’

Chapter Seven

After another restless night Ella dropped into a deep slumber in the early hours. She woke with a start to find it was eight thirty. For a moment she toyed guiltily with allowing herself to drop off again. A lie in was a rare luxury. Her normal working week meant she had to be in the office early, sometimes as early as six if there was dealing to be done with the Far East. And if she needed to talk to clients on the West Coast of America, her days could stretch well into the evening.

But she liked her job. She liked making deals. The adrenalin rush. The feeling of being at the hub of global business.

And crude oil trading is the most fundamental international business. Everyone needs oil, that is the truth of it. The whole world is reliant on it. Roads, tyres, farming, fertilisers, plastics, steel, and glass. Let alone fuel. Oil and its by products are absolutely intrinsic, and life in the 21st century would be utterly impossible without it. Whatever the environmentalists like to think.

So the cargoes ply the oceans and the traders make the deals, often selling and buying the oil countless times before it’s even left the ground.

But it was a scary business. The huge multi-million dollar values against the potential for huge multi-million dollar mistakes. Years ago someone Ella knew put heavy waxy Venezuelan Boscan crude on an unheated ship and sent it north. By the time it reached the UK it had turned into an enormous, solid, tanker shaped candle.

That was an absolute, archetypal crude oil trading mistake. The kind of mistake young traders fear more than any mispriced deal.

The thought of mispriced deals made Ella sit up abruptly and glance at her phone. There was no message from the office. That was a bad sign. They had promised to let her know when the Saudi Light was sold.

All desire for a lie-in forgotten, she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

Going downstairs half an hour later she found a solitary breakfast laid for her on the terrace. Philippe brought her the black coffee and boiled egg she asked for and informed her in his faintly patronising way that Hugh was working in his study and Miriam was still in her bedroom.

Ella was on the phone to the office when she saw the villa’s automatic gates open. A taxi nosed through and disappeared round the side of the house. A minute or two later she saw it leave again.

‘Look, just get it sold,’ she spoke irritably into the phone. ‘Take a loss if necessary, so long as it’s small. I just don’t want us to be carrying that kind of risk.’

‘Take a loss?’ the trader repeated incredulously. ‘But prices are rising here today …’

Ella took a steadying sip of her coffee. She knew he felt she was losing her nerve. Maybe she was. But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t on the trading floor. Wasn’t plugged into the market. She was sitting in the sun, gazing over a blue pool, the manicured Mediterranean garden surrounding it, the startlingly bright bougainvillea on the wall, a couple of distant red rooftops, some palm trees and eventually out to sea. She was also wondering who had just arrived. Could it possibly be Miriam’s mother already? Surely she couldn’t have got here from Australia so soon.

Mentally calculating flight times, she realised she had missed what her trader had just said and forced herself to concentrate.

On the trading floor, the business of dealing in oil seemed so immediate, the pace, the urgency, the flicking screens, the endless phone calls, the pulse of the market, the constant search for a quick turnaround, a quick profit. Here it all seemed somehow unreal. And compared with the myriad of potential dangers facing a young child and a young woman, frankly rather unimportant.

Finishing the call, Ella stood up and went in through the French windows. She took off her sunglasses, but even so it was a moment before her eyes adjusted from the bright light outside. Then she stopped in surprise.

There, eyes closed, slumped negligently in one of the white leather chairs was a man with long, lank hair, stubble that in no way could be called designer, and clothes that would have been better suited to Woodstock in the 60s. Ella didn’t even know that kind of cheesecloth still existed. And as for thong sandals …?

Whoever it was, it certainly wasn’t Miriam’s mother.

She was pretty sure he couldn’t be asleep. He’d only arrived a minute ago, for goodness sake. She cleared her throat.

The man opened his eyes, blinked at her for a moment then stood up, wincing as he pushed himself out of the chair. In addition to the general dishevelment Ella could now see that his left arm was in a sling.

‘Who on earth are you?’ she asked involuntarily.

If he was taken aback by the question, he hid it behind a faint look of amusement. ‘I’m Nick,’ he said. ‘Nick Jardine.’ His voice was slow, almost slurred. A light, surprisingly cultured, East coast American accent.

She stared at him blankly.

‘Hugh’s brother,’ he added.

Ella almost had to stop her mouth falling open. It seemed inconceivable that this disreputable specimen could in any way be related to the pristine, preppy, Hugh Jardine. But his brother? She’d love to have seen Philippe’s face when he let him in. Come to think of it, she was amazed he had let him in.

‘And you are?’ he asked politely.

‘I’m Ella Crossley.’

‘You work here?’

‘No.’ The abrupt denial made his brows rise. ‘Well, not precisely. I work for Hugh. I’m one of his oil traders.’

‘Ah,’ he nodded slowly. ‘When I saw you outside, I didn’t think you had the jizz of a nanny somehow.’

Ella frowned. Something about his lazy drawl annoyed her. And the fact he had noticed her outside, but not bothered to come out. On the contrary, he had sat down and calmly gone to sleep, ‘Jizz?’ she queried coldly.

He moved his shoulders and winced again. His arm injury was clearly recent, Ella thought, he hadn’t got used to it yet.

‘It’s a bird watching term,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how you’d translate it. Demeanour, perhaps, or attitude.’

Ella felt a stab of irritation. To cover it up she gave a light laugh. ‘So my jizz tells you that I’m not a nanny? How clever. What else does it tell you about me?’

As he hesitated, she wished she had not asked the question. Why on earth had she embarked on personal banter with this idiot? This bird watcher. They clearly had nothing in common.

Maybe he had come to the same opinion, because he lowered himself gingerly back into the chair. ‘I guess it tells me...’ he began slowly.

But before she discovered what it told him, the door from the hall burst open and Miriam flew into the room. ‘Nicky, Nicky.’ She threw herself onto his lap, into his arms, and burst into tears. ‘Oh, thank God, you’ve come.’

Chapter Eight

The embrace didn’t last long as Nick Jardine was apparently in some pain. He murmured something to Miriam and eased her to one side. But even in that short exchange, some kind of intensity between them was apparent, which made Ella feel awkward standing there, watching. She turned away abruptly, but before she could retreat out onto the terrace, Hugh came in and stopped abruptly.

At once Miriam jumped out of the chair. She ran to Hugh and took his arm. ‘Look who’s come,’ she said. ‘Just when we needed him.’

It seemed perfectly clear to Ella that Miriam had somehow engineered her brother-in-law’s arrival, although why she felt she needed this extraordinary specimen was anyone’s guess. But if Hugh noticed Miriam’s quick warning glance at Nick, he clearly chose not to say anything. There was a distinct grittiness about his expression, but after that first quick intake of breath when he had first come into the room and found his wife in another man’s arms, he seemed pleased enough to see his brother, despite his unprepossessing appearance.

But he frowned as Nick levered himself out of the chair once again. ‘You’re injured?’

Nick Jardine brushed off the enquiry saying it was nothing serious. They shook hands, in rather a stiff way, Ella thought. Then Nick glanced from Miriam to Hugh, perhaps taking in their strained appearance for the first time. ‘So, what’s going on?’

As Hugh hesitated, Miriam butted in. ‘We can tell him, Hugh. He’s family. Surely that doesn’t count.’

Hugh clearly had no choice. Miriam had let the cat half way out of the bag already. And, incredible though it seemed, this weird man clearly was Hugh’s brother. In fact looking at the two of them now, Ella could see a vague similarity in their profiles. They both had straight regular features and the same hard jaw line, even though Nick Jardine’s was deathly pale and half covered with several days’ untended growth. It was their demeanour, their bearing that was so different. Their jizz, she thought wryly. It was actually rather a good word.

She realised Nick Jardine was looking at her. Perhaps he thought it was her presence which was inhibiting Hugh. Perhaps it was. Hugh certainly looked unusually ill at ease.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve got work calls to make anyway.’

Half an hour later Ella encountered Hugh’s brother again as she came downstairs after having a quick look at Amanda’s room. It hadn’t told her anything. There were several skimpy articles of clothing scattered about, a pair of lime green espadrilles trodden down at the back, some high street cosmetics and a couple of packets of tampons in the en-suite bathroom. A fat, half read Jilly Cooper novel lay on the floor by the bed and chargers for a mobile phone and an MP3 player were still plugged into discreet sockets on the wall. Nothing that gave any hint as to whether Amanda was an accomplice or a victim of the kidnapping.

Nick Jardine glanced up at Ella as she paused half way down the stairs. He still looked dirty and dishevelled, but now he was carrying some kind of duffel bag over his shoulder. His expression was inscrutable.

She came slowly down a couple more steps. ‘Hugh’s told you what’s happened?’

‘Yes, he did.’

She waited for a reaction but none came. ‘You seem very calm about it,’ she said.

‘Do I?’ He lifted his shoulders slightly. ‘Maybe that’s because I’m tired. And drugged,’ he added with a faint smile.

Ella could well believe he was drugged. He was deathly pale. He looked as though he lived on drugs. He was probably heading upstairs to shoot up even now.

‘So,’ he said, waiting for her to come down the last few steps so he could go up. ‘I’m going to try get some sleep.’

‘Sleep?’ Ella gasped. ‘You’ve just been told your nephew has been kidnapped and all you’re going to do is sleep?’

‘Yes.’ He ran a hand over his face in a wry gesture. ‘I guess it’s pretty much all I can do. I’ll be no use to anyone otherwise.’

Ella couldn’t imagine he would be any use to anyone anyway, but obviously didn’t say so. She came down the last step and exaggeratedly made room for him to go past. ‘I’ll see you later then,’ she said.

He inclined his head. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

Miriam was on the terrace. She beckoned Ella out to join her. ‘Nicky says we shouldn’t talk inside the house in case it’s bugged,’ she said.

‘Bugged?’ Ella blinked, ‘Nick said that?’

Miriam nodded. ‘He knows about that sort of thing.’

‘He does?’ For a second Ella wondered if they were talking about the same Nick. Then she remembered that first day when Miriam said she wished Nicky would come, that he would know what to do.

‘What exactly does Nick do?’ she asked warily.

Miriam looked vague. ‘I’m not really sure,’ she said. ‘Something to do with wildlife.’

‘Wildlife?’

Miriam nodded. ‘Protecting animals.’

For a second Ella wondered if Miriam was on drugs too. The whole place suddenly seemed to have gone completely mad.

‘You’d never think he was Hugh’s brother, would you?’ Miriam said.

‘No,’ Ella agreed readily. ‘You certainly wouldn’t.’

Miriam smiled. ‘He’s not normally quite so scruffy. But he’s just flown in from Singapore. I called him Sunday night. He came as soon as he could.’

‘Oh, right,’ Ella said. Well, it did explain something. Although she wasn’t quite sure what. Her memory of Singapore wasn’t exactly that it was teeming with wildlife that needed protecting. Or any wildlife at all, come to that. Her recollection was of a chic concrete jungle. She smiled grimly at the unintentional pun. ‘So, what else did Nick say?’ she asked with a hint of sarcasm that seemed to pass Miriam by.

‘Not much really. He was angry we’d told so many people.’

‘But you’ve not told anyone, have you?’

‘Well, the staff all know. And I’ve told my mother. And Hugh felt he had to tell Claude Visconte and Robin Miller.’

‘I didn’t know Robin knew,’ Ella said. ‘I was meant to be having lunch with him today. I fobbed him off with an excuse.’

‘Robin is pretty much Hugh’s best friend,’ Miriam said. ‘Plus he’s running PanGlobal single handed at the moment.’ She hesitated, ‘Actually the main person Nick thought we shouldn’t have involved was you.’

Forgetting that she dearly wished she hadn’t been involved, Ella’s eyes narrowed, ‘Me? Why?’

‘He said it was too risky.’

‘Why? Surely he doesn’t think I might have something to do with it? What a bloody cheek.’

‘No,’ Miriam cut in quickly. ‘No, I think he meant it might put you in danger.’

‘Did he.’ Ella said sourly.

‘He wasn’t being nasty.’ Miriam said. ‘He just thought we should have kept it in the family.’

Something in her expression made Ella bite back a sharp retort. It wasn’t anything to do with her after all. It hadn’t been her choice to come. Hugh’s hippy dippy brother could think what he liked. And if his presence, for some reason, made Miriam happier well, that was surely a good thing. Certainly Miriam looked better than she had at any point since Ella had arrived. For the first time there seemed to be hope in her eyes. Ella prayed it wasn’t going to prove to be misplaced. ‘You and he seem pretty close?’ she said.

Miriam nodded. ‘I knew him before I met Hugh. We actually went out for a while. He was just finishing at university and I was just starting modelling. We met on a shoot. He was doing some modelling work too and ...’

‘Modelling?’ Ella interrupted. ‘This Nick who just arrived?’

‘Well,’ Miriam smiled nostalgically. ‘He was only playing at it, really. Just trying to earn some money to go travelling, you know. But he was pretty gorgeous then, so he got plenty of work.’

I’ll have to take your word for that, Ella thought.

‘He was so laid back and cool,’ Miriam went on. ‘All the girls were after him.’

‘And did he go travelling?’

‘Yes.’ Miriam said. ‘He went off hitch-hiking round Africa. That’s when I married Hugh.’

Ella laughed for the first time in two days. ‘So Nick went off on holiday and you married his brother?’

Miriam made a face. ‘It wasn’t funny at the time,’ she said. ‘It caused a terrible rift between them. They’re OK now but for years they barely spoke. I asked Nicky to be Godfather to George but he refused.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, my God ... George.’ Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘For a second, then, I had forgotten …’

Chapter Nine

Nick Jardine emerged from his sleep three hours later. As far as Ella could see it hadn’t made any difference to him at all. He looked fractionally cleaner, his long hair hung in wet tendrils from the shower, but he still had that bleary look about the eyes.

Ella had just come off the phone from checking if her traders had found a buyer for the cargo of Saudi Light. They hadn’t, but they insisted that the feeling on the trading floor was that prices were going to rise sharply. Brent futures were already up slightly today. There was still plenty of time, they said. The tanker hadn’t even got to the Suez Canal yet.

Ella was less confident, but at least in the Suez Canal the cargo was safe from hijackers. The problem was that once it got through the Suez Canal the options began to get very much more limited. The oil had to be offloaded somewhere. It couldn’t just float around in the Med waiting for a customer. Well, it could, but it would be expensive. Freight didn’t come cheap. Technically it was already a ‘distressed cargo’ - one without a home.

‘Problems?’ Nick Jardine was leaning against the patio door.

‘My traders are playing silly buggers,’ Ella said. ‘I think they’re about to lose Hugh a lot of money.’

‘That’s probably the last thing he needs to hear right now.’

He spoke mildly but Ella felt herself take umbrage. ‘It’s not my fault. If I was in the office instead of hanging around here …’ she tailed off as she saw Nick Jardine’s expression.

‘I’m sorry,’ he drawled. ‘I guess Hugh and Miriam are too worried about their son to realise they’re wasting your time.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ Ella said. ‘I didn’t mean that …’

‘Didn’t you?’ He came out onto the terrace.

‘I’m worried too,’ she snapped. ‘But there’s nothing I can do.’

‘You could think,’ he said. ‘If you’re really an oil trader you must at least have a brain.’

She glared up at him. It seemed a completely unprovoked attack, particularly from an obvious waster like him. ‘And what exactly do you want me to think about? Every time I open my mouth to suggest something Hugh shouts me down.’ She took a steadying breath realising she was sounding shrill. ‘He just wants to pay up and get George back, and that’s all there is to it.’

Nick looked at her for a moment. ‘Is it?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked as he began to turn away.

‘I’m kind of hoping this delay isn’t just a way of cooling the trail for the police,’ he said and went back into the house.

Ella stared after him, realising the truth in what he said. The Portuguese police were onto the McCann’s case within hours of Madeleine’s disappearance. And they still didn’t find her. How much more difficult it would be after a couple of days.

Ella had begun to dread mealtimes and dinner that night pretty much lived up to her expectations. Coping with the usual tension between Hugh and Miriam was bad enough but to see Nick and Miriam making sheep’s eyes at each other was almost enough to put her off her food. Which was a shame because the food always was delicious. Tonight Jean-Luc had served up a little goat cheese tart with a drizzle of pomegranate molasses, followed by a fish couscous.

Feeling she should leave the family alone, Ella opted to have a swim and an early night. She had just got out of the pool and was shrugging on a towelling robe, when she heard raised voices indoors, men’s voices, coming from behind the half open glass concertina doors. She was considering edging closer to find out what was going on, when an internal door slammed and there was a sudden ringing silence.

A moment later Nick came striding out on to the terrace, or at least striding as much as anyone can in Jesus sandals.

‘Coming for a swim?’ Ella asked sweetly as he approached.

He stopped and she caught the blaze of anger in his eyes. Then, even as her own eyes widened, it had gone, and he was back to his usual drippy self. ‘No way,’ he drawled. ‘That water’s way too cold for me.’ She watched him stroll over to the pool bar and and wondered if she had imagined that flash of emotion, it was certainly the first sign of animation he had shown. He picked up a bottle of Pernod and looked round at her questioningly.

It would be churlish to refuse. Ella pulled the towelling robe round her firmly and tied the belt. ‘Just a small one please.’ She rubbed the ends of her hair with a towel and watched him pour the drinks awkwardly with one hand. ‘How did you injure your arm?’

He didn’t answer for a moment. ‘I was stupid. I got in the way of a moving object.’

‘A car?’ He’d probably had one spliff too many before trying to cross a road.

‘No,’ he said, handing her a small clouded tumbler. ‘A bullet.’

Ella nearly dropped the glass. ‘A bullet?’

‘It was a police raid. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

She blinked. ‘A drugs raid?’

He looked at her for a moment. ‘Yeah, something like that.’ He turned back to the pool bar and lifted his glass. ‘Santé.’ Then he strolled round to the other side of the pool and stood with his back to her looking at the lights of Beausoleil below them.

Pulling up a sun-lounger, Ella sat down on it, watching him across the pool. It occurred to her that if he’d really been on the wrong end of a recent drugs raid in Singapore, there was no way he would now be in the South of France. Singapore had one of the most draconian judicial systems in the world. They never would have let him out. So had he implied it, or had she assumed it? He certainly hadn’t disabused her.

Perhaps aware of her gaze, he glanced round at her then came slowly back round the end of the pool. Pulling out another chair with his good arm, he sat down nursing his drink. She glanced at his hand holding the glass and realised it was quite competent looking. There were certainly no needle marks in the veins.

‘I usually shoot up in my feet,’ he said.

She couldn’t help an involuntary glance at his feet, then smiled. ‘Then you shouldn’t wear sandals,’ she said. He didn’t reply and she added. ‘OK, so why have you been trying to pull the wool over my eyes?’

He leaned back in the chair. ‘Your prejudices aren’t my concern.’

Ella’s hands bunched into fists, it took a supreme effort to bite back a sharp retort. Carefully she lifted her glass and drained it. She was about to stand up when he spoke again.

‘Hugh told me you went to the beach.’

It sounded accusatory. ‘Yes, I did,’ she said.

‘Do they have CCTV at the beach, or in the car park?’

Ella’s irritation was replaced by an unpleasant sense of being made to feel a complete idiot. ‘I didn’t notice,’ she admitted.

She saw his expression. ‘I left in a hurry,’ she said defensively. ‘There was a man there, I thought he might be watching me.’

His eyes narrowed sharply. ’And was he?’

Ella took a sip of her drink. ‘I don’t know. But I wasn’t going to hang around to find out.’

‘So you just got into the car and drove home?’ He sounded derisive, maybe even angry.

‘Yes.’

‘Even though the car had been sitting there unattended for a couple of days?’

‘You mean it might have been tampered with?’

‘It’s not impossible.’ He met her startled gaze for a moment, then looked away. ‘You were crazy to go down there alone.’

‘It was Hugh’s idea,’ Ella retorted. ‘Not mine.’ Realising she felt suddenly cold, she stood up and hugged her gown around her. She put her glass back on the drinks table and turned for the house.

‘Yes, for sure, Hugh is always full of good ideas,’ Nick spoke quietly but his tone made Ella stop in her tracks.

Clearly all was not well between the Jardine brothers. She wasn’t surprised. Two more irritating men would be hard to find. Nodding to the French doors she asked, ‘Is that what you and Hugh were scrapping about earlier?’

He didn’t answer for a moment. ‘No. Hugh took it upon himself to tell Miriam that the kidnapping was all her fault … for not supervising the new nanny closely enough.’

Ella stared at him. ‘What an utter bastard!’ she said. ‘I always knew he was a complete shit. Sorry. I know he’s your brother and everything but really …’ She stopped abruptly as Hugh himself emerged onto the terrace.

The sudden, stricken silence seemed to last forever. A small bat swooped low over the pool and, in the distance, a car door slammed.

Ella could actually feel her skin prickling with goose-bumps as Hugh glanced from her to Nick. ‘So what are you two arguing about?’ he asked.

Ella’s relief that he hadn’t apparently heard her unguarded remark was only matched by her irritation at the expression of unholy amusement on Nick’s face.

‘We were actually talking about you,’ he said. ‘Weren’t we, Ella?’

‘You were,’ she said. ‘I was just saying I should go to bed.’ And with a stiff nod and a mumbled ‘goodnight’, she left them to it and went into the house.

Three things happened the next morning.

The oil price dropped sharply. Miriam’s mother arrived. And the kidnappers demanded €10 million for the safe return of George and Amanda. The demand came in an unmarked package, which someone had thrown over the wall, and was accompanied by a large green, deflated plastic crocodile with a knife gash through one of its eyes.

At midday Nick Jardine drove Ella to Nice airport to catch the BA flight to Heathrow.

Chapter Ten

Ella was back in the office just after 4.30 p.m. and the Saudi Light still hadn’t been sold.

She glared round at her team as she shrugged off her jacket. ‘What the hell has been going on? I turn my back for one second and you get us into this mess.’ She put on a whiny imitation, ‘We think the price is going up? Oh do we? I told you more than once to sell it ASAP and… oh surprise, surprise …. you didn’t. And now we’re going to make a massive loss.’ She stared round at the five startled faces. ‘So is anyone going to explain what happened? Or are you just going to stand there like a load of dummies?’ But before anyone could speak she sat down at her desk and waved them away irritably. ‘Actually I’d probably get on better with dummies than with you lot. Just go away and don’t mess anything else up while I try to sort it out.’

But that was easier said than done. Prices were still falling and none of her customers were rushing to buy. And all she could think about was that little boy waiting, God only knew where and in what conditions, for someone to come and rescue him.

Eventually she took a long breath and rang her boyfriend, Paul, at IP Oil. ‘I’m back in the office and I’ve got something for you.’

‘Is it champagne? Or fois gras?’

‘No, it’s oil.’

He laughed. ‘I guessed it might be. Where is it?’

‘Just clearing Suez.’

‘Oh dear. I’d love to help you out, darling, but …’

‘What about IP Oil affiliates?’ she asked. ‘France or Switzerland? I’d have thought they would lap it up.’

‘I don’t know what their schedules are like.’

‘Will you ask them? It’s a good deal, Paul.’

‘How good.’

‘Get them to give me a price.’

‘They don’t have much refinery capacity. You should have sent it to Japan, we could have used it there.’

‘It was already well on its way to Europe when we got it.’ He didn’t need to know all the details, it would put him in too strong a negotiating position.

‘Woops,’ he laughed. ‘Have you talked to Petroplus?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will I see you tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, I’ll ask around.’

Putting the phone down Ella got up and went along the passage to Claude Visconte’s office.

He looked up as she tapped on the door and waved her in. ‘Ella, how nice.’

‘I’ve got a very big bone to pick with you.’

Claude shrugged. ‘It’s your bone. You pick it with your traders.’

‘That wasn’t the bone I was talking about.’

‘I know, but it’s the one that is about to lose us a lot of money.’

‘For God’s sake, Claude. I wasn’t even here.’

‘You had a phone.’

‘Of course I had a phone, but I also had blasted Hugh Jardine breathing down my neck. And his wife. And his brother,’ she added grimly.

Claude stood up and pushed the door closed. ‘So what’s happening?’ he asked. ‘Is there any news?’

Ella opened her mouth then shut it again. ‘I don’t know. Even if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I’ve never been dropped in it so deep in all my life.’

‘He asked for you personally.’

‘You could have said I’d already left.’

‘I thought it was a chance for you to improve your position,’ Claude said. ‘He’ll be grateful.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And that might stand you in the good stead just now.’

‘He won’t be grateful. And I won’t be in the good stead as you put it. At least not for more than five minutes. I feel really desperately sorry for them, but he’s a bastard, Claude. He’d sell anyone down the river if he could get a buck for it.’

Claude laughed. ‘So it’s nice to be back, hein?’

‘Yes. It is.’

But even as she walked back to her desk she realised that it wasn’t quite true.

Yes, on one way she had been glad to get back to London. The atmosphere in the villa that morning had been seriously uncomfortable. Hugh and Nick had obviously had quite a set-to. It was probably understandable with all the strain, the not knowing, the endless waiting, But it had left Hugh tense and tetchy, Nick languid and silent, and Miriam caught in the middle, utterly distraught about the whole situation. She was clearly going through hell. Twice Ella had come across her in Nick’s arms as he purportedly tried to comfort her.

It occurred to Ella that she had never seen Miriam in Hugh’s arms. Never seen Hugh look at his wife with the warmth that lit his brother’s eyes in her company. Still, it wasn’t her call who hugged whom. Frankly she was glad she didn’t have to hug either of those bloody men. Despite their surface differences, as far as Ella was concerned, Nick and Hugh Jardine were both arrogant, American bastards.

She didn’t particularly take to Miriam’s mother either, who seemed even more of an air-head than Miriam, floating in on a wave of perfume, tears and duty free cigarettes. She couldn’t help thinking that a woman who batted her over-mascarad eyelashes at Hugh, even while she berated Miriam on her pallid appearance was going to be much help to any of them. So when Hugh said he’d asked Philippe to book her a seat on the two thirty flight she’d felt a sudden surge of relief.

And yet. She couldn’t help feeling a sense of pique that she could be dispensed with so easily. And for being cut out of the loop. It was true what she had said to Claude. She didn’t know the exact details of the ransom demand. Or the proposed exchange. She knew Hugh and Miriam trusted her, so she knew it must have been Nick who had advocated to keep her in the dark.

She had taxed him with it during the drive to the airport.

‘It’s not a question of trust,’ he said. ‘It’s not about you. They said tell nobody. And as far as I’m concerned, at this stage of negotiation, with the stakes this high, that means nobody.’

‘Negotiation?’ She blinked. ‘Are you telling me Hugh is negotiating?’ She knew that Hugh Jardine negotiated for everything. It was in his blood. But for the life of his son?

Nick hesitated. ‘Kidnappers never expect to receive the full amount,’ he said. ‘Ten million is one hell of a lot of money. I know you deal in millions every day but do you know what ten million euros actually looks like? In cash?’

‘No. Do you?’

‘No. But it’s not going to be easy to get hold of that amount of physical cash. Even for Hugh. The deal will go down much quicker if we can settle for less.’

She stared at him. She supposed he was right. But it seemed incredibly cold hearted to be trading the life of a child. ‘What about Amanda?’ she asked. ‘Is she included in the deal?’

‘Of course she is.’ Nick looked irritated now.

At last she had ruffled his composure, Ella thought with some satisfaction. At least she had finally managed that. She realised he was pulling in to the airport drop-off, he obviously wasn’t going to park and come in to wave her goodbye. ‘Oh well,’ she said as she got out. ‘Good luck with it. I hope it all works out. I hope George is OK.’

He got out and they shook hands. ‘Thanks,’ he said. He saw her scepticism. ‘No,’ he said with a smile. ‘I mean it. Really. Thanks.’

It was the first time he had smiled right at her and for the first time she had an inkling of what Miriam had once seen in him. It wasn’t the same kind of smile he bestowed on Miriam (thank goodness), but despite the hair and the clothes, the affected drawl and the irritating self assurance that verged on arrogance, she could see that deep down he might have a remote flicker of charm.

She took out a card. ‘Will you let me know what happens?’

‘Sure. I’ll call you as soon as we’ve got them back.’

The phone was ringing even now at her desk. Sprinting across the trading floor, she grabbed it hoping it was Paul.

‘Ella? You’re back.’ It wasn’t Paul’s voice. It was Robin Miller, the MD of PanGlobal, Hugh Jardine’s other oil company. PanGlobal specialised in what Ella considered to be the dull and dirty, upstream end of the business. The research, the seismic analysis, the drilling and production. But Robin Miller wasn’t dull. He was one of the nicest men in the business.

‘Hi Robin. I’m sorry about Monday,’ she said. ‘But I gather Hugh told you what happened.’

‘Yes,’ Robin said. ‘It’s a bad situation. Are there any developments?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t really know.’ Even though Robin was a friend of Hugh’s, ignorance seemed the safest line to take. The last thing she wanted was for Hugh to come down on her for spilling any beans.

‘Don’t worry.’ Robin said. ‘I suppose you can’t talk. I was just hoping we could rearrange the lunch. I’d like to get the joint venture sorted out. How are you fixed for Friday?’

‘I’m free.’

‘One o’clock at Patterson’s?’

‘Fine. I’ll see you there.’

She saw one of her junior traders trying to catch her attention across the room. ‘Paul Taylor from IP Oil is holding for you, Ella,’ he called across.

It was a good sign. Paul wasn’t generally a holder. ‘How did you manage that Graham?’

‘I told him you had three calls waiting but I’d slip him in first.’

‘Excellent. At least someone round here has a few brain cells.’ She lifted the receiver. ‘Paul?’

‘OK,’ his voice was brisk. ‘I may have found you a buyer.’

‘Good,’ she said lightly. ‘Who?’

‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to let you wriggle round me, Ella.’

She laughed. ‘How much will your customer pay?’

‘Brent minus nine max.’

‘You’re joking, I hope? It’s delivered don’t forget.’

‘I know exactly what it is, Ella. It’s a distressed cargo. It’s been knocking around the market for days.’

So not only had her traders failed to get a deal, they had screwed up the market for her too. They were all watching her now, blast them, hoping she could somehow get them out of this mess.

‘Where do they want it and when?’

‘Porto Marghera.’

‘Venice?’

‘Yes,’ Paul said drily. ‘The Venice refinery is called Porto Marghera.’

‘I know what it’s called, I was just checking.’

He chuckled. ‘Don’t get tetchy. I’m doing you a favour here.’

‘At Brent minus nine it would be me that’s doing you the favour,’ Ella said. She heard the collective sharp indrawn breath of her five listening traders. The oil had been bought for Brent plus three. ‘When do they want it?’

‘Monday.’

‘I’ll call you back, Paul.’

‘What? No, let’s do it now,’ he said. ‘You want to get it sold, Ella. This is your only chance.’

‘It may not be,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ll call you back.’

She put the phone down. Everyone was staring at her. ‘I know. It’s a risk. But I think I can push him up a bit. If they want it Monday they must have a gap in their schedule. Refineries don’t like gaps.’

‘But the market is still falling,’ the young trader, Graham, said. ‘They must know they could buy it tomorrow for less.’

‘I know,’ Ella said. ‘But it’s still got to get to Venice. As far as they know, by tomorrow it might be headed somewhere else. Call the shipping company, Graham, and check out Monday delivery to Venice. But don’t let them sting us for it.’

As Graham began to dial, Ella flicked quickly through the prices on her screens. Then she checked Reuters.

‘No problem with the ship,’ Graham murmured behind her a minute or two later.

‘Well done,’ she said. Then she called Paul back.

‘Hi, it’s me. Look, I do have some other interest. What’s your best price?’

‘How could you possibly have other interest? Who?’

‘Do you want it or not?’

‘Brent minus eight,’ he said.

‘Minus five,’ she replied. ‘Or it goes elsewhere. Graham’s got the other party on the other line.’ She winked at Graham who was actually standing by her desk. He gave her a nervous smile.

There was a long pause. She heard Paul consulting someone in the background. ‘I can’t go higher than minus seven.’

‘Not good enough. Never mind, I’ll see you later.’

‘OK. Minus five. But you’re bloody well buying dinner.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ she said. ‘Five hundred thousand barrels of Saudi Light, CIF Porto Marghera, Monday. Brent minus five dollars a barrel, today’s price. Title transfers tonight. Usual contract and demurrage clauses apply.’

As she put down the phone, the traders broke into applause. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But just for the record. A loss of eight dollars a barrel is no cause for celebration. And I’m not through with you all yet.’

‘But it could have been so much worse.’

‘It’s bad enough,’ she said grimly. Four million less dollars for the ransom, she thought. It put everything into perspective.

Chapter Eleven

There is a place on the Basse Corniche road between Monte Carlo and Cap d’Ail where the barrier between the road and the cliff is less than adequate. A glancing bump from a speeding car on the corner would be enough to crack it, although not enough perhaps to smash it completely. Not enough for significant danger. But perhaps that had already happened once or twice before. Perhaps there was some metal fatigue.

When Jenny Price drove her boss’s Audi Quattro towards that bend that afternoon she had no sense of danger. She was heading to La Bala beach for a swim. Even now she could see the sea glimmering tantalisingly below her. The Mediterranean was so warm just now after the soaring heat they’d had last month. It was more like bathing than swimming, but she was determined to a bit extra today with the aim of trying to get fit after a summer of lazy indulgence in the sun while the baby cooed gently under the oleander.

Some of her friends would be still be down on the beach with their little charges. If she managed twenty minutes solid swimming she would treat them all to an ice cream.

Jenny smiled to herself. The last three months had been great fun, it was a shame that it would all come to an end next week when everyone headed off home.

In fact it came to an end sooner than she expected.

She saw the car behind her in the mirror, a beat up Peugeot, some kind of boy racer, she thought, as he revved hard and hooted that he was going past.

She couldn’t believe it, not on a blind bend.

But, yes, that was his aim, and she was already shouting, ‘No, you fool, don’t do it,’ when he came up alongside her, and swerving round her, bumped hard into the front wing of the Audi.

She didn’t have a chance. Didn’t even have time to brake. Not that it would have done her any good. The barrier crumpled like paper the instant she hit it, and dropped away over the cliff, followed by her car.

Her last conscious thought was that it wasn’t a boy racer after all, it was a fair haired man and she had seen him somewhere before.

Chapter Twelve

They went to Ozu in County Hall because Ella had to work late and it was just over the river for her. The meal was good, the tempura didn’t leave grease marks on the paper napkins which was always a good sign in Ella’s opinion, and the view over the London Eye, Big Ben and the river were spectacular. Not that either of them were in the mood to notice the view. Paul was suspicious of her extended trip to France and Ella was irritated that he didn’t trust her sufficiently to accept her reticence.

Paul Taylor and Ella Crossley had been a very successful team for IP Oil. They were both clever traders, quick thinking and knowledgeable about oil. But where Paul had the ability to work the spread sheets and play the paper trading game, Ella’s particular skill lay in reading the market, sensing with some invisible antenna who needed to sell or to buy and providing them with what they needed at a price that they didn’t quite want to pay.

When she left IP Oil they had both felt the wrench. For Ella the new job was a significant challenge, and carried much more responsibility (and a lot more pay). Paul found solace in proving that he could be just as successful without her.

It was Paul’s reaction to her unfortunate fling with Claude Visconte that made Ella realise that, in Paul’s eyes at least, their friendship was not as platonic as she had thought.

Claude Visconte had had his eye on Ella from the moment she arrived at Energie Mondiale. For the first year or so she managed to resist the allure of his seductive accent and come-to-bed eyes. Others were not so strong, and one by one (sometimes even two by two) most of the pretty girls in the company and, indeed, in the oil industry fell into his bed. It was mainly the knowledge of this, and subsequent encounters with the same girls now weeping in the ladies loo, that kept Ella safe.

But, despite his reputation, she rather liked Claude. He was funny and clever and undeniably gorgeous and one evening when they were celebrating a particularly lucrative day, the inevitable happened.

Waking up in his bed in a smart, split level, Barbican apartment, Ella had laughed as Claude told her solemnly that he had fallen in love with her on the day she had joined the company. Knowing what she knew, how could she possibly believe him? Also knowing what she knew, she guessed her days would be numbered, so she made a policy decision to enjoy it while it lasted and then to get out with her heart intact. And it was easy to enjoy. Claude excelled in the business of love and particularly in lovemaking. It was exhausting but it was extraordinary.

When he discovered what was going on, Paul was appalled

‘Ella, how could you? He’s notorious.’

She had laughed, ‘I now know why!’

But Paul wasn’t at all amused. He was clearly quite upset. ‘Good God I had no idea you …’

‘I … what?’ Ella asked dangerously.

He had flushed. ‘I can’t believe you’d fall for that poser, that bloody, smooth talking Frog.’

‘I haven’t fallen for him. He’s fallen for me.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Paul smirked.

‘Yeah.’ Ella said. ‘Anyway, why shouldn’t I? He’s not married. He’s good fun. And,’ she added, ‘he is very good in bed.’

Paul had ignored that. ‘But you work with him,’ he said.

‘I actually work for him,’ Ella said. ‘I know, I know, I have always said I’d never go out with someone I worked with but …’

‘Isn’t it awkward?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Well, OK, maybe a bit.’

But in fact it was more than a bit awkward. And it soon become really difficult. Claude was too jealous. Despite being entirely promiscuous himself, he could hardly bear for her to talk to another man.

As she spent most of her working day talking to other male traders this was unfortunate. He was ridiculously possessive and got angry when she teased him about it.

It came to a head on evening when they went to the theatre and bumped into some of her old IP Oil friends in the lobby. One of them was Paul.

Claude immediately sensed Paul’s antagonism. He held himself in check until the end of the play but the row he and Ella had later was quick and violent.

He didn’t hit her, but he came unnervingly close and even as Ella stormed out of his flat and then stumbled around the Barbican trying to follow the stupid yellow lines that show you the way out, she knew she would have bruises on her wrists and arms.

Luckily it was a Friday and she had the weekend to recover.

‘But I love you,’ Claude said when he called her the following morning.

‘Well that was entirely the wrong way to show it,’ she said with icy fury. ‘It’s over, Claude. Completely.’

And somehow the following week Paul stepped into the gap. ‘I didn’t realise what I felt for you until I saw you with him,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d always held back because we worked together, but now …?’

He was calm and steady. He was nice looking and clever. He wasn’t going to set the world alight for her but he wasn’t going to knock her about either. He was Paul. They had always got on so well. So why not?

‘You shafted me this afternoon, didn’t you?’ Paul said suddenly as he spooned out the chicken teriyaki.

‘No,’ Ella lied. ‘They’re getting a good deal. Who was it? Switerland?’

‘No,’ he said smugly. ‘Agip.’

So he’d made hard money on the trade. That peeved her, but she shrugged. ‘At least it’s off my hands.’

‘Your team really messed up,’ Paul said.

‘It was my fault,’ Ella said. ‘They’re only young. And my finger wasn’t exactly on the pulse.’

‘Ah yes. Of course,’ Paul said easily. ‘And who’s pulse was it on?’

That was the problem. Since the Claude episode Paul was secretly convinced she was the kind of floozy who would hop into bed with anyone at the drop of a hat. For a second she felt a flash of real anger, but then she thought of putting her finger on the pulse of either Nick or Hugh Jardine and she couldn’t help laughing.

‘My God. What a thought.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘One day I promise I’ll tell you what the last few days were like for me in Monaco. I can’t tell you now but I promise you I will, and you’ll laugh too. At least I hope you will,’ she added, as she realised it was actually quite possible that nobody would be laughing if the ransom demand wasn’t properly met. Or if George and Amanda were never seen again.

She remembered the discrepancy in the statistic about the success of professional versus family-organised kidnap negotiations and felt a sudden shiver of anxiety. Were a ruthless, maddened entrepreneur and a drugged-up, injured hippy (OK she now understood the drugs were painkillers, but she still couldn’t think of Nick Jardine as anything but a hippy) really the right people to be negotiating for poor little George’s life? And Amanda’s. Poor girl. She was always an afterthought.

‘What is it, Ella?’ Paul was staring at her in concern. ‘You look like someone’s just walked over your grave.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘You’re never tired.’

Normally that was true. A kind of relentless adrenalin kept her going. Like a lot of traders she wasn’t good at switching off. And in fact she wasn’t really tired now. Although the last few days were definitely catching up on her. She felt even more edgy now than she had done in France. And cross. And anxious. She didn’t feel she could ring the villa, but why the hell hadn’t she asked Nick for his mobile number? Because she had been waiting for him to give it to her, that’s why. And he hadn’t. ‘I’ll call you when they are home safe,’ he’d said. Great. But she had no way of knowing when that was going to be.

‘I haven’t been home yet,’ she said. ‘I’ve been wearing more or less the same clothes since last Friday.’

‘Are you saying you don’t want me to come back?’

He was trying to be reasonable, trying to be cool. ‘Come if you like,’ she said. ‘But I really don’t want a late night.’

He did come home with her but it wasn’t a great success. Ella was even more strung up that she had realised. She couldn’t relax and she couldn’t tell him why. She knew she seemed unreasonable. But she had given her word to Hugh Jardine. And now her loyalty was being well and truly tested.

Chapter Thirteen

Nick Jardine stood by the pool looking out to sea. His left shoulder ached like hell. But he had decided not to take Dr Xian’s painkillers today. They made him dopey and sluggish and he couldn’t afford to be sluggish just now. Behind him his brother was pacing up and down the terrace. Miriam was upstairs in bed, drugged and weepy and utterly beautiful. Her mother was chain smoking on the balcony outside her bedroom. He could hear the occasional scrape of her chair on the tiles.

Maybe they should have kept that Ella girl here after all. She was a pain in the arse but she was smart. And she was rational. But then it was easy to be rational if you weren’t really involved. Anyway, maybe she wasn’t rational. Maybe she was just cold.

Nick became conscious of bees buzzing in the bougainvillea. Some birds, bee-eaters possibly, flashed over head. For once he barely noticed them.

He and Hugh had covered the angles as far as they could. But they had little room for manoeuvre. It was a one sided deal. The kidnapper had all the aces. OK, he presumably wanted the money, a mere six million Euros now, but nowhere near as much as Hugh wanted his son back. Apparently the hostages would be released somewhere in Monaco. Nick didn’t like it. There was no guarantee.

But they had no choice. If they wanted George and the nanny back they had to trust the kidnapper. Trust him. Someone who had stolen a child and a young woman. How could you trust someone like that? Yes, they had proof of life. At least they’d had the wit to ask for that. But only proof of life as of yesterday. Two tiny images on Hugh’s cell phone showing first George then Amanda holding a dated print out of The Monaco Times. It used to be a real newspaper that hostages held up, Nick thought. Now it was just a print out. How times had changed. And now the moment was approaching. Hugh’s bank had just called to say the security van was on its way. All they had to do was offload the money into the car and wait for instructions. All.

My God, Nick thought.

Robin Miller called Ella early on Friday to cancel their lunch.

‘I’m sorry, Ella, there’s a problem. I’ve got a major PR disaster looming. Bloody Greenpeace are interfering with our drilling vessel in the Irish Sea.’

‘I didn’t know things were so far ahead,’ Ella said, switching to her Reuters news screen. ‘You’re drilling already?’

‘Only a test well. And between you and me we’re not particularly hopeful. The previous well didn’t come up any good. But as we’ve got the drill ship on hire Hugh thinks it’s worth one more try. But it won’t be if Greenpeace bugger it up for us. I can understand their concerns, but it’s so incredibly expensive if we have to delay or reschedule.’ And they both knew that Hugh really didn’t want to be wasting any money at the moment. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain Ella had a figure of about $2.5 million to drill an offshore well.

Reuters didn’t have anything about it, but the BBC were on to it. News 24 was showing a map with the position of the Greenpeace boat’s encounter with the drill ship marked just off the West coast of Wales.

As some hazy footage came up of three oilskin clad protesters bobbing about in an orange dingy under the bows of a much larger ship, Ella thought back to the lecture on Sunday. ‘I didn’t even realise the government had released any exploration blocks in the Irish Sea,’ she said. ‘I thought it was meant to be too environmentally sensitive.’

Robin laughed. ‘They’re desperate, Ella. The combination of the Middle East crisis and this Peak Oil business has got them panicked. I think they’d license the land under Buckingham Palace if they thought there was a sniff of hydrocarbon there. Anyway I’m sorry about lunch. We’ll reorganise it for next week?’

‘Oh, Robin, before you go, any news from Hugh?’

‘I haven’t spoken to him since Wednesday,’ he said. ‘You’ve had no news?’

‘No.’

‘Poor things,’ Robin said. ‘They must be going through hell.’

By Friday evening Ella really was tired. It had been one hell of a week. The sudden drop in oil price had had the markets in turmoil. Everyone was rushing to close long positions and Ella was glad she’d sealed off the Saudi Light when she had.

But there was money to be made on a falling market if you were able to sell short and hold your nerve for a few hours. It wasn’t something Ella liked doing, but a couple of times on Friday afternoon she saw her chance. But it meant she would have to work late into the evening, waiting for the West Coast traders to come into the market so she could secure suitable oil to cover her positions. It was risky. But she needed to make up some losses and this was the only way she could see to do it.

Ever since the credit crunch and subsequent recession, bad economic news tended to send the futures and spot prices into free fall on the fear of another drop in demand. But different bad news, relating to the Middle East or natural disasters, could also send prices skyrocketing. Ella believed that worldwide demand would soon exceed supply, so, in the long term, prices would inevitably go up. Oil was the world's most heavily traded and most essential commodity. The price was not only sensitive to supply and demand, but to how traders reckon the world will look tomorrow, next week, one month, six months, or even years in the future. But it was always hard to judge which way prices would go day to day. Which way traders would jump. It was always a game of risk and reward. But playing a falling market was particularly nerve wracking.

By the time she met Paul for a drink in Covent Garden, she was shattered. But she was pleased that she had been able to squeeze some money out of the market. At least she had started to recoup some of what had been lost earlier in the week.

It was as she and Paul made their way down to the Savoy for a late dinner that Ella’s phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number but she recognised the voice all right and she was conscious that her hands suddenly felt clammy.

‘Ella, it’s Nick. Can you talk?’

‘Wait,’ she made a sign to Paul and stepped quickly into a shop doorway. A police car blared up the Strand behind her.

‘Is it done?’ she asked. ‘Are they safe?’ But even as she asked the questions she knew something had gone wrong.

‘They didn’t take the money,’ he said. ‘Nothing happened. Hugh jumped through all the hoops, cell phones in car trunks and God knows what. Then he put the cash exactly where they said and came home. Then they called to say he’d broken his word and the deal was off.’

‘What word? How?’

‘About not letting anyone know, I guess.’

‘But who? Who could they possibly know about?’

‘I don’t know.’ He hesitated. ‘You? Me? The nannies maybe? Who knows. The guy rang off before Hugh could ask what he meant. They didn’t collect the money. I’ve just been up to fetch it.’ Nick sounded defeated. Ella found it in her heart to feel sorry for him. And particularly for Miriam.

‘So what happens now?’ she asked. ‘The police?’

‘I don’t know. It’s up to Hugh. My guess is that the bastard will call back. I can’t believe he’ll let all that cash go. My God, Hugh bust a gut getting it together so quickly. Why the hell didn’t the guy just take it and do the deal?’

Ella thought about it. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to do the deal,’ she said suddenly. ‘Maybe you got it together too quickly for him. Maybe there’s something else.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I don’t know,’ she paused again as another siren went past. ‘It’s just stuff that’s happening over here. Greenpeace have stopped PanGlobal drilling in the Irish Sea today. That’s one of Hugh’s companies. I just wondered if there could be any connection.’

‘You think Greenpeace kidnapped George?’ Nick’s voice was incredulous.

‘Their boat was in the harbour at Monte Carlo that day,’ Ella retorted defensively.

‘Which boat?’

‘How the hell do I know which boat?’ she snapped. ‘One with a bloody great rainbow stripe across it. It left on Sunday afternoon. I saw it go.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘But not impossible.’

‘It’s completely impossible,’ he said.

She had to admit it did sound unlikely, but there was no need for him to dismiss her idea out of hand. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ she said.

‘Well, try and help in some more sensible way, then,’ he retorted.

Ella gritted her teeth. ‘I just thought if it was environmentalists involved, they might be putting some other pressure on Hugh,’ she said. ‘Other than the money? Maybe there’s something he’s not telling us. Not telling you?’

There was a pause. ‘I’ll ask him,’ Nick said and rang off.

Ella snapped the phone off and put it back in her bag. She was pretty certain that Nick Jardine was some kind of environmentalist himself. He had the jizz of it.

He was probably a vegetarian as well, she thought scathingly, as she ordered a succulent rack of lamb at the Savoy a few minutes later. She thought back to those interminable but delicious meals at the villa and realised they nearly always consisted of fish or shell fish, even lobster once. Jean-Luc had surpassed himself with that pan fried lobster, but she was pretty certain Hugh and Miriam had barely tasted it. She certainly couldn’t remember being served any red meat. But that might have been Miriam’s choice, or even part of Hugh’s fitness regimen.

Lifting her glass she took a good slug of the 2006 Barolo Paul had chosen. It irritated her that she was even thinking about Nick Jardine. She was meant to be having a romantic dinner with her boyfriend. For all she knew or cared blasted Nick Jardine could be tucking into a 12oz rib eye even now. But she doubted it.

Chapter Fourteen

Ella lived in Clapham. At least that’s where her flat was. She couldn’t really say she lived there precisely. If she was lucky she spent three nights there a week. It was a spacious, open plan apartment on the first floor of a Victorian house in Lynette Avenue just over the road from Clapham Common South tube station. She had bought it from a trendy architect three years before. Fashionably minimal, all chrome and white concrete he had sold it to her with fittings and furniture (such as they were) and it remained almost exactly the same now.

An Italian woman called Gabriella came and cleaned it three mornings a week. Or so she claimed. Ella couldn’t imagine how she spent the time. She often wondered why she needed a cleaner, because she never made a mess. She didn’t have time to. She never ate there. Or hardly ever. She certainly never cooked. She picked up a coffee and a chocolate croissant on the way to work, and most evenings she ate out or at friends, or, in an emergency, she got a take away from the Bombay Bicycle Club on the way home. Yet on the rare occasions when she actually met Gabriella, she invariably found herself agreeing to more time or more sophisticated cleaning equipment. Recently she had authorised the purchase of a new vacuum cleaner that cost £600 and was guaranteed to pick up even the smallest and most invisible dog or cat mite. Not that she had either a dog or a cat. Nor did any of her friends.

She did occasionally fantasise about getting a whippet though. Her parents had had one when she was a child and she remembered loving its spindly neatness. The way it curled up on (or sometimes in) her bed. But there was no way she could even consider a dog with her current job and she would never dare suggest one to Gabriella anyway. Despite the new vacuum cleaner.

Now as she let herself into the flat after a long, boozy Sunday lunch with some friends at a restaurant overlooking the river in Kew she wondered if she had time to have a bath before heading out again to meet Paul at the Chelsea Cinema in the Kings Road.

It wasn’t a film she particularly wanted to see, but things had definitely been sticky with Paul since she got back from Monaco so she had felt obliged to agree, even though she would have preferred an early night prior to the week ahead. Having the kidnap secretly niggling away at the back of her mind was extraordinarily wearing. And if it was bad for her it must be a hundred times worse for the Jardines.

She had just stripped off and was about to step into the bath, when her phone rang.

Expecting it to be Paul ringing to confirm the time, she was surprised to hear Nick Jardine’s voice. She felt herself tense in expectation.

‘Hi Nick, any news?’

‘No. Nothing good anyway,’ he said shortly. His voice sounded strained, not at all his usual lazy drawl. ‘I’ve just got into London. Are you free for a coffee?’

Coffee? At this time of day? ‘No,’ she said, pulling a towel round her. ‘I’m just about to go out. Where are you?’ And what on earth was he doing in London?

‘Victoria … I think. Where are you?’

‘Clapham South. Nick, are you OK? You sound really strange?’

‘I’m fine.’

He clearly wasn’t fine. Ella glanced at the two enormous stainless steel clock hands on the wall behind her ultra trendy suspended fireplace. It was awfully hard to tell the time from them but as they seemed to be almost vertical she guessed it was about six.

‘OK, Look, if you’re only in Victoria why don’t you come down here for a quick drink. I don’t have to leave until seven.’ She gave him her address and then leapt into the bath, the last thing in the world she wanted was to be caught déshabillée by Nick Jardine.

She needn’t have worried. He probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway. He arrived twenty minutes later, came up the stairs into her flat, looked around and said, ‘Hi, I thought …’ and then passed out cold on the floor.

It wasn’t graceful precisely, but it wasn’t a crash, it was more like a smooth, folding descent and, as he lay sprawled on her polished concrete floor, for an awful moment, Ella thought he was dead.

A pulse, she thought. Check his pulse. She remembered his left arm was injured so she took his right wrist. His hand was surprisingly heavy and cold. But there was a faint slow pulse. She was just about to stand up again to call 999, when he opened his eyes.

‘What happened?’

‘You passed out. No, don’t move,’ she added quickly. I’m going to call an ambulance.’

‘No, wait,’ he said weakly. He levered himself up slightly and groped in his pocket. To her surprise he produced a mobile phone and tried to hand it to her. ‘There’s a cell phone number in there for a Dr Xian. X I A N. Call him first.’

‘Who the hell is Dr Xian?’

‘A doctor.’

Reluctantly she took the phone and scrolled through the contacts. She pressed the dial key. ‘Where is this guy?’ she asked as she waited what seemed an unusually long time for the call to dial through.

‘Singapore.’

‘Singapore …?’ Ella gaped at him. What on earth time of day it would be in Singapore? GMT + 8, she thought. It must be one thirty in the morning there. But before she could disconnect, someone answered.

‘Hi. Is that Dr Xian? My name is Ella Crossley. This is going to sound really strange but I’m with someone called Nick Jardine and he’s asked me to ring you.’

‘Ah yes, I see,’ Dr Xian responded eagerly, clearly delighted to be called in the middle of his night. ‘How can I help?’

‘Well, he’s clearly not well,’ she said. ‘He just arrived at my flat and passed out on the floor.’

‘He is still unconscious?’

‘No, he has come round now, just about, but he’s very weak.’

‘Is the wound bleeding?’

Ella glanced at Nick’s arm. There was no stain on the cheese cloth sleeve. Why the hell hadn’t he bought himself some new clothes? She knelt beside him and pushed his sleeve back. Tentatively she peeled off the dressing. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Is there swelling?’

‘No. It looks good.’ Actually it looked amazingly good considering it was apparently only a week or so since he’d been shot. She wondered vaguely why she couldn’t see any stitches, but Dr Xian was talking again.

‘How is the pulse?’

‘It’s weak,’ she said. ‘And slow.’

‘Where is Mr Jardine now?’

Ella rocked back on her heels and looked at her guest. ‘Still on the floor of my flat,’ she said. ‘In Clapham.’

‘Clapham? Where is this?’

Ella blinked. ‘It’s in London.’

Nick gave her a weak smile then closed his eyes again.

‘London?’ Dr Xian sounded astonished. ‘England?’

‘Yes,’ what on earth other London was there, Ella wondered.

‘He flew to London from Singapore today?’

‘No. He flew to France earlier in the week, then to London today.’ Suddenly Ella remembered how weird he had been when he first arrived in the villa. ‘But he looked pretty ill when he arrived in France too.’

‘Ah,’ Dr Xian said gleefully. ‘Stress reaction to pressure.’

‘Stress?’ Ella said doubtfully. Somehow Nick Jardine didn’t seem like a person who would react badly to stress. He was so laid back he probably wouldn’t even notice it.

‘No, no. Reduction in the partial pressure of alveolar oxygen.’

‘What?’

‘Modern aircraft are not pressurised to sea level,’ Dr Xian explained. ‘Cabin altitude equivalent is between 5000 and 8000 feet. Thus reduction in barometric pressure. Low oxygen saturation.’

Ella blinked. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said.

‘In healthy man no problem, but after losing so much blood, may be a problem. I told him to rest. But now it seem he fly.’

‘So what do I do about him? Should I take him to hospital?’ At the word Nick’s eyes opened again and he shook his head urgently. Ella glared at him.

‘No, no,’ Dr Xian said. ‘Only low blood pressure and blood sugar. He must rest. For two week. No more aeroplanes. No walking. No activity at all,’ he said very meaningfully and despite herself Ella giggled. Nick’s eyes opened again and she turned away.

‘Give him plenty food,’ Dr Xian said. ‘And sugary drink. Then let him sleep.’

‘That’s it?’ Ella said. ‘That’s all I have to do?’

‘Yes, yes.’ Dr Xian said. ‘He was right to tell you to call me,’ he said. ‘Otherwise he go in dirty British hospital, many tests, very bad medicine. In Singapore very good. State of the art.’

Ella bit her lip. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘And thank you.’

‘No problem,’ Dr Xian said happily. ‘Give my good wishes to Mr Jardine. Is strong fit man, fine body. Will improve quickly. No problem. But must rest. You tell him no activity.’

Ella clicked off the phone and burst out laughing.

‘What?’ Nick looked aggrieved. ‘What did he say?’

‘It’s something to do with losing blood then flying too soon,’ she said. ‘Oxygen pressure or something. You have to eat and rest. And no activity.’

‘No activity?’ he looked surprised.

‘No activity at all,’ Ella said severely. ‘Not for a week. He was very clear about that.’

To her surprise, he grinned. ‘Aw, shucks,’ he said.

So she had to ring Paul, and heard herself making an excuse of extreme tiredness rather than admitting that a long haired hippy with a gunshot wound had just collapsed in her apartment. Nick raised his eyebrows slightly when she rang off.

‘Boyfriend?’

‘It’s been a bad week,’ she said. ‘It’s hard not being able to tell him anything.’

Nick frowned. ‘I’m sorry Ella. I’ve messed up your plans. If I just have something to eat I’ll be fine and I’ll leave you to it.’

‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to rest. He really meant it, you know. You’re going to have to stay here for a day or two.’

What am I saying, she thought. I don’t want Nick Jardine staying here.

But stay he did. And the following morning it felt very odd to be going to work leaving him fast asleep in her spare room.

She had ordered in a curry and forced him to eat it with a Coca Cola. It did seem to revive him somewhat, but he was clearly very weak. But even in a state of near collapse he still managed to get on her nerves.

‘Hugh denied any pressure from environmentalists,’ he said tucking into an onion bhaji. She had been right, of course, he was a vegetarian, although apparently he would eat fish in an emergency.

‘Well he’s lying then, because he’s always under pressure from environmentalists.’

‘And quite right too,’ Nick said.

‘So you are an environmentalist?’

‘I’m interested in protecting our planet,’ he said mildly.

‘And you think the oil industry is interested in wrecking it?’

‘Oil companies are greedy for oil.’

‘The world is greedy for oil.’ Ella retorted. ‘It’s governments who license exploration.’

‘And accidents do happen. People don’t like oil spills, pollution, damage to ecosystems and wildlife. Nor will they like the long term effects of climate change.’

‘They only really care if it affects them. Or their own area,’ Ella said. ‘I don’t know what they call it in the States but here it’s called Nimbyism. Not In My Back Yard ism.’

‘I know what it’s called,’ Nick picked up his glass and gently swirled the Coke around in it as though it was a fine wine. ‘But I don’t think that’s true actually. In my experience most environmentalists care worldwide. It’s just that it’s easier to protest about something if it’s local and specific. Either way you can’t blame people for trying to protect their own area.’

‘I don’t blame them, I just wish they were more realistic about it.’

‘The realistic thing is to develop alternative forms of energy.’ Nick said. ‘And to reduce our dependency on fossil fuels.’

‘But until then …’

‘Until then the world needs protecting.’

‘So kidnapping an oil exec’s child is OK?’

‘Of course it’s not,’ he said. ‘Why are you so fixated on it being environmentalists?’

Fixated? Ella had nearly blown a gasket at that point. She pointed out to him again the coincidence of a Greenpeace vessel being in Monte Carlo at the time of the kidnap and then in Cardigan Bay just as one of Hugh’s companies started to drill.

‘It was a different ship,’ Nick said. ‘I checked.’

‘How did you check?’

‘I called Greenpeace and asked.’

It was so annoyingly simple. Why the hell hadn’t she called Greenpeace and asked? Instead she had spent ages that morning working out how long it would take a ship from Monte Carlo to reach the Welsh coast. The answer she had come up with the help of Google was 80 hours cruising at 10 knots without stopping. As that was probably impossible, since any ship would presumably have to refuel. And as she had no idea how fast the Greenpeace ship would go anyway, it had been a completely pointless exercise. At least she had the sense not to mention her calculation to Nick Jardine. Nor did she mention the fact that just because it was a different Greenpeace ship at the drill site, it didn’t rule out the possibility of George and Amanda being held captive on the original Monte Carlo one.

Now sitting at her office desk eating a brie and cranberry ciabatta she found herself thinking again about the failed ransom handover. As Nick had suspected, the kidnappers had indeed contacted Hugh again, but not until Saturday morning when they had proposed a new handover date for the coming week. They had reiterated the demand for silence and again Hugh had agreed. But there was something about that which had niggled Ella and now she suddenly realised what it was.

It occurred to her that Hugh could quite justifiably have gone to the police or some specialist kidnap expert immediately, as soon as the first handover failed. In some ways it would have been the logical reaction. Even though the kidnappers hadn’t taken the money. He hadn’t, but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that the kidnappers clearly hadn’t been that that bothered or they would have re-demanded the vow of silence immediately when the exchange failed.

Either they had been confident for some reason that Hugh wouldn’t talk. Or they had been confident that nobody would find the hostages anyway, they were too far away perhaps, too well hidden and the trail was cold. Or, she thought grimly, they were already dead.

She picked up the phone, then changed her mind and took out her mobile instead. It wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted anyone to overhear. Hugh should insist on another proof of life, she texted to Nick, before he agrees to anything.

A few minutes later a text came back. I’m on it. + don’t worry about shopping 4 food 4 2nite, I have it all fixed up.

As she had no intention of shopping for food, this irritated her too. She lived in South London for goodness sake, not the Outer Hebrides. There were hundreds of excellent takeaways and gourmet delivery services all in business precisely so people like her didn’t have to cook.

Clicking onto Google she put in Cardigan Bay oil exploration and immediately the screen was flooded with information about oil protests.

Successful Greenpeace action against drilling supported by hundreds of local vessels.

A spokesperson from Save Our Seas who organised the action said it was a demonstration of the power of power feeling against the ruin of the Welsh Coastline.

Protesters marched in London last weekend against government plans to license more areas for oil and gas exploration off the Welsh Coast. A petition was handed in to the Department of Trade and Industry.

Managing Director of PanGlobal insists all safeguards have been taken. ‘The government’s own strategic environmental impact assessment has been up for public scrutiny for months,’ said Robin Miller, speaking on the BBC’s Today programme. ‘Friday’s action only represents a delay and an additional cost. Drilling will now take place later this week.’

‘Busy?’ A voice drawled behind her.

Swinging round, she found Claude Visconte looking over her shoulder. ‘I didn’t think you were interested in exploration,’ he said.

‘I was meant to meet Robin for lunch on Friday,’ Ella said. ‘And he cancelled because of this.’ She waved a hand at her screen. ‘I was just looking to see what it was all about.’

Claude shrugged. ‘What I heard, the first PanGlobal well was dry anyway. I think everyone is wasting their time, hein?’

‘And their money,’ Ella said. ‘There must be better options elsewhere. Papua New Guinea? Algeria? The Falklands? Why are they banging their heads against a brick wall in Wales?’ Surely just now Hugh Jardine would be wanting to save money not waste it.

‘It’s on the doorstep,’ Claude said. He opened his hands in a mocking, gallic gesture. ‘It’s British. Think how happy everyone would be to find a new Brent Blend in Wales.’

‘Except the people who live there.’

‘There’d be new jobs,’ Claude said. ‘Prosperité. Look at Aberdeen.’

‘I don’t think Welsh environmentalists want jobs,’ Ella said. ‘They’re more keen on boiling leeks on bio-fuel stoves and collecting seaweed from our unpolluted shores.’

Claude laughed and she wondered what he’d say if she told him she had one such rabid environmentalist even now fixing up dinner in her flat, even though there wasn’t a speck of food in the place and he wasn’t meant to walk. She hadn’t told Paul about her unexpected visitor yet either. That still had to be done. If he found out on his own somehow, he would jump to a much worse conclusion.

She rang him later on the pretext of asking if he knew why there had initially been such high hopes for oil discovery in the Irish Sea. Paul was good on that kind of thing. He had done a geology degree at Imperial and had good links with the IP Oil R&D people in Holland. He’d worked there in some desperately dull capacity before he’d become a trader.

‘The first seismic reports must have been positive,’ Paul said in answer to her question. ‘Good evidence of hydrocarbons in the strata.’

‘But they haven’t found anything? Why not?’

‘Lots of reasons,’ he said. ‘Poor mapping. Poor interpretation. I don’t know who did the original surveys. Or how recently. They can do 4D now. There’s also new technology called intelligent drilling. IP Oil’s not involved in the Irish Sea as far as I know. But I can ask around if you like?’

Ella couldn’t imagine what 4D could possibly be. 3D was as much as she could get her head round. ‘Would you? Thanks. Oh, and I’ve got a weird thing this evening. Hugh Jardine’s brother is staying at the flat.’

‘What do you mean Hugh Jardine’s brother?’

‘Hugh Jardine, my boss. It’s his brother.’

‘Yes, I got that, but why is he staying with you?’

It was a good question. But Ella had already prepared an answer. ‘I met him in France. He’s a bit odd. Some kind of hippy conservationalist. Anyway he’s fallen out with Hugh about the oil business and the drilling in Wales and everything and asked if he could doss at mine for a day or two.’

‘Doss?’

‘Yeah, that’s the kind of language he uses. You know, hey man, be cool, and all that.’

‘So he’s not your type?’

Ella chortled gaily. ‘He’s about as far from my type as it’s possible to be. I’d actually quite like you to meet him,’ she lied.

‘Spare me.’

Yes, she thought. I will definitely spare you if I can.

Chapter Fifteen

Ella could smell Nick’s ‘dinner’ even as she came up the stairs. And she had to admit it smelt delicious. Her mouth was already watering as she opened the door of the flat.

Nick was stretched out on her sofa reading an Alison Lurie novel. There were newspapers all over the floor beside him, several old coffee cups and an open packet of chocolate bourbons. The integral Bose was playing Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run from its hidden speakers. How stereotypical American could you get, she thought. She had forgotten she even had that CD.

Adding to the strange sensation of her flat looking lived in for once, in fact considerably too lived in for her taste, the concrete table was laid up neatly for two and a bottle of red wine was open and waiting.

But the biggest surprise was that Nick was wearing new clothes. A grey navy sweatshirt and blue jeans. He still looked pale but at least he looked clean. Even his hair looked a bit more under control. She wondered if he had trimmed it and hoped she wouldn’t find clumps of it blocking the sink of the spare bathroom after he had gone.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hi,’ she replied. She nodded towards the kitchen, ‘You’ve been busy. You weren’t meant to go shopping. You were meant to rest.’

He looked smug. ‘Smells good, huh? I haven’t been shopping. It was this real nice Italian lady who came by this morning.’

‘Italian lady? My cleaner?’ Good God, she’d completely forgotten about Gabriella. What on earth had Gabriella thought when she stumbled in on Nick?

‘She’s the cleaner?’ He looked surprised. ‘Is that right? Well she didn’t do much cleaning, but she has sure as hell cooked us a great dinner.’

‘And … she bought you new clothes?’

‘She did. From some place called Primarko in Tooting. She dropped them off this afternoon with the food. Good, huh?’ He glanced up at her innocently, ‘I thought of asking you, but I didn’t want stuff from Joseph or Gucci. I wanted cheap and practical.’

‘And probably made in third world sweat shops,’ she retorted, swinging her Coach bag off her shoulder and shrugging off her Louis Vuitton jacket.

She noticed the Jesus sandals parked by the kitchen door. ‘She didn’t get you any shoes?’

‘No, I’m kind of fussy about my shoes.

‘Clearly.’

Gabriella had created a succulent ricotta and spinach cannelloni with a lambs lettuce and sugar snap pea salad sprinkled with garlic croutons. To follow she had provided a fresh fruit salad alongside the most delicious zuccotto.

‘I had no idea she could cook,’ Ella said. ’I don’t know how you persuaded her to do all this, but it is good.’

‘She’s Italian. Italian women love to cook.’

‘And to shop?’

His lips curved slightly. ‘I guess she felt sorry for me.’

Ella looked at him for a moment then back at her food. There was no doubt that, when he tried, (and only when he tried,) Nick Jardine could be mildly appealing. She could now just about see how a woman like Miriam, or indeed Gabriella by the sound of it, might even fall for that weird, lazy kind of charm.

‘I’ve been thinking about the ransom thing,’ she said abruptly. ‘Why do you think they didn’t take the money?

If the question surprised him he didn’t show it, but he gave it some thought before answering. ‘They might have thought we had it tagged?’

‘Oh.’ Ella hadn’t thought of that. But it was a possibility, she had see it in films, when tiny locators were somehow attached to the actual notes. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But what exactly happened that day? What did Hugh have to do? Were all the instructions by phone or would there have had to be one of the kidnappers actually there on the ground?’

Nick rubbed his shoulder thoughtfully. ‘The instructions came by phone,’ he said. ‘Hugh had to pick up a cell phone that had been left in a bag behind a wall. Then he had to call three different numbers at certain points and they told him where to go. I guess it could all have been set up a few days beforehand. Why?’

‘I don’t think they ever intended to collect the money,’ Ella said. ‘Because I don’t think they had any intention of making the exchange. There probably wasn’t even anyone there to collect it.’

Nick looked at her. ‘You think they’ve left the area? Completely?’

Ella looked away. They both knew what that might mean. ‘I’ve been wondering why they didn’t tell Hugh straight away, as soon as the exchange failed, not to call the police or a professional negotiator,’ Ella said. ‘Did they just forget, or didn’t they care because they knew their trail was cold like you once said? They could have gone anywhere in France. Or even over the border into Italy. Or Spain.’

Nick took a slow breath. ‘We need to know more about that man in the car,’ he said. ‘We need to talk to the girl that saw them leave. At very least she can tell us what Amanda said on the phone. We can’t pussy-foot around any longer.’

‘We daren’t,’ Ella said. ‘What if she goes to the press? Or the police.’

‘We’d have to swear her to silence somehow,’ he said grimly. ‘But how the hell do we find her?’

Ella hesitated. She didn’t know what had gone on in Monaco to cause Nick to leave so abruptly. She fingered her spoon. ‘Is it possible that Miriam might know who she was? Amanda must have talked about the other girls and the families they worked for?’

There was a long pause. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll call Miriam tomorrow.’

Ella cleared the plates and put on some coffee. When she came back into the room he was still sitting there, in a kind of dream.

Ella sat down on the sofa and looked at him. ‘So what is it with you and Miriam?’ she asked.

He looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She told me you’d once been an item. Is it still going on?’

‘No,’ he spoke with heavy emphasis. ‘It’s not still going on. You may not have noticed but she’s married to my brother.’

‘Right,’ Ella said. ‘But … you still seem pretty keen on her. And she seems pretty keen on you. Even though she ran off with your brother.’

She saw something flicker in his eyes but he clearly wasn’t going to allow himself to be goaded. ‘It wasn’t like that. I was only a student. I wasn’t there. He had everything to offer her. He still does.’

‘So she wouldn’t leave him? If you asked …’

He shook his head. ‘I would never ask. She and Hugh …’ he caught her sceptical look. ‘OK, but now she has George too.’ He stopped abruptly.

Right now, they both realised, George was exactly what Miriam didn’t have.

As Ella looked at him, a shocking thought crept into her head. Could anyone love someone that much? She certainly couldn’t imagine it. But how handy it would theoretically be for Nick Jardine if George disappeared and he, somehow, found himself in possession of 6 million Euros. Perfectly situated to comfort his bereaved former girlfriend.

At that moment Nick’s mobile started to vibrate. He checked the number, eased himself out of the bench seat and went into the spare bedroom.

‘When he came back out he looked different. Focussed again. ‘Hugh just got another proof of life.’

‘For both of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank God.’

‘They used the Monaco Times again for the date,’ Nick said slowly. ‘So they must still be somewhere nearby …’

‘Or they’re trying to make it look as though they are,’ Ella said. She leaned over to the table and flipped open her laptop. She googled Monaco Times. The dated home page came up immediately. They looked at each other.

‘They could be holding them anywhere,’ she said. ‘Bloody anywhere. Even on a ship. Just so long as they have access to a computer and a printer.’

Chapter Sixteen

There was a lot of activity in the market the following day and trading was brisk. Prices seemed to have stabilised and new buyers were coming into the market in the hopes of securing a cheap deal before they rose again.

Ella would normally have loved a day like this, there was nothing she liked more than a lively market with plenty of quick business to be done. But for once her mind wasn’t on the job. She didn’t know whether Nick Jardine had read her mind last night when she suddenly cast him as the villain of the piece, or whether he was just feeling ill, or thinking about Miriam, but the evening hadn’t ended well. Having shown her a glimpse of his more charming side over dinner, he had suddenly become preoccupied and distant again. In desperation she had turned on the in-built plasma TV and they had sat and watched the BBC news together like some dull old couple who’d been married for years.

When she told him that she was going to spend Tuesday night at Paul’s, he didn’t even raise an eyebrow. He just said that as he was feeling much better, he could easily move up to some people he knew in Islington. Ella had replied that that was fine by her, but he was welcome to stay on in her flat if he wanted to.

So that was that. But she was left feeling guilty for having bad thoughts about him. One part of her didn’t care what he thought but the other part said she was right not to trust anyone, and she realised that she didn’t really know anything about Nick Jardine at all. Despite his indolent attitude and casual manners, he was remarkably sharp at evading personal questions.

She was lunching with a client, and when she got back she found her traders had messed up another deal. They had bought a cargo of dated Brent and sold it straight on before checking the option on volume tolerance.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said wearily. But actually she could believe it, she knew if she had been on the ball this morning she would have seen it coming. They were rushing to make up their losses and prove themselves to her and that had made them careless. Now the trade could be out by as much as 10%, which was a hell of a lot of oil.

My God,’ she said, looking round the anxious faces. ‘What did I call you the other day?’

‘Dummies?’ someone suggested.

‘Right,’ she agreed. ‘So why the hell didn’t you just check?’

To their relief a call came through for her then so they were let off the hook for the time being.

It was Paul.

‘The initial government surveys for Cardigan Bay were positive,’ he said. ‘They were carried out by a company called Seiscon. Quite a few oil companies put in bids for licenses to explore the first few blocks when the government released them. PanGlobal was one of them. Subsequent seismic testing must have taken place. I obviously don’t have access to those reports but they must have been good if they are bothering to drill test wells. But the results haven’t lived up to expectation. Word on the street is that the government are beginning to bow to environmentalist pressure and probably won’t license any more blocks there. Especially if this next PanGlobal well turns out to be a dead duck.’

‘So the environmentalists don’t really have anything to worry about?’

‘Not really. Not unless PanGlobal strike pay dirt in the next couple of days,’ Paul said.

‘I wonder if they realise that.’

‘I doubt it. They’re all mad as hatters anyway. Apparently one of them was arrested for having a sheep in the back of the car.’

Ella laughed as she rang off, but it wasn’t really funny. The world would soon begin running short of oil. It seemed reasonably certain that the amount of oil in known reserves had indeed peaked. And the bulk of remaining oil would be in the hands of unstable middle-east regimes. It was very clear that alternatives did have to be found. There was no doubt any more that burning fossil fuels contributed to climate change. CO2 levels in the atmosphere needed to be reduced. But satisfactory alternatives hadn’t yet been developed. Countries still desperately needed oil to keep their economies afloat. Nobody wanted to pollute the seas, or melt the ice caps, despite what environmentalists seemed to think. But until there was another viable way to make enough power, more oil simply had to be found. And the closer to home the better.

When her mobile rang she knew it was going to be Nick.

‘Can you talk?’ he asked.

She looked around then hunkered lower on her desk. ‘Just about,’ she said.

‘I managed to find out from Miriam the name of the family that girl Jenny worked for,’ he said. ‘So I called them?’

‘And?’

‘And it’s not good news. She drove her car off a cliff in Monaco last Friday.’

‘What?’ Ella felt the blood leave her face.

‘Apparently it was an accident,’ Nick said. ‘The police think she was going too fast and crashed through a barrier.’

‘Is she dead?’

‘Unconscious,’ he said. ‘In a coma. She was lucky, if you can call it that. Amazingly some people in a motor cruiser saw the car crashing down into the sea and somehow were able to get her out before it sank.’

‘So we can’t talk to her.’

‘No.’

‘And they are quite sure it was an accident, right?’

There was a slight pause. ‘There were no witnesses,’ Nick said. ‘Look, just be careful, Ella, be careful who you talk to and keep your eyes open. Just in case.’

‘OK,’ she said. She closed her phone and realised her knees were trembling. Great, she thought. Just in case. Thanks Nick.

‘Are you OK, Ella?’

Ella swung round abruptly and found Graham, her geeky junior trader, standing by her desk.

‘Bad news?’ he asked.

Ella tried to gather her wits. ‘Kind of,’ she said, wondering how much he had heard. ‘I just heard that someone I know of had a pretty bad car accident.’

He gave a sympathetic grimace. ‘Bummer,’ he said.

‘Bummer indeed,’ she agreed. She hesitated a moment, then looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Are you busy just now, Graham?’

He looked wary, trying to gauge the right answer. ‘Fairly.’

Ella smiled. ‘You’ve got a geology degree, haven’t you?’

‘Earth sciences actually.’

‘Close enough.’ She glanced round the trading room and lowered her voice slightly. ‘Look, I want you to do something for me. Some research. I want you to dig out (excuse the pun) everything you can find about oil prospects in the Irish Sea. Seismic reports, licensing, companies involved, environmental action, everything.’

He looked astonished. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘I don’t know. Just bring me what you can find.’

‘I’ll need some kind of reason and some kind of authority, they won’t let me dig around in R&D willy-nilly.’

She thought about it. ‘If necessary tell them we are doing a report on possible price differentials of oil from new fields. But ... if possible try not to let too many people know what you are doing. Or who you are doing it for.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘And when do you want this stuff?’

‘ASAP.’

Robin Miller rang later wanting to rearrange lunch. They agreed on Thursday. Ella asked him what had happened with the drilling.

‘We couldn’t do it,’ he said irritably. ‘The vessel couldn’t get into position. There was too much interference from the bloody environmentalists. They had about thirty local boats buzzing around. As well as the Greenpeace idiots. It was so annoying. Especially as we’d bent over backwards to jump through all the JNCC hoops. We even had two marine mammal observers on board.’

Ella wondered in what circumstances you might need to bend over backwards to jump through a hoop, but didn’t ask him as he sounded really pissed off. He was normally such a mild mannered man, this had obviously rattled his cage badly.

‘So have you got another date,’ she asked.

He laughed sourly. ‘I’m afraid that is now confidential information, but between you and me it’s later this week, weather permitting. Apparently there’s a gale coming in tomorrow.’

‘I expect that just about puts the icing on your cake,’ Ella said.

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed. ‘Oh, and Ella, any news on the other thing?’

‘They’re still alive,’ she said. ‘That’s all I know.’

Chapter Seventeen

‘So what’s with all the interest in the Irish Sea?’ Paul asked over an early supper at Bertolli’s. He had asked for a window table. Outside, St Martin’s Lane was full of theatre goers heading to shows.

Ella shrugged, ‘I just can’t understand why everyone is making so much fuss about it if there’s nothing there.’

‘There may be hydrocarbons there,’ Paul said. ‘But they may be un-gettable. Too deep, too embedded in sediment. For a well to be productive you need the right source rock, reservoir rock and entrapment. You can’t always tell that from the geophysics.’

Glancing out of the window Ella watched a group of people scurrying through the traffic, obviously late for their show. On the other side a man stood to one side to let them onto the pavement and Ella frowned. She was certain she recognised that stance, that face, that particular style of short fair hair. But where …?

Suddenly she felt the blood leave her face. She turned her head quickly away. Surely it couldn’t be.

She took a steadying breath and forced herself to look again. But the man had disappeared. She leaned over to look up the street. There was no sign of him.

‘What is it?’ Paul said.

She sat back in her chair, took a glug of her wine and realised her hand was shaking. ‘I thought I saw someone …’

‘Who?’

Ella tried to get a grip on herself. ‘Just some creepy bloke I saw in France,’ she said. But she must have been wrong. She had only had the briefest glimpse of the man with the ‘camera’ on the cliff after all. Keep your eyes open and be careful, was all Nick had said. And now she was getting paranoid again.

It was the thought of that girl driving off the cliff had rattled her. What if it hadn’t been an accident?

She took some more wine and just at that point there was a massive crash in the kitchen. Ella nearly jumped out of her skin.

Paul laughed, ’Hey, you really are jumpy. And why aren’t you eating?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You’re always hungry.’

Ella shook her head. She felt it might be inappropriate to say that compared with the food Nick had laid on last night, this was pretty mediocre.

Paul leaned over and took her hand. ‘You know, I reckon you need a break. You haven’t been yourself this week. Why don’t we go away for the weekend?’

‘I can’t,’ Ella said at once.

‘Why not?’

There were so many reasons, but none she could tell Paul.

‘Is it to do with the bloke you had staying last night?’

‘No.’

‘Well?’

Perhaps he was right. She was jumpy. It couldn’t possibly have been the same man. Perhaps a break would be good for her. ‘Where would we go?’

‘I don’t know,’ he glanced out of the window as someone hooted irritably in the jam waiting to get onto Trafalgar Square. ‘Somewhere peaceful?’

When Ella went into the office the following morning she discovered that each trading desk was manned by a blow-up dummy. She had known there was something up by the way people had grinned covertly in the passage as she went past.

The dummies were life size Katy Price and David Beckham look-alikes. One was even artistically posed at the coffee machine.

Laughing, Ella caught sight of her real traders huddled by the stationary cupboard.

‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘I take it all back. You’re not as bad as that! I really would blow a gasket if I had these two working here.’

‘I don’t know, we might get more customers …’ Claude Visconte’s voice spoke behind her. He inspected the Katy Price closest to him and grinned salaciously.

‘Your type?’ Ella murmured.

Everyone laughed and Claude turned to her, ‘Not quite,’ he said holding her eyes. ‘My type is more, how shall I say, slender.’

Ella smiled sweetly. That’s lucky. I was beginning to think we might have to lock that dummy up at night.’

Claude followed her back to her desk. ‘One of your traders has been asking questions down in R&D,’ he said. ‘I gather it’s something to do with you.’

Ella glanced over at Graham’s desk. Studiously avoiding her gaze, he was in the process of trying to persuade his Katy Price dummy to sit on the window sill next to his desk. She seemed remarkably reluctant, mainly because she was so top heavy.

Ella smiled as Katy took a nose dive to the floor, and looked back at Claude. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I asked him to check a few things out.’

‘You should have come to me,’ Claude said. ‘R&D is one of my departments.’

‘Oh, right. And you’d have helped me?’

‘Of course.’

She looked at him. ‘Like you have so often in the last few months?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you are making a little mistake, Claude. The correct answer is no. If you examine your conscience I’m sure you will see that I am right.’

‘You always think you are right,’ Claude replied with an easy smile. ‘And that is one of your little mistakes.’

When he had gone Graham slid over to her desk. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how he found out.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Ella said. ‘Did you find anything interesting?’

‘I couldn’t get at some of the detail because it’s classified as confidential but I found some other stuff. Do you want it now?’

‘Sure,’ Ella nodded and then regretted it when he went back to his desk and lifted a huge box of papers. He came back and heaved it onto her desk.

‘Good God,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t you have whittled it down a bit?’

‘I didn’t know what you were looking for,’ he pointed out. ‘So I brought up everything they let me.’

‘Well, put it on the floor,’ she said irritably. ‘We’ll have a look through later.’

It was indeed later when she finally turned to the box. It had been another busy day in the markets. At half past five she called Graham over and piece by piece they began to work through the information he had produced.

It was dull work, particularly for Ella as geology really wasn’t her thing. There were sheaves of geophysical analysis, seismic graphs, hydrophonic reports. None of it made much sense to her, but Graham tried manfully to interpret it. An hour had elapsed when he pulled some other documents out of the box.

‘This is just DTI licensing stuff,’ he said, flicking through. ‘From ages ago, when they were first thinking of releasing the Irish Sea blocks for exploration.’

He was about to lay it to one side, when Ella stopped him. ‘Maybe I should talk to someone at the DTI,’ she said. ‘They might be able to throw some light on these early seismic reports. I wonder who I should talk to. Who signed off all this stuff?’

Graham flicked to the last page. ‘Someone called Andrew Saville,’ he said.

Ella jotted it down on her pad, then stopped, ‘Why does that name …?’

She snatched the report out of Graham’s hand. She stared at the signature. ‘Good God,’ she said.

‘Do you know him?’ Graham asked.

‘No.’ Ella looked up at him for a moment as her brain whirred. ‘Not exactly.’ But it was certainly the same name. What had Hugh said about him? ‘Andrew Saville? Just some kind of civil servant.’ Could it possibly be the same man? And if it was, surely it opened up a whole new can of worms.

Ella leaned back in her chair abruptly. ‘Graham, look, thanks very much. You can buzz off now. I have to make a phone call.’

He looked surprised. ‘This is what you were looking for? This bloke? I thought …’

‘No,’ Ella interrupted. ‘I was looking for something else, but this will do for now. Oh, and Graham, listen, don’t say a word about any of this, do you promise me? Not a word?’

He put two fingers to his chest and grinned. ‘Dib, dib. Scout’s honour.’

‘Were you a scout?’ Ella asked surprised. He didn’t quite seem the type somehow.

‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘But I won’t tell, honestly. Even if they torture me.’

She laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too much 24. I hope it won’t come to that.’

There was no answer from Nick’s mobile phone. Ella drummed her fingers on her desk and left a message for him to call her urgently.

He called back just as she was leaving the office.

‘Where are you?’ she asked.

‘Just leaving your apartment,’ he said.

‘Don’t go yet,’ Ella said. ‘Something’s come up. I have to talk to you.’

Normally she walked along the Strand to Charing Cross and took the tube. Or sometimes she walked over the bridge and took the tube from Waterloo. Or occasionally she walked through Somerset House past the fountains and the Courtauld Institute and then along the river through Jubilee Gardens to Embankment. But today she hailed a taxi at the top of Surrey Street on the Aldwych. It was only as the taxi pulled away that she noticed a man leaning against the wall of Bush House, reading a newspaper. She craned round to look out of the back, but the newspaper was in the way and she couldn’t see his face. Just a glimpse of short fair hair.

Chapter Eighteen

Andrew Saville was a harassed looking man who occupied a large office high in a modern glass building on Victoria Street. Ella and Nick had to get through a considerable amount of security before gaining access to him, including a large middle aged secretary dressed in a forbidding trouser suit and a string of old, uncultured pearls that Ella guessed she’d inherited from her mother. It was Nick who had telephoned with the request to see Andrew Saville, and he said it hadn’t been easy getting this dragon even to pass the request on to her boss. Now the woman saw Nick in the flesh, she obviously wished she never had. She was clearly appalled by his Primark sweatshirt and jeans. He did look rather out of place in the formal terrain of the DTI. He had finally bought himself a new pair of shoes though, Ella noticed. A pair of rather nice navy decks which he wore without socks.

Andrew Saville had a right to be harassed of course. His daughter had been kidnapped and was still missing. He made no secret of the fact that he was relying on Hugh Jardine to pay the ransom and get her released.

His main bone of contention was the fact that Hugh had not provided proper security for his family and staff. A fact which he threw at Nick almost the moment the door closed behind them. Ella was sure the secretary, or assistant, as she called herself, would be dying to find out why they had come. She longed to open the door again to see if the sour old bat had her frumpy clip-on pearl earring pressed to the keyhole on the other side.

‘I know,’ Nick agreed sympathetically, shaking hands. ‘But I can assure you he’s even more furious with himself about it.’

‘It never occurred to me that Amanda would be in danger,’ Andrew Saville said. He waved them to a couple of hard, inhospitable chairs. He retook his seat behind a wide leather topped desk. A framed photo of Amanda stood to one side. She was smiling and her blond curly hair was tousled in the wind. Andrew Saville glanced at it for a moment. ‘I would never have let Amanda go and work for your brother if I had realised the boy would be a target for kidnappers.’

‘You didn’t know that Hugh Jardine was very wealthy?’ Ella chipped in innocently. ‘But he’s a well known figure in the oil industry.’

‘I’m not in the oil industry,’ Andrew Saville said crossly.

‘But you work with the oil industry, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought you were in charge of UK exploration licenses?’

Andrew Saville looked annoyed. ‘Not in charge, no. I am a civil servant. It is the minister who makes licensing decisions. But the issue is not what I do, but what Hugh Jardine is doing to get my daughter back. Why hasn’t he involved the police?’

‘The kidnappers advised him not to do that,’ Nick said. ‘I’m sure he explained that to you?’

‘And I don’t know why he bungled the ransom handover …’

‘He didn’t bungle it,’ Nick said patiently. ‘He did everything possible to make it happen. But the kidnappers didn’t collect it. Our current theory is that for some reason the kidnappers didn’t want the exchange to take place.’

Some of the high colour left Andrew Saville’s face. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We think the kidnappers want something else,’ Ella said. ‘Or something as well as the money.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Andrew Saville said irritably. ‘What else could they want?’

‘They might want to stop you licensing blocks in the Irish Sea,’ Ella said.

‘What?’ His colour rose again alarmingly. ‘Are you suggesting …?’

‘We are suggesting that someone might be putting pressure on you to do something you don’t want to do,’ Nick said placatingly with a sharp look at Ella.

Andrew Saville stood up. ‘Well, if that’s not the outside of enough. My daughter’s been kidnapped because of your brother’s inefficiency and now he’s trying to put the blame on me.’

‘It’s not blame,’ Nick said. ‘It’s a question.’

‘It’s completely ridiculous, whatever it is. How dare you come here and accuse me. Next you’ll be saying I was somehow involved in the kidnap …’

‘Were you?’ Ella asked.

‘I don’t know who you are, young lady, but I would advise you that I will not tolerate this kind of questioning. I am suffering enough already. You can’t imagine the worry …’

‘I can imagine,’ Nick said quietly. ‘Don’t forget my nephew is also missing. And he is only nine years old.’ He stood up. ‘We’re only trying to help, Mr Saville. We are only trying to work out how we can get George and your daughter back safely.’ He offered his hand and Andrew Saville shook it reluctantly. He ignored Ella completely.

‘Well, I don’t appreciate your tone,’ he said. ‘Or your interference. It’s your brother’s problem and he should sort it out.’

Back on the street Nick turned to Ella. ‘You weren’t going to take any prisoners in there were you?’

‘He was lying,’ Ella said.

‘I thought so too, Nick said. ‘His manner was all wrong.’

‘Then why the hell did you let him off the hook so easily?’

‘What did you want me to do? Torture him?’

He was right. There probably wasn’t much you could legally do to make a senior civil servant talk in his own office. ‘Jack Bauer would have made him talk,’ she muttered.

Nick grinned suddenly. ‘If you want me to put a plastic bag over his head we’ll go right back in. But you’ll have to take out the dragon first ...’

Ella laughed. She was surprised that Nick knew the 24 series. She wouldn’t have thought it was his thing. But then she always forgot that he’d taken that bullet in the arm. Bullets weren’t really part of most people’s everyday lives. She’d never been near one herself. Never even heard real gunfire. Apart from in films of course. It had to be admitted that Nick Jardine probably wasn’t quite the peaceful, laid-back dude he made out he was.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked now as they walked back to Victoria. It was, after all, his first outing since he’d collapsed on her floor.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I guess Gabriella’s home cooking has done the trick.’

Ella smiled. The seafood risotto they had shared for dinner had been delicious. Nick had paid Gabriella to make it so he could leave it for Ella as a thank you for putting him up. But then he’d stayed on one more night, so they’d eaten it between them.

They’d got on better last night. Nick had taken her discovery of Andrew Saville’s identity more seriously than she had expected. Even he finally admitted that there might be a link between the Irish Sea exploration and the kidnap.

It was as they walked up Victoria street that a motorbike suddenly roared up behind them and even though they were on the wide pavement, Ella leapt instinctively to one side.

‘Hey,’ Nick took her arm. ‘What’s the matter?’

Ella could feel her heart racing even as the bike swerved harmlessly on round the corner into Buckingham Palace Road and accelerated off towards Chelsea.

She put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes for a second. ‘I’m just jumpy,’ she said. ‘Paul said I need a break. He wants to go away at the weekend.’

Nick was looking at her. ‘Why? Has something happened? Something you haven’t told me?’

She turned away slightly, unwilling to meet his penetrating gaze. ‘I thought I saw that man again,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘The one I told you about in France. I know you’ll laugh at me but …’

‘I’m not laughing,’ Nick said. ‘Where was this? When?’

‘He was standing outside the restaurant Paul and I went to on Tuesday night. And maybe again last night when I was leaving work. But look, I’m not even sure it was the same man. It just gave me the creeps, that’s all. After hearing about that girl driving off the cliff.’

‘Your boyfriend’s right,’ Nick said after a moment. ‘You need a break.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

He met her angry glare steadily. ‘I don’t disbelieve you. Either way, I guess getting away would do you no harm. Where would you go?’

Ella laughed sourly. She’d known he wouldn’t believe her. She wished she hadn’t told him. ‘I thought of going over to West Wales to see what all the fuss is about.’

He looked surprised. ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ he said. ‘And if you want somewhere to stay I know someone who has a cottage down there in Pembrokeshire.’

‘I was thinking more in terms of a boutique hotel,’ Ella said.

‘Of course,’ he said easily. Still holding her arm he steered her past the buses to the taxi rank outside the station. ‘Come to think of it I can’t see you in a cottage.’

Ella pulled her arm away. ‘Why not?’

He laughed as he opened the door of a taxi. ‘There’s no plasma TV,’ he said as he urged her to get in. ‘No take-outs either and, hey, you might get a splinter from the woodpile or a smut on your Versace.’

Before she could answer he slammed the door, banged the taxi on the roof and walked away.

‘Surrey Street,’ she snapped at the driver.

Chapter Nineteen

She only had an hour back at the office before she was due to meet Robin Miller for lunch.

She had always got on well with Robin. He was an easy-going man who seemed happy to have reached the position of MD of Pan Global. OK, it wasn’t the biggest oil company in the world, it was only listed on the London Stock Exchange’s Alternative Investment Market, but it had a pretty good reputation for finding new oil and he and Hugh Jardine seemed to make a good team.

‘You look tired, Ella,’ Robin said as they clinked glasses. ‘Burning the candle at both ends?’

She took a recuperative drink of the Vouvray they had ordered. ‘It’s been a stressful week,’ she said. ‘Trading has been tough in this weird market.’

‘And you’ve had all the business with Hugh going on too.’

She nodded. ‘Yeah. That hasn’t helped.’

They were at Patterson’s in Mayfair, one of her favourite lunch places. One of the benefits of her job was it gave her the opportunity to eat at all the best restaurants. For someone who loved good food as much as her it was a major perk. Today she and Robin had both ordered the lobster lunch.

She had known Robin Miller before she went to work for Hugh Jardine at Energie Mondiale. She had first met him when she worked for IP Oil and had been arm-twisted into representing the company at some hellish University recruitment fairs.

IP OIL loved to wheel out a real live oil trader, particularly a girl, to talk to students, and it was only the presence of Robin Miller, who worked for Texaco at that time, that made the experience even remotely bearable. As it was, they had a good laugh, mostly at the expense of the other recruiters, got paralytic in various Student Union bars and almost certainly would have ended up in bed together if Robin hadn’t only recently got married. In retrospect Ella considered it a lucky escape as he was considerably older than her and in the cold light of day she didn’t actually fancy him at all. But they had remained intermittent friends and had both been pleased when they found themselves colleagues in Hugh Jardine’s oil empire.

Ella had never met Robin’s wife, Valerie, and didn’t know much about her except she was some kind of high powered investment banker. The marriage had ended a couple of years ago but as Robin always seemed to be in his usual placid good spirits, Ella surmised that he hadn’t minded very much.

They quickly sorted out the details of the trading agreement. Energie Mondiale was going to sell oil that PanGlobal had coming on stream soon from a small find in Argentina. Then they moved on to issues of more immediate interest.

‘So tell me what’s happening with Hugh and Miriam,’ Robin said when their plates were cleared. ‘They must be out of their minds with worry.’

‘I think they are,’ Ella said.

‘And they are no further in knowing who’s got George? I heard the kidnappers didn’t take the money,’ he said. ‘After all the hassle Hugh had in raising it.’

‘How did he raise it so quickly?’ Ella asked. ‘Do you know?’

Robin hesitated a moment. ‘I don’t know if it’s common knowledge,’ he said. ‘So keep it under your hat, but he sold shares in a couple of his companies. Without the insurance, it was the only way.’

‘Good God.’ Ella said. Although, thinking about it, she had to admit it was unlikely that even Hugh Jardine would have had six million Euros knocking around in his current account. ‘I haven’t seen anything about it in the papers,’ she said.

Robin raised his eyebrows. ‘He did it carefully,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t about to panic the markets.’

‘So which companies?’ Ella asked. She knew Hugh Jardine was a wily player. He always kept more than 50% of any of the companies he floated on the Stock Market, there was no way he was going to lose majority control if he could avoid it. ‘Is Energie Mondiale one of them?’ It would make a huge difference to the company if Hugh Jardine was no longer in control.

Robin inspected the cheese board. ‘I don’t know the exact details,’ he said.

And you wouldn’t tell me if you did, Ella thought. But she didn’t blame him. Insider trading was a complete taboo and any sniff of malpractice would bring the law down on them like a ton of bricks. Nevertheless, she made a mental note to check the stock market quotations of Hugh’s companies later on.

‘So I hear Hugh’s brother turned up,’ Robin said now. ‘I’ve never met him. What’s he like? Does he look like Hugh?’

Ella’s eyes widened. ‘Not remotely! He looks like some ‘hey man’ hippy from the 70s.’

‘Hugh’s always said they don’t see eye to eye,’ Robin said. ‘Of course this Nick is very anti the oil industry, isn’t he? I don’t suppose that helps.’

Nor does their mutually exclusive relationship with Miriam, Ella thought, but she wasn’t going to mention that. She knew Robin and Hugh were pretty good friends so she was always circumspect about how much she slagged Hugh off in Robin’s presence. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose it does.’

Robin poured the last of the Vouvray into her glass. ‘I think Hugh once told me that his brother used to work for Greenpeace at one time.’

‘Greenpeace?’ Ella stared at him. That was news to her. Nick had never said anything about that. Why not, she wondered. Why the hell had he kept that back?

‘It’s ironic, isn’t it,’ Robin went on, ‘When you think of the trouble I’ve had with them this week.’

‘What’s happening about that?’ Ella asked. ‘Did the storm come?’ It occurred to her that a weekend in Pembrokeshire might not be that appealing in a howling gale.

‘Not as bad as they predicted,’ Robin said. ‘Weather comes and goes quickly in West Wales. We should be on again tomorrow or Saturday.’

‘And will there be more trouble from the protesters?’

‘Bound to be, but I’m hoping to outwit them this time.’

‘How?’

He laughed and patted the side of his nose. ‘Trade secret,’ he said.

‘What’s it like down there?’ Ella asked. ‘Paul wants to take me away for the weekend and we thought of Pembrokeshire. Is it nice? It’s meant to be beautiful.’

Robin looked startled. ‘It’s a long way. A good five hours drive. Hardly worth it for a weekend. But, yes, it’s quite pretty I suppose. Lots of sheep. Rugged coastline. Not much else.’

Ella laughed. ‘You make it sound really appealing!’

‘Well, you can imagine it’s not my favourite place at the moment.’

He insisted on paying the bill, saying it was his turn. They were just leaving when his mobile rang.

He glanced at the screen, then held up a finger to Ella and walked a few steps away to answer it.

He didn’t say much but when he turned back he looked unusually strained.

‘Bad news?’ Ella asked.

‘What?’ He seemed to gather himself. ‘Oh no, not really. Just more hassle with the drilling rig,’ he said. ‘To be honest, Ella, I’ll be glad when this is all over. It’s a bloody waste of time anyway. There’s nothing there. And even if by some miracle there is, these damned eco warriors will fight us every step of the way.’

Chapter Twenty

Robin Miller was right. It was a long way to Pembrokshire.

They took Ella’s company car, a Mercedes SLK Sport roadster, and Paul shared the driving. It was pitch dark by the time they got there. They were glad they had decided to stop at a motorway services somewhere around Swansea and force down a burger each. The last twenty miles or so since they had left the motorway had seemed interminable. They had barely exchanged a word since Carmarthen and Ella was wishing they hadn’t come. Once she thought they had missed the way completely and she tried to ring the hotel but couldn’t get a signal on her phone.

The straggly villages they drove through seemed virtually uninhabited. They also had incomprehensible names like Llandisilio and Eglwyswrw, which even the Sat Nav had trouble with. This clearly was the back of beyond.

But to their surprise the trendy Georgian boutique hotel Paul had booked (where Kiera Knightley had apparently once stayed when she was making a film about Dylan Thomas) was very well done up. There was indeed a plasma TV on the wall of their spacious bedroom, as well as sense-around sound and mood lighting.

As Paul threw himself down on the huge bed, made with crisp linen and an elegant Welsh tartan blanket, and switched the TV on to catch the late news, Ella headed for the ‘monsoon’ shower. As she stripped off and inspected the Avida toiletries on the shelf, she smiled to herself and wondered what the cottage Nick had offered her would have been like.

She hadn’t spoken to Nick since their visit to Andrew Saville. She had expected him to ring her to discuss what to do next, but when he didn’t she decided not to ring him either. She had wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told her about his Greenpeace connection, but she was damned if she was going to ring him specially. He would only make some acerbic comment about saving the planet or about her supposed lack of environmental conscience. Anyway Robin’s comment had given her pause for thought. What if Nick Jardine himself was somehow involved with the kidnapping? He certainly wasn’t in favour of oil exploration in the Irish Sea, or anywhere else come to that. When she’d thought he’d been so clever ringing Greenpeace to ask about the ship, he’d probably just rung up one of his eco-mates from the past.

After fresh fruit pancakes for breakfast, Ella and Paul had a quick saunter round the pretty village. It was tucked in between a little mountain and the sea and sported a castle, a couple of cafés, some quaint looking shops including a butchers with vegetables in boxes outside and a sign offering half a lamb for £25.

There were plenty of posters stuck on lampposts and in shop windows protesting about the drilling, and rallying support for action against it, but there was no sign of any actual protesters.

Ella and Paul followed signs to the Parrog, which may or may not have meant harbour in Welsh, for that was what it turned out to be. There they sat on the terrace of a chic coffee shop in the surprisingly warm September sunlight and gazed over the gradually filling estuary basin and out to sea. It really was extraordinarily beautiful, there was no wind at all despite Robin Miller’s gloomy forecast. Overhead, two white jet streams hung static in the sky almost to the horizon, presumably from planes heading for America. And in the harbour, the colourful little boats were reflected in the glassy water.

‘I wonder whereabouts PanGlobal’s drill site is,’ Ella said. Graham had prepared a map for her with blocks licensed to PanGlobal shaded in and his best guess for the drill site marked with a cross, but she had left it in the room. She nodded to the wide bay shimmering a translucent, silver blue between the two imposing headlands. ‘I can see it would be a bit of a shame if it was somewhere just out there.’

Paul looked up from the local paper he had bought in the village. ‘You should read this,’ he said, pushing the paper towards Ella with a dry chuckle.

It was an article headed The Case Against Offshore Oil Exploration. It gave three reasons for the government to prevent offshore exploration in UK waters.

1. A steady stream of pollution from offshore rigs causes a wide range of health and reproductive problems for fish and other marine life.

2. Offshore drilling exposes wildlife to the threat of oil spills that would devastate their populations. Offshore drilling activities destroy kelp beds, reefs and coastal wetlands.

3. Over its lifetime, a single oil rig dumps more than 90,000 metric tons of drilling fluid and metal cuttings into the ocean, and it pollutes the air the equivalent of 7,000 cars driving 50 miles a day.

Ella pushed the paper away. ‘Do you think it’s true or just scare mongering? I thought the industry was so careful nowadays.’

Paul shrugged. ‘Scare-mongering mostly,’ he said. ‘Although I suppose there must be some truth in it. Anyway let’s hope nobody round here finds out we work for the oil industry. We might get lynched.’

Ella looked around quickly but thankfully nobody was listening. She knew he was joking but somehow she didn’t find it very funny. In London, working at Energie Mondiale, it all seemed fine, logical, necessary. Oil had to be found and that was pretty much that. But here, in this idyllic, peaceful place, somehow it didn’t seem quite so legitimate.

Sitting here, relaxing in the sunshine, it also seemed somehow incredible that George Jardine and Amanda Saville were still missing.

It was two weeks now and Miriam and Hugh must be beginning to despair. Ella was beginning to despair herself. It all seemed so futile, all the enquiries, the pointless interview with Andrew Saville, the speculation about the motivation of the kidnappers. They had no proof there was any link with environmentalists at all, it was only her desperation that was making her clutch at straws.

There were two children about George’s age on the rocks at the side of the little beach, poking around in rock pools, and on the other side of the estuary a young woman was throwing sticks into the water for two leggy dogs.

There had been no contact from the kidnappers since they had sent the proof of life earlier in the week. What was the delay? Where on earth were the hostages and in what shape would they be by now.

‘Do you want to drive down the coast a bit and see if we can see anything?’ Paul asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d rather just go for a walk and forget all about it.’

Having taken advice from a pleasant Welsh lady in the tiny tourist office, they decided to climb the small mountain behind the village. Carningli it was called, Mount of Angels. The romantic name appealed to Ella, and certainly it appealed more than the Pembrokeshire coast cliff path, which sounded far too precipitous for someone who suffered from vertigo. So half an hour later she and Paul set off from the hotel up the narrow road past the church and the castle and an amazing little art gallery in a converted goat shed, towards the stony, craggy-tipped mountain.

The road soon gave way to steep, high sided tracks and then they were through a gate and out on to Carningli Common. Pausing to get their breath back, they gazed back down over the village partly hidden among trees. The estuary basin was full of water now and still as glass. The curving spit of sand dunes were reflected in the water so clearly it looked like a double image. On the other side of the sand dunes the silver blue bay glistened between the two black-cliffed headlands, like protective arms, sheltering it on each side.

Turning to look up the mountain, Ella surveyed the route they were going to take. The three rocky peaks of the summit showed up hazy grey against the green and purple of the fern and heather. A few sheep and a couple of larger animals, perhaps ponies, dotted the higher slopes.

Nearer, great clumps of prickly yellow gorse glowed in the sunlight. Beyond it she could see the narrow green swathe of the path leading steadily upwards. A small stony outcrop on a fold of the hill concealed the route on from there. It looked a long way.

‘Do you think we’ll make it?’ she asked Paul dubiously. Life behind a trading desk in London didn’t quite provide the necessary training for a yomp in the Welsh mountains.

‘You ought to go to the gym more,’ Paul said smugly, striding off heartily up the hill. ‘They said it was only an hour’s walk. Even you should be able to manage that, surely.’

It actually took them nearly an hour and a half, but that was mainly because Ella insisted on lots of rests. She didn’t care. There was no one else around to see. It seemed as though they had the whole mountain to themselves.

Once Ella thought she saw something moving right up at the top among the peaks but decided it was probably only a sheep and she didn’t see it again. Twice a huge bird soared silently over them on wide, unmoving wings. To her surprise Ella momentarily wished Nick Jardine was there so she could ask him what it was. Paul hadn’t a clue. His motivation for the walk was more to do with fitness than taking esoteric pleasure in the terrain. He didn’t like stopping even though the views out over the coast became more and more spectacular the higher they got.

‘You need to keep going, then you’ll get your second wind,’ he said at one point.

‘I haven’t even got my first wind yet,’ Ella muttered as she lay back against a huge blue stone, conveniently placed near the path.

To her secret amusement, he missed the track for the final ascent, if indeed there was one, and they were forced to scramble up an unstable screed slope interspersed with jagged rocks and boulders. Even then the peak they reached wasn’t the highest one. The three or four others behind it seemed to be higher. The side they had come up was steep enough but the other side seemed to be a complete precipice.

Carefully avoiding looking over the edge, Ella slumped down on a patch of mossy ground, under the rock wall of the final stony outcrop.

‘You go on if you want,’ she panted. ‘Just let me rest here for a minute.’

Hearing the scrape of a stone, she turned her head and looked up, squinting against the light from her position on the ground.

Then even as Paul started to reply, she saw a slight movement above him. A huge boulder suddenly seemed to tilt. For a second Ella thought it was just her brain swimming after the effort of the climb. She blinked and stared again.

But then, even before the reality of the situation hit, she felt adrenalin suddenly surge into her body, somehow she could feel her muscles leaping into action ahead of conscious thought.

She shouted at Paul to watch out, to move, to get back.

She was already half scrambling, half rolling to one side, trying desperately to get to the shelter of the rock face. She could feel the cold grass under her scrabbling hands, her nails scraping on the stone. Something sharp jabbed into her knee.

She was aware of Paul saying something, his boots moving, but before she could make out what it was, she saw his legs buckle beneath him and he pitched forward over the sheer edge followed by an avalanche of rubble.

Boulders and rocks and dirt rained down onto the grassy patch Ella had vacated only seconds before. She felt two or three rocks whack painfully onto her legs. Rolling up against the rock wall, she dragged her knees up into her chest, hugging an arm round her head in a foetal position as tight to the rock face as she could manage.

It was like being inside a waterfall, but a waterfall of rubble and dirt. Even when it eventually stopped, dirt and dust hung in the air.

An instinct of self-preservation told her to stay where she was and keep still, but she forced herself to move, to spit the dust out of her mouth and wipe her eyes so she could see. There was a horrible bitter taste in her mouth, her knee hurt and her hands were bleeding, but she didn’t seem to have suffered any major damage.

Her first thought was to wonder what on earth had happened, her second was Paul. She realised it should probably have been the other way round. But even as she got on to her knees, then stood up gingerly, she was looking upwards instead of downwards. She listened for sound but there was nothing.

Carefully she worked her way round the pile of boulders and stones on the grass and after another quick look up at the scarred summit, she steeled herself to peer over the edge. It wasn’t actually as steep as she had thought. She could see Paul lying on the rocks below her, his red anorak splayed out.

He had fallen perhaps ten feet and then rolled another ten, but he had been accompanied by an avalanche of rocks and screed. And he wasn’t moving. For an awful second Ella hesitated, terrified both by the thought of climbing down to him and by the prospect of a further landslide. What she really wanted to do was stay safely hidden on the ledge, exactly where she was.

But she knew she had to climb down to Paul.

She couldn’t go straight over the side, so she skirted round the peak until she came to a crevice she could ease herself down, and then made her way gingerly back across the steep slope of recently deposited boulders.

For the second time in a week she found herself confronting an unconscious man. Once again she checked for a pulse. And felt a rush of relief when she found one. He wasn’t dead, but he was obviously badly injured. Even she could tell that his left leg shouldn’t be twisted round at that angle. And his right arm was gashed through to the bone. God only knew what damage he had done to his head, he was bleeding copiously from various cuts in his hair and on his face.

Keeping a wary eye on the top of the mountain, Ella hunkered down beside him, took out her phone and prayed for a signal.

Chapter Twenty One

She heard the Royal Navy Chinook Sea King helicopter well before she saw it. The distant thumping beat came gradually closer and she stood up expectantly. They had told her to wave something bright as soon as she saw it. The brightest garment was Paul’s red jacket but she couldn’t get that off him without moving him, and they had told her not to move him at all, so she had stripped off her white tee shirt, quickly replacing it with her grey jersey before the sheep could be shocked by the sight of her bra, and now as the big yellow chopper roared up deafeningly over the summit she waved the tee shirt in wild relief.

It had seemed like a nerve wrackingly long wait, but in fact, amazingly, it had only been twenty minutes. Most of that time she had been on the phone to the emergency services, first describing her location; luckily her phone had GPS because Mount of Angels was all she could remember. And then describing Paul’s symptoms. Paul was still unconscious, bloody headed and twisted, but he was breathing and he still had a pulse. As instructed she had tucked her own jacket carefully over him and then perched awkwardly on the rocks next to him and watched the sheep grazing placidly on the slope below her. It was only then, when she saw the blood staining her torn trousers that she realised she had a major gash in her own knee. Even now as she stood waving, she could feel it dripping warmly down her leg.

The big yellow helicopter wheeled round and came in close. Close enough for Ella to feel the sudden wind from the rotor blades and see a black and white bird painted on the pilot’s door. A moment later she saw the pilot, or perhaps the co pilot, lean out of his window and give her a thumbs up.

When they had told her they were sending a helicopter, she had told them that she and Paul were stuck on a slippery, unstable, steep slope and there was no way a helicopter would be able to land.

Much lower down the slope well down beyond the fern and heather there seemed to be a little road with wide grass verges. She had wondered if perhaps they would put the helicopter down there and climb up the hill to her.

It hadn’t occurred to her that two Navy paramedics in grey body suits and yellow helmets would drop down from the hovering helicopter on ropes, swiftly check Paul over, carefully ease him onto kind of orange body bag, strap him on to a metal stretcher and winch him back up into the side door of the chopper. It was all done with amazing precision and efficiency, but it was incredibly noisy with the thumping helicopter overhead, and she could barely hear what they were saying. It was only as the hunkier of the two navy guys started fitting her into some kind of dangling harness that she realised she was going to be winched in too.

Perhaps he saw the sudden panic in her eyes because he shouted at her to grab his waist and somehow a moment later the two of them were dangling in mid air in a rather unseemly embrace.

The inside of the helicopter was grey, utilitarian and surprisingly dark. Ella sat on a side bench clinging on to a strap as the huge machine lifted, tipped and swirled round the mountain again, and watched as the two medics crouched beside Paul, lifting his eyelids, shining a small torch into his eyes and checking his pulse and blood pressure. As they fitted an oxygen mask over his mouth, she heard worrying phrases like ‘TBI’, ‘multiple fractures’ and ‘CT scan’. The more they talked, the sicker she felt. One of them inspected her leg, applied a temporary dressing and patted her shoulder encouragingly which for some reason nearly made her cry.

Minutes later they landed at a hospital. Paul was transferred onto a stretcher waiting on the helipad and rushed off inside. Ella barely had time to thank the RAF guys for the speedy rescue before they had loaded their equipment back onto the helicopter and were preparing to take off again.

And then suddenly, after the swift efficiency of the rescue, everything began to move with agonising NHS slowness. Admittedly they had whisked Paul away pretty quickly but after that there was a long wait before she even had her knee looked at, by which time she could barely bend it.

Her hands were still dirty with grit and grass and blood, but when she suggested to the buxom triage nurse on duty that she wanted to clean herself up a bit, she was told crossly to wait as someone would see her soon. As there was hardly anyone else there she couldn’t quite see why ‘soon’ gradually stretched into an hour with no news of Paul and no treatment for her wounds. But eventually a young nurse took her into a cubicle and swabbed the mountain debris out of her cuts, dressed them as best she could, gave her a tetanus jab and told her that her shakiness was probably due to shock and that a cup of sweet tea might help her.

‘What does TBI stand for?’ Ella asked as she stood up.

The nurse frowned. ‘Traumatic brain injury,’ she said.

Ella sat down again. ‘And that means brain damage, right?’

‘Not necessarily,’ the nurse said. ‘It can be just be concussion.’

‘So it may not be serious?’

‘No.’

‘But it might be?’

The nurse looked uncomfortable. ‘We’ll let you know about your friend as soon as we can. They’ll be giving him a CT scan now. Go and get some tea and by then we should have some news for you.’

Tea, the great British cure all, Ella thought as she queued for her cuppa at the WRVS café on the ground floor of the hospital. But actually it did seem to do her some good, as did the ham sandwich she had with it. At least it took the bitter taste out of her mouth. She realised she had only had a cup of coffee since the pancake breakfast.

The kindly WRVS lady at the counter had looked at her dirty clothes and bandaged hands and asked if she had been in an accident.

‘My boyfriend and I were caught up in a landslide on a mountain,’ Ella said.

‘Oh, you poor dears. Is he all right?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Ella said and the lady had given her a sympathetic smile and slipped an extra packet of sugar onto her saucer.

Ella sat at the table and tried to regain her senses. She still felt light headed and shivery, but she told herself sternly that this was no time to go into shock and that she needed to think. To do stuff. Sensible, logical things. But what exactly? Her mind seemed completely numb.

When she finished her tea she limped back to A&E, where it turned out Paul had recovered consciousness.

He was lying on a stretcher bed looking slightly less bloody but otherwise absolutely awful. He had drips going into the back of his hand. They took the oxygen mask off his mouth and told her to keep her visit very brief.

‘Paul, it’s me, Ella,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’

He opened his eyes and to her relief she saw recognition. ‘I can’t remember what happened,’ he murmured.

She took his hand awkwardly. ‘You fell off a mountain,’ she said.

‘Where?’

‘In Wales.’

He looked puzzled.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘You’re in hospital now and they are going to put you right.’

He tried to move and grimaced in pain. ‘BUPA,’ he said weakly. ‘Tell them I’ve got BUPA.’

He seemed to drift off then and the nurse drew her away. ‘The doctor wants to talk to you.’

The doctor appeared a few minutes later. He was dressed in a sharp suit and very shiny brogues. She could tell immediately that he wasn’t going to be the sympathetic type. He had that brisk, dismissive attitude so common among doctors and so irritating for patients.

‘Is Paul going to be OK?’ Ella asked. ‘He asked me to tell you that he has private medical insurance so maybe …’

‘He has serious injuries,’ he interrupted. ‘So he’ll have to make do with the NHS for now. How did the accident happen?’

‘It was a kind of landslide,’ Ella said. ‘It knocked him off a ledge on the mountain. It was pretty scary ...’

‘I see,’ the doctor said. ‘Who is his next of kin? I need to discuss treatment.’

‘Can you discuss it with me?’

‘Are you his next of kin?’

‘No,’ Ella said steadily. ‘I’m his girlfriend. I suppose his parents are his next of kin.’

‘You know them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’ll call them now.’

Actually Ella had only met Paul’s parents once at a rather awkward outing Paul had organised to the theatre when they were up in town visiting him one weekend. They had obviously hoped she might be a candidate for Paul’s wife and had treated her with slightly over eager attention. As she had had no intention then, (or now,) of becoming Mrs Paul Taylor she had found the whole evening embarrassing and had contrived to avoid any further encounters.

Ella found the number on Paul’s phone but dialled it on the nurses’ station phone as use of mobiles was apparently forbidden in the hospital. As she waited for an answer she tried to remember where they lived, she thought it might be on the South Coast somewhere.

Paul’s mother answered immediately, but it took a moment before she grasped who she was talking to. Ella explained as calmly as she could that Paul had been injured in an accident and that he was now in hospital in Wales. Then she handed her on to the doctor for more details.

As she walked away she heard the doctor say, ‘Your son has suffered traumatic injury to the brain and multiple fractures to both legs and the left arm.’

Good God, Ella thought, he certainly wasn’t pulling his punches. She was glad she had paved the way slightly for the poor woman. What was it about doctors that made them so entirely lacking in social skills and humanity? It was as though they felt they belonged to a different race somehow. The inhumane race perhaps.

Feeling in need of some fresh air, she walked down the long wide corridor towards the exit. A number of smokers were standing about awkwardly under the entrance canopy indulging their habit, two were even wired up to trolleys with drips.

Leaning weakly against the wall, she took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. It was a moment before she realised she had stopped at Nick Jardine’s number. She stared at it blankly then pressed the dial.

‘Nick? It’s Ella.’

‘Hi.’ He sounded surprised to hear from her and she remembered that as far as he was concerned she was having a romantic weekend with her boyfriend. When she didn’t respond immediately, he added, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. No. Not really.’ To her surprise she felt the sudden sting of tears and gritted her teeth against them.

‘Ella? Hey, what’s happened?’

Taking a deep breath she tried to recount the events of the past couple of hours, but even to her own ears she sounded somewhat incoherent. ‘Paul’s not so good,’ she added. ‘He’s broken his legs and arm and he may have brain damage. I’m at the hospital now.’

Nick swore under his breath. ‘But you’re basically OK?’

‘I think so. I just cut my hands and knees.’

There was a pause. Then Nick’s voice lowered slightly. ‘Are you sure it was a genuine landslide? An accident?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ella replied. ‘I think so. I can hardly bare to think anything else, but ...’

‘But what?’

‘I think there was someone else up there.’ There, she had said it now, and she felt a sudden odd sense of release.

‘You saw someone?’ His voice was sharp.

‘No. Not really. It sounds daft, but I just kind of sensed someone.’

He didn’t respond and Ella realised exactly how daft it had sounded.

When he spoke again his voice was crisp. ‘Who knew you were in Wales?’

‘No-one. Everyone. Look, I can’t remember who I told. I’m sorry, Nick, I can’t think straight at the moment.’

There was another pause. ‘Where exactly are you, Ella? I’m going to come over there right now.’

She laughed shakily. ‘No, honestly, I’m fine, Nick. You can’t come. It’s miles from London. It took us hours to get here.’

‘What’s the name of the hospital?’ he asked.

‘I can’t remember. Wait …’ she looked around for a sign. Surely the blasted hospital must have a name board or something. ‘It’s called the Presceli Hospital,’ she said, spelling it out. ‘But really …’

‘Just stay there,’ he said. ‘And stay in sight of other people. I’m on my way.’

Chapter Twenty Two

Paul’s parents arrived first. They found Ella in the WRVS café where she had spent most of the day. They looked faint with worry. Paul was in the operating theatre. There had been a long delay while the injury to his head had been assessed, but about an hour ago he had been declared fit for surgery and even now an orthopaedic surgeon was attempting to rectify some of the damage to his legs.

Ella was almost glad to see his parents. She was, by now, on first name terms with the WRVS ladies and could list every item on their rather limited menu.

During some of the quieter moments during the interminable Saturday afternoon she had even asked if they knew anything about the oil exploration off the Welsh coast. The two older ladies didn’t seem to have much of a view about it, but the younger one (although still quite old) was strident in her opposition to the idea, saying she had been one of the thousands of volunteers who had helped in the clear up after the Sea Empress disaster in 1996.

‘You should have seen those poor birds,’ she said. ‘Hundreds of them and we could only save so many.’

Ella couldn’t remember the precise details of the Sea Empress disaster but she could hear the emotion in the woman’s voice.

Thankfully none of them asked what her interest stemmed from, she didn’t have to lie, but it made her continuing presence in the café feel slightly awkward. So the arrival of Paul’s parents made a welcome diversion, and she found herself giving them a welcoming hug, settling them down at her table and heading back to the now familiar counter to order them tea and biscuits.

They were perfectly nice people. Paul’s father was some kind of senior actuary for an insurance company and his mother worked for the local education authority, and they made every effort to chat normally. They even asked kindly about her own injuries. But it was clear that they were in a state of complete anxiety about Paul. The neurologist had scared them senseless with his talk of inter cranial pressure and possible coup and contra coup injury, whatever that was, and then he had kindly gone on to explain that one of the several bone fractures Paul had suffered was a complicated compound fracture, which would necessitate open reduction and external fixation.

I’d like to externally fix him, Ella thought as she urged Mr and Mrs Taylor (Clare and Patrick) to drink their tea. ‘I’m sure it sounds worse than it is,’ she said. ‘One of the nurses I spoke to was very optimistic that he’d make a full recovery.’

‘You seem so calm, Ella. But I know you must be worried to death too,’ Mrs Taylor said.

Ella nodded. She was desperately worried for Paul, of course she was. She was particularly concerned that he was stuck in some back of beyond hospital with God only knew what calibre of medical staff. But the truth was that her worry about Paul was somewhat outweighed by the fact that it was a possibility, albeit a remote possibility, that someone had made a pretty serious attempt to kill them up there on the mountain.

And the other uncomfortable truth was that it was much more likely that they had been trying to kill her than Paul. Once again she suddenly tasted that bitter taste in her mouth and took a gulp of tea.

Or was she being melodramatic and paranoid? She honestly wasn’t sure. She cast her mind back once more to the events preceding the land slip and it was a moment before she realised that someone was saying her name.

She looked up startled. And there, standing right there at the table, in jeans and a grey tee shirt and a rather cool Cargo style jacket, was Nick Jardine.

Chapter Twenty Three

Afterwards she felt that Nick had behaved in a very high handed manner. But at the time Ella was glad when he took one look at her and assumed control.

He introduced himself smoothly to the Taylors as an old friend of Ella’s, shook hands, commiserated about Paul, told them that he had made enquiries and had found out that Presceli hospital had a pretty good reputation, and announced that he was going to take Ella off straight away as she needed to rest. The Taylors promised to call as soon as they had any news, they all exchanged mobile numbers, then Nick led her out into the car park and installed her into the passenger seat of a hired Fiat 500.

He had barely got the car out of the car park before Ella started to cry. She couldn’t believe it. She had held it together so well all day and now she had to start blubbing in the presence of Nick Jardine. The last person in the world she wanted to see her cry.

To make it worse he didn’t say anything at all but drove in silence. But after a while, once he had got well clear of the town, he pulled over into a lay-by by a small airfield.

Ella sniffed manfully and blew her nose. She knew she would look an absolute sight so she kept her face well averted. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m not normally such a pathetic cry baby.’

‘Hey, take it easy,’ he said. ‘It’s just a reaction. Someone tried to kill you.’

She swung round then and stared at him. ‘Is that what you think?’

He shrugged slightly. ‘It’s what you think and that’s what matters.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that whatever happened this morning, it has put you into a state of panic.’

‘I’m not panicking, she said crossly. ‘It was horrible when all those rocks started to come down. And now I’m just worried. About Paul.’

He smiled. ‘Sure you’re worried about Paul. Sure you had a real scary experience this morning. But I can see it in your eyes, Ella. I know that look. It’s fear. You’re in shock and you’re scared.’

Ella turned her head away and looked out of the window. The sun was going down behind them and making long shadows of the trees and hedges. A small plane buzzed low overhead. She wondered what time it was. The whole day had passed in a blur.

‘OK,’ she admitted. ‘I’m scared. Why would someone try to kill me? If they did.’

Nick started the car again. ‘That’s what I have to find out,’ he said. ‘But as of now you’re out of it. Out of the whole thing. I’ve spoken to Hugh and you’re on leave. We’ll tell everyone you were injured in a fall and then you can disappear for a few days.’

Ella was conscious of a sudden rush of relief. She was out of it. She didn’t have to worry any more. It was out of her hands. No longer her responsibility. She put her hand to her face and closed her eyes as the tears came again.

Nick drove her to a cottage hidden away at the end of a long bumpy track. It was a quaint place with a slate roof and lime washed, stone walls.

There he sat her down at a rustic wooden table, made her eat some smoked salmon, bread and salad he had picked up somewhere on the way, and then he ran her a bath.

‘I’ll go and pick up your things from the hotel tomorrow,’ he said, propelling her into the tiny bathroom. ‘But for now you can borrow one of my Primarko sweats and then you are going to sleep.’

Chapter Twenty Four

Amanda Saville lay on the rough floor and gazed wide eyed into the darkness. The first wild panic of their abduction seemed a distant memory. The fear now was a different thing, hard and constant. All hope of rescue had died. Nobody would ever find them. Even she didn’t know where she was. Not even what country she was in. She recalled that sudden flicker of possible salvation right back at the beginning, that quick hopeful turn of her head, when she had seen Jenny drive past. But the man had seen it too. And when her phone rang he was ready with the knife, pressing it to George’s neck.

So she had said the words he told her to say and when she heard Jenny’s placid responses the hope died. And now she was going to die too. She was sure of it. She had seen their faces. Those first two men. And she knew that was a bad thing. She didn’t know how long ago that was. They’d drugged her. And the boy. She remembered him screaming when the needle went into his arm. Weeks may have passed then for all she knew. She hadn’t seen those men since, and the two here were different. More cautious. One masked and the other out of sight.

She guessed that they were still being drugged, perhaps in the meagre food they were given, because they both slept a lot and her limbs felt soft and weak. But she knew they had been in this cellar for several days now. They’d scratched the wall, like prisoners in a film.

They were only allowed out at night. And only for half an hour. And only if they stayed within a certain area about the size of a football pitch. The old stone wall enclosing it was all broken down. If you could call it a wall. Someone had once made a vague effort to clear the land and had just piled the stones round the edge. Perhaps they had wanted to keep animals in. But there were no animals now. Not domesticated ones at least. Once, beyond the wall, she had seen a small rabbit, tall eared among the silver stones in a sudden patch of moonlight.

Amanda hated that wall. She longed to step over it and just walk away. But the man guarding them had a gun. He hadn’t told them, he never spoke. She didn’t know what nationality he was. But he had shown them. And she could tell from the hard eyes behind the balaclava that he would be happy to use it. And she could tell something else too. That he was watching her. Like a predator. Just waiting for the right moment. And she only had a nine year old boy to protect her.

Chapter Twenty Five

Nick was eating a piece of toast at the table when Ella emerged from her bedroom the following morning. He was fully dressed and she felt self conscious in the tee shirt he’d lent her, although actually it was so big on her it reached well down her thighs. But that didn’t stop Nick glancing at her legs. For a second, to her surprise, she felt a flicker of responsive heat pass through her body, but when he looked up again she realised that it was actually concern in his eyes not lust.

‘Nasty bruising,’ he said, getting up to switch on the kettle.

‘I know.’ Ella flexed her stiff leg to cover her momentary confusion.’I hadn’t realised how many of those boulders actually hit me.’

‘You were lucky,’ he said.

She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘I saw this enormous boulder tipping right above us,’ she said. ‘I had just enough time to get out of the way. I shouted at Paul but it was too late.’

Nick glanced over his shoulder as he made the coffee. ‘Most people would have frozen in that situation.’

She was pleased by the oblique compliment. Maybe she had shown some presence of mind after all. It was just a shame she had been so pathetic afterwards.

He handed her a cup of coffee. It smelt great.

‘PanGlobal started drilling yesterday,’ he remarked as he sat down again.

‘Oh,’ she blinked. ‘No opposition this time?’

‘Plenty apparently,’ Nick said. ‘But somehow the drill ship slipped through the net.’ He looked at her over the rim of his mug.

Ella avoided his gaze. She knew he was expecting her to be pleased. ‘Robin said he was hoping to outwit them this time,’ she said. ‘He was obviously right.’

He frowned. ‘Robin Miller, you mean? MD of PanGlobal?’

‘Yes, he’s a friend of mine. I had lunch with him last week and he said he had some trick up his sleeve.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘How do you know it went ahead? Was it on the news?’

‘No, some friends here told me.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘Environmentalist friends?’

His face took on a rather gritty expression. ‘Most people I know are concerned about the environment. That doesn’t mean they have kidnapped my nephew.’

Ella wasn’t so sure about that. ‘Is there any news from Hugh?’ she asked.

‘The kidnappers are offering an exchange for later this week.’

‘I wonder how long the drilling will take,’ she said thoughtfully.

Nick stood up and put some more bread in the toaster. ‘Did you tell anyone about what happened yesterday?’ he asked over his shoulder. ‘Friends or family?’

‘No, only people at the hospital and Paul’s parents.’ Ella eyed his back suspiciously. ‘Why?’

He hesitated then turned round and faced her. ‘Because I don’t actually think it was an accident. I called your hotel last night to explain why you and Paul hadn’t come back. And somebody else had already called.’

Ella stared at him. ‘Who?’

‘He didn’t give a name apparently. But he asked if you were all right. Of course they didn’t even know there had been an accident. He wanted to come and collect your things but they said they had to have your authorisation.’

Ella put her coffee cup carefully down on the table. ‘Collect my things?’ she said. ‘Good God. He must have thought I had something in the room. But what? I haven’t really found out anything at all. That’s what is so frustrating.’

‘Something to do with Andrew Saville maybe?’

‘But he didn’t tell us anything.’

‘No, but we both thought he knew something he wasn’t telling us.’

‘Then it’s him they should kill, not me. It doesn’t make sense. And why is it me they are after and not you, when you and I both know the same things?’

Nick thought about it. ‘They may not know that,’ he said. ‘They may not know I even exist.’ He hesitated. ‘Or they also may not think I’m an enemy because of my past.’

‘Working for Greenpeace you mean?’ Ella asked swiftly.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Robin Miller.’

‘How did he know?’

‘Hugh told him apparently,’ Ella said sweetly. ‘It quite took me by surprise because of course you had never mentioned it to me.’

Nick held up his hands in a gesture of surrender but his voice was hard. ‘Can you blame me?’ he asked. The toast popped up but he ignored it. ‘You didn’t trust me. You still don’t. You’re completely fixated on your precious bloody oil. I thought it would cook my goose once and for all if I told you that.’

Ella was annoyed too. ‘I do trust you. Obviously I do. I was completely at your mercy last night. You could have done anything you liked with me.’

‘Is that right?’

As she glanced up in surprise and met his eyes, Ella felt that sudden flicker of heat run through her again. What is going on, she thought, as she quickly looked away. What is the matter with me? It was ridiculous. Stop it, she told herself. Just stop it. This was Nick Jardine. Ex hippy and long haired, bird watching, Jesus sandal wearing vegetarian.

‘I meant you could have murdered me in my bed if you’d wanted to,’ she said stiffly.

He clicked his fingers as he turned back to the toaster. ‘Damn,’ he said lightly. ‘I knew there was something I meant to do last night.’

Ella sat at the table and fiddled with her coffee mug. ‘I’m not fixated on oil,’ she said.

Nick gave a short laugh but didn’t turn round. ‘Maybe not, but I reckon you suffer from something social scientists call homophily.’

‘What the hell is that?’

He put a plate of toast in front of her. ‘It’s pretty common,’ he said. ‘Most people have it to a greater or lesser degree. It’s the tendency to seek out and spend time only with people who are most similar to oneself.’

He waited for her to respond and when she didn’t he went on. ‘People prefer to hang out with people who share their own views. That’s why, say, religious creationists are able to continue believing that the concept of evolution is debatable, because in their social circles it is.’ He shrugged. ‘So in your case, for example, you feel comfortable with people in the oil industry and significantly less comfortable around people who hold a less, shall we say, positive view of the benefits of oil. Not only less comfortable, but less tolerant.’

‘I am perfectly tolerant of other people’s views,’ Ella said angrily. ‘I just think it’s most likely that it’s environmentalists who have kidnapped your nephew. You may not want that to be the case, but that’s how it seems to me.’

‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘I don’t want it to be the case, because if it’s true and it comes out, it will be a total disaster. The press would have a heyday. It would utterly discredit the whole environmental agenda.’

Ella glared at him. It annoyed her that he remained so unruffled. So bloody laid back. So irritatingly cool and logical. ‘I completely understand why people are anxious about oil exploration,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Particularly somewhere like this.’

He gave a dry laugh. ‘Well, that’s a start I guess.’ He looked at her for a long moment. ‘In that case I have a suggestion to make.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve been invited out today on a cetacean survey boat. I thought maybe you’d like to come along? They’ll be passing near the drill site and you might be interested to take a look.’

Ella was completely taken aback by the invitation. ‘But I thought I was off the case.’

‘This isn’t the case. It’s just a pleasant day out,’ he said. ‘Oh, and the boat’s leaving from Newland so we could call by the hospital on the way to see how Paul’s doing.’

‘Oh.’ Ella said. ‘Right. That’s good. I was just thinking I ought to ring and find out how he is.’ A proper girlfriend would have rung the moment she woke up, she thought with a jolt. And she sensed from his deliberately insouciant demeanour that Nick thought it too. Not after half an hour of chit chat round the kitchen table.

She stood up. ‘There’s just one small point. All my clothes are still at the hotel.’

‘We’ll find someplace to buy you some more,’ he said. ‘Can you survive with what you wore yesterday until then? I don’t really want to go near the hotel in case it’s being watched.’

Ella grimaced inwardly as she wondered what on earth sort of clothes she was likely to find locally. Judging by the utter and conspicuous lack of sartorial elegance at the hospital yesterday, not much. Still, she consoled herself, some beardy wierdy environmentalists weren’t going to notice what she wore.

‘This survey …’ she said, hesitating in the doorway of her bedroom. ‘To be honest, I’m not entirely sure exactly what a cetacean is?’

Nick looked at her with humorous astonishment. ‘Dolphins and porpoises,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re going to be right at home.’

Chapter Twenty Six

One of Ella’s favourite film scenes was the one in Pretty Woman when Richard Gere, the wealthy tycoon, takes Julia Roberts, the call girl, shopping for style on Rodeo Drive.

Ella’s Pembrokshire shopping trip could not have been more different. There was no Roy Orbison music, no style, and sadly no Richard Gere admiring her shy twirls. Instead of Giorgio Armani, Chanel and Ralph Loren it was Peacock, Bon Marché and Dorothy Perkins, with Nick Jardine impatiently looking at his watch, unimpressed by her fastidious reluctance to buy anything she considered naff.

‘For God’s sake, just get something warm, it’ll be cold out on the ocean.’

In the end Millets came to her rescue, and she ended up with an outfit of walking boots, jeans, underwear, tee shirt, sweater and jacket, which came to an unbelievably low price, less in fact than she would normally pay for one La Senza bra.

She was only allowed to see Paul for a couple of minutes. He was in a ward with half a dozen elderly men, and was attached to a huge metal contraption over his bed. He looked very bashed about, he was covered in bandages and a drip fed into his hand. Ella winced when she saw him. This was all her fault and she felt awful about it.

He was still pretty groggy and didn’t seem to notice her new appearance. But his parents had told him that Nick Jardine had appeared on the scene last night and it was clearly on his mind.

‘I knew he was visiting friends here,’ Ella lied tactfully. ‘So I called him to give me a lift back last night. It was the only thing I could think of as I was stuck here without the car.’ She didn’t feel it necessary to mention he had given her a lift back in again today, let alone that they had spent the night in the same cottage.

‘My parents said he was very nice,’ Paul said suspiciously.

‘Oh, he’s perfectly well mannered,’ Ella said. ‘In a weird laid back kind of way. He’s just not remotely my type, that’s all.’

Paul glanced down at his bandages. ‘I don’t suppose I am either at the moment, am I?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ella forced a laugh, ‘I’m sure all these old men would turn a blind eye if I asked them …’

He managed a weak smile then, but before he could respond the nurse came to shoo her out.

‘OK?’ Nick asked as she got back into the car in the car park.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘He looks awful. God knows how many bones he’s broken.’

‘But he’s conscious?’

‘Oh yes.’ Conscious enough to be worried about me knocking around with you, she thought, but didn’t say it. She didn’t want Nick Jardine getting any ideas.

The cetacean survey people were waiting for them at a café table at the marina in Newland. It wasn’t exactly Monte Carlo but there were some pretty sizable boats lined up on the pontoons.

Nick introduced her casually as a friend and two or three of the survey team made the effort to shake hands. The others were too busy getting ready to go aboard the Lady Rose, a powerful, ex sport fishing, motor cruiser which was owned and operated by two nice looking brothers, Matt and Joe.

There were seven dolphin-seekers altogether, four men and three women. Somewhat to Ella’s surprise there were no home-spun clothes and only one beard. On the contrary everyone seemed pretty fit and efficient. There was a quick safety speech from one of the brothers and life jackets were offered round but nobody put them on, so Ella didn’t either.

Then, with no further ado, they had eased off the pontoon and were cruising slowly down the Cleddau river estuary past the unsightly Milford Haven refinery, a couple of extraordinary old fort like buildings, a white lighthouse on the cliff. And shortly after that they were heading out to sea. At which point the brothers upped the revs.

Ella stood alone on the lower deck and let the wind blow through her hair. It was an exhilarating feeling and for a moment she allowed herself to forget the nagging turmoil in her brain. It was strangely liberating to be out on the water, away from everything.

It was quite a while since she had been on a boat, probably the last time was two of three years ago with her parents and some of their friends on a trip up to Gozo from Malta where they lived. This was a very different experience though. Then the focus had been on booze and sun, today the focus was very clearly on finding cetaceans.

Already she could see that several of the team on the top deck had their binoculars fixed on the distant water. Matt was at the wheel, Joe was consulting a map. Nick Jardine was leaning against the rail at the top of the metal ladder chatting to a woman called Vicky who had long straight fair hair tied back in a pony tail. He had introduced her earlier as the person who owned the cottage where they had stayed last night. She seemed to be the wife or partner of a large man wearing a bright red baseball cap with a little clip to hold it on at the back of his collar. He was the man with the beard. His name conveniently seemed to be Red, although Ella now wondered if she had misheard and it might actually be Rod.

Two of the other men were more or less indistinguishable from each other, they were called Paddy and John and were both wearing navy anoraks, close fitting black woolly hats and big binoculars. The fourth man, Wallace, was extremely tall and thin, he had a beaky nose and enormous teeth. He was a professional wildlife photographer and had several cameras slung round his scrawny neck.

The other two women, a pretty young brunette and a rather elderly lady with very close cropped hair and a Scandinavian accent were in the cabin below, earnestly sorting out some documentation. Ella couldn’t remember their names.

Nick caught her eye and waved for her to come up to the top deck. Wishing she had taken advantage of the offer of a life jacket, she carefully made her way up the metal ladder. There was less engine noise up on top, but the wind was stronger and Ella zipped up the front of her jacket.

‘We’re heading out past Skockholm,’ Nick said pointing ahead where a steep cliffed, green topped island rose out of the sea.

‘Puffins nest there in June.’ Vicky said. ‘And at night you can hear the Manx sheerwaters. They make this eerie wailing noise. It’s the most amazing sound.’

‘Did you know that the first ever flight a Manx sheerwater chick makes is all the way to South America?’ Red (or Rod) said. ‘They come out of their burrow, climb up on to the highest tuft of vegetation they can find and just set off.’

As Ella hadn’t the faintest idea what a Manx sheerwater was, she not only didn’t know but really didn’t care. But she smiled politely and then when Vicky started to point frantically to one side and shout something about gannets, she suddenly realised that she was trapped on a boat with a group of mad bird people.

‘What’s so important about gannets?’ Ella asked Nick as everyone rushed to the rail and focussed their binoculars in the direction Vicky had pointed. ‘I thought we were looking for cetaceans.’

Nick’s hair whipped round his face as he turned to her. He lifted his left hand to push it back, winced involuntarily, and used his right hand instead. ‘When you see gannets circling and diving it indicates there’s a big shoal of fish in the water below them,’ he said, ‘and that often means there’ll be dolphins too.’

And indeed there were.

Everyone else seemed to see them before Ella, but then someone passed her a pair of binoculars and even as Matt cut the speed slightly suddenly Ella saw the first distant triangular fins, and then they were coming right towards the boat, gleaming streaked silver as they leaped and dived through the water.

The cetacean team leaped into action too, counting, identifying, photographing and shouting names to each other as they saw specific markings or damaged fins they recognised from previous outings.

Ella just leaned over the rail and watched in wonder as the beautiful, shiny, grey green creatures twisted and jumped alongside the boat, racing it and darting backward and forward across the bows, blowing water from their air holes, their little eyes and big beaky mouths seeming to smile in innocent glee as they rode the wash. There were even two or three really young ones, babies, the size of salmon, which swam solemnly along next to their mothers, so perfectly synchronised and in tune it was as though they were somehow physically attached.

The water was so clear, Ella could even see them underneath, luminous, streaming air bubbles, sleek and powerful as they raced up to leap out with perfect grace and split second timing over the bow wave.

Realising that Nick was leaning on the rail beside her, she looked up and smiled.

‘Wow,’ she said.

‘Aren’t they great?’ he smiled back.

‘They are absolutely gorgeous,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ And it was true. There was something so powerful and emotional about her reaction to them, for the first time she understood why so many people wanted to swim with dolphins. They had a kind of instinctive joy and warmth about them that was almost a therapy in itself.

And then within minutes they were gone, they just peeled away and disappeared.

But the gannets were still there, clean white birds riding the air on long black tipped wings, occasionally and unexpectedly diving like missiles hard and fast straight down into the water.

‘They’ve got a wingspan of two meters and they hit the water at 100km per hour,’ Vicky spoke beside her. ‘They have special air pockets in their shoulders to buffer them from the impact.’

‘I reckon they’d need them,’ Ella said watching one drop from about two hundred feet and disappear headfirst into the water like a spear.

Vicky pointed to a particular white topped island rising out of the sea like an iced doughnut some way away. ‘That’s where they breed,’ she said. ‘Grassholm. About 30,000 pairs nest there each year. They pair for life, which is sweet. Although they don’t smell so sweet, I’m afraid,’ she added laughing as a sudden waft of guano hit the boat like a toxic cloud.

‘Does anyone actually live on any of these islands?’ Ella asked in horror as the pungent odour swirled around her.

‘Skomer and Skockholm belong to the RSPB and the Wildlife Trust. They have resident wardens and some visitor accommodation. Luckily you can’t smell Grassholm from those,’ Vicky said. ‘And a man called John Howes owns Wickholm. He’s a kind of recluse, rather odd,’ she pointed at an island with steep black cliffs in the distance and made a face. ‘He bought the island years ago and has been living off the land, such as it is, ever since. Renouncing the industrialised world and all that. He’s a bit of a guru to some people.’

‘But not to you?’ Ella asked, surprised. She had assumed that living off the land was exactly what environmentalists would approve of and aspire to.

‘I admire the point he’s making,’ Vicky said. ‘But I think he’s taking it to extremes. It’s OK for him, he’s got his own island, but we can’t all go back to the stone age. We have to find a way of living in the world with the mess we have created.’

Ella decided to ignore the ‘mess’ comment, assuming that it referred to the oil industry. ‘Have you even been there, to see how he lives?’ she asked instead.

‘Good God, no, he doesn’t let anyone land. He’s not above taking a pot shot at any boats that got too close!’

‘So how can he be a guru if nobody goes there?’ Ella said. ‘How would anyone know about him?’

‘He’s written several books. And sometimes he appears at environmental events on the mainland, like a born again eco-messiah.’ Vicky laughed. ‘I personally think he comes over to do a bit of shopping and have a hot bath.’

Ella laughed too, she liked Vicky, she was nicely irreverent, a quality she had not thought to find in an environmentalist.

‘I was really sorry to hear about the accident yesterday,’ Vicky said suddenly. ‘Is your boyfriend OK?’

Ella grimaced. ‘Well, not OK, but alive at least. He broke quite a few bones.’

‘How awful,’ Vicky said. ‘I’d never heard of a landslide up on Carningli before.‘ She gave Ella a sideways glance. ‘When Nick rang out of the blue like that and asked if he could bring you to the cottage, I thought at first he wanted it as a love nest.’

‘Good God, no,’ Ella said, then realised from Vicky’s startled look that she had been rather too emphatic. ‘I don’t really know him that well,’ she explained. ‘I just work for his brother.’

‘Ah, the dreaded Hugh,’ Vicky said. She saw Ella’s surprise. ‘Sorry, if he’s your boss I shouldn’t be rude about him. But I’ve known Nick since university days. We were at LSE together.’

‘So you knew Miriam as well?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Vicky said shortly.

‘You don’t like her?’

Vicky lowered her voice. ‘I haven’t seen her for years but I don’t approve of what she does to Nick.’

Ella was intrigued. ‘What does she do to him?’

Vicky grimaced. ‘She broke his heart years ago in the cruellest way. And now she pretends she wants him back. She won’t have him but she won’t let him go.’ She made a disgusted noise in her throat. ‘I can’t be doing with people like that.’

‘So why doesn’t he just tell her to bugger off?’

‘I don’t know.’ Vicky said. Maybe deep down he thinks he still loves her. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s had other girls.’ She grinned. ‘Quite a few actually, but he never commits. I think she’s ruined him for love.’

Red came struggling up the ladder then with two mugs of tea for them then so Ella couldn’t pursue her questioning. Nick followed him with a plate of cheese sandwiches and bizarrely Joe followed him with a plate of freshly made lemon pancakes.

‘Nothing nicer than a pancake out on the water,’ he said. And Ella had to agree.

She realised there was actually nothing nicer than standing at the rail with a hot mug of tea in one hand, a lemon pancake in the other, a gentle breeze blowing through her hair, sun on her face, turquoise sea stretching in all directions and a group of friendly people chatting behind her. If her knee didn’t ache so badly it would almost be perfect.

The Smalls lighthouse stood in lonely splendour over twenty miles from land, perched on a couple of inhospitable crags of rock in the middle of the ocean.

It was unmanned now, but Red told Ella that two hundred years ago the lighthouse was manned by two keepers. They were known to be quarrelsome and when one of them died unexpectedly one night, the other was worried that he would be blamed for the death. He made a coffin and lashed it to the outside of the lighthouse in the hopes a passing ship would see, but storms picked up and the arm of the dead man kept falling out of the coffin and swinging and scratching on the window. By the time help finally arrived weeks later the survivor had gone mad. And the lighthouse authority decided that in future there should always be at least three men stationed on lighthouses.

Ella looked up at the steep bleak wall. ‘God, surely anyone would go mad after ten minutes in there,’ she said, remembering how claustrophobic she had got even after just two days stuck in the villa in Monaco. ‘Even without a dead hand tapping on the window.’

‘I don’t know. Depends who was in there with you, I suppose.’ Red gave a throaty chuckle and Ella glanced involuntarily at Nick. He held her gaze with a faint quizzical smile and to her horror she almost felt herself blush. Turning her head away quickly, she chided herself for reacting. The fresh air and surf must be going to her head.

They saw another pod of dolphins again on the way back and this time they stayed around the boat for about half an hour, while the survey team worked frantically, tracking and cross checking to get all the details of each individual one logged as accurately as possible. Their results would be compared to previous surveys to try to build up a pattern of numbers, ages, sex, range and behaviour.

It seemed to be a surprisingly professional operation, but Ella didn’t care about the details of the survey, she just revelled in the proximity to these magical creatures. This time she was on the lower deck and she was almost close enough to touch them as they swirled past only feet below her.

The survey team were delighted with the results and the photos they had got. Another round of tea appeared and Joe was just teaching Ella how to hold the boat steady on a compass setting when the PanGlobal drill ship came into view and everyone fell silent.

It was a long, low, steel hulled vessel with a crane like structure built onto it. Two support vessels attended it and, when they caught sight of the Mary Rose, a coast guard boat immediately broke away from the group and came speedily towards them.

‘They’ll be firing across our bows next,’ Joe said sourly as he took the wheel back from Ella and reduced speed.

The drilling was taking place much nearer to the shore than Ella had expected. It was certainly well within view of the jagged coastline and of the islands they had passed earlier. She could hear the dull thump of the driver echoing over the water.

The coast guard came up alongside and instructed them through a loud hailer not to come any closer.

‘We don’t want to,’ Joe shouted back. ‘It’s too late. Thanks to people like you, the buggers are already violating our heritage.’

‘We were only doing our job,’ the coastguard shouted back.

‘And we were only trying to do ours.’ Red’s deep voice yelled across the water.

‘Were you out here yesterday then?’ Ella asked Vicky.

She nodded. ‘Yes, but much good it did us. We’d been told that the drilling was taking place much nearer Skomer so all the protest boats gathered over there to stop the drill ship getting into position. We thought she was just hovering about over here, waiting to get in and then we realised she was actually starting to work and it was too late. She has some special machine on board that keeps her in exactly the right spot. It’s just that we thought the spot was somewhere else. The Greenpeace guys were spitting apparently. They’ve gone into Milford Haven now to sulk.’

So that’s how Robin had tricked them, by drilling in a different place than they expected.

‘Everyone says the well will be dry anyway,’ Ella said. ‘And if it is, that’s the end of it. So maybe it’s better to let them get on with it?’

‘It’s the principal that matters,’ Red said. ‘We can’t just let people think they can wreck beautiful wild places just for a quick profit. And imagine if there is oil.’ He spread his big, rough hands indicating the spectacular coastline, the islands, the clean tranquil blue sea. ‘Think of the damage just one spill would cause, let alone the inevitable leaks and rusting rigs and equipment and general pollution and noise. The human race has wrecked enough of the world already. We have to try to make a stand somewhere.’

Ella saw Nick watching her and moved over to him. ‘You brought me out today on purpose didn’t you?’ she murmured accusingly. ‘You wanted me to see what it was really like.’

He lifted his shoulders slightly, ‘I didn’t think it would do any harm.’

She glared at him, but oddly was conscious more of disappointment than anger. It was somehow galling that his offer of a pleasant day out had had an ulterior motive.

‘I’m not in charge of the blasted drilling,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

She turned away abruptly. It had been such a wonderful day and now she felt he’d spoiled it.

‘If you’ve all seen enough, we’ll head home,’ Matt called from the wheel.

The sun was just beginning to drop as they cruised back up the Cleddau and a new chill came into the air. Ella went down into the cabin to keep warm. There she found Wallace reviewing his photos.

‘I hear you work for an oil company,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Ella admitted warily, wondering if he was about to set about her with his tripod. ‘I suppose I’m the enemy to you guys.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘You can’t blame oil companies for trying to make money. It’s the government who’s really at fault. This is meant to be a protected area and yet the minute they think it might be concealing some natural resource they feel at liberty to offer it up to plunder.’

His earnestness made Ella feel slightly uncomfortable. ‘Well I’m glad you don’t blame me personally at least,’ she said.

‘Not at all,’ he said courteously. ‘You should come out on the seal survey with us sometime. We use an inflatable for that and get much closer in. It’s good fun.’

Back on deck, Ella watched as Joe manoeuvred the boat skilfully back into its space on the marina pontoon. Suddenly everyone was packing up, putting cushions away, stowing the unused life jackets, clearing up the galley, and shoving binoculars and cameras back into backpacks.

One by one they clambered off the boat, clutching their things.

As Ella had nothing of her own to carry, she helped Wallace lift down his camera bags. She was just standing waiting for him in front of the boat when she glanced along towards the café on the quay and froze.

There, standing with another man just by the metal gate to the pontoon, was the man. The same man she had seen on top of the cliff at Cap d’Ail and again in London.

Chapter Twenty Seven

The moment seemed to last forever, then Ella turned and stumbled back behind the boat. Nick must have been watching her because within a second he was at her side.

She was hardly able to speak for the pounding of her heart. ‘It’s the man,’ she stammered. ‘He’s just there, right at the gate.’

‘My God.’ Nick swung round and grabbed Wallace. ‘Can you do me a favour? There’s a man standing at the pontoon gate. I need his picture. It’s really important.’

Wallace looked startled but obligingly crouched down, unstrapped one of his bags and took out a camera.

‘Don’t use a flash,’ Nick said. ‘I don’t want to attract his attention.’

The others were looking at them now, wondering what was going on.

‘Guys, just stay here for a second,’ Nick said urgently. He put a hand on Ella’s arm. ‘Did he see you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

Wallace was already hopping back on board the Mary Rose, manoeuvring discreetly round the deck to get a clear shot. ‘There are two men,’ he hissed back softly. ‘Which do you want?’

‘Both,’ Nick said.

‘Shit, they are moving off now,’ Wallace said. ‘Heading for the car park I think.’

‘Have you got a decent shot?’ Nick asked.

‘Yes.’

To Ella’s astonishment, Nick let her go then and ran silently off up the pontoon, pressed in the security code, and disappeared through the gate.

‘Who is it?’ Vicky said. ‘What’s going on? What’s he doing?’

Ella shivered. ‘It’s a man who keeps following me.’

They were all staring at her now. After a second’s astonished pause, Red dropped all his kit and took off up the pontoon after Nick, followed by Matt and Jo.

The rest of them were left gaping. Vicky was the first to recover. ‘Can you see anything Wally?’ she called.

‘They’ve gone,’ Wallace was already climbing back down off the boat. ‘They drove off.’

In silence they gathered up all the abandoned kit and made their way along the pontoon. Nick and the others were already back at the gate. ‘Sorry about that. It’s this weirdo who’s stalking Ella. We don’t know who he is or what he wants. But he’s a pain in the butt.’ He spoke casually and everyone relaxed slightly.

The Scandinavian woman touched Ella’s arm. ‘Are you OK?’

Ella took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Yeah, yeah, thanks. I’m fine. It was just a shock seeing him here.’

Nick extricated them from any more questions with excuses about needing to get home. He thanked Matt and Joe for the day, gave Vicky a quick hug and said he’d see her later. Then he and Ella walked over to the Fiat.

‘Which of the two was it?’ he asked.

‘The blond haired one,’ Ella said.

‘Are you absolutely sure it’s the same guy?’ Nick asked.

Ella nodded. ‘Almost absolutely.’

He glanced at her. ‘Did you notice anything particular about him?’

‘Not really. Why? What do you mean?’

‘He was wearing hiking boots,’ he said.

Nick checked the car over and then got in and started it up before he let her get in.

‘Oh God,’ Ella said. He must have followed us here. Maybe from the hospital.’

Nick shook his head. ‘Nobody followed us,’

‘How do you know?’

He shrugged. ‘I just know.’

Ella glanced at him. ‘Then how did he know I was here.’

Nick frowned. ‘I don’t think he did know you were here. Think about it. As far as he’s concerned you are still in hospital. Or if not, certainly too badly injured to do anything useful.’

‘So what the hell was he doing here?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll come down with Wally’s photos tomorrow and ask around,’ Nick said. ‘Someone is surely bound to know him. And if it’s just some innocent look alike, then at least we’ll know.’

‘What about me?’

‘You’re out of it. Even more so now.’

‘But …’

‘But nothing. It’s not safe and it’s not your responsibility.’

Ella slumped back in her seat and looked out of the window. Yesterday when she had been in shock, she had been relieved to be off the case. But now it was different. If that really was the man she had seen before, and she was certain it was, for some reason it made her angry that he was calmly hanging around the marina chatting to a friend. She wracked her brain to think of something she might have missed. Something that would throw light on the situation. But exactly what was the situation? George and Amanda were still missing and the drilling had gone ahead. So what on earth was it all about?

‘The co-ordinates,’ she straightened up suddenly and looked across at Nick. ‘The drill site. Why were Greenpeace and the other protesters’ boats in a different place?’

‘They’d gotten the wrong grid reference,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Ella said. ‘Vicky said they thought it was going to be nearer to Skomer island. But why did they think that? PanGlobal weren’t likely to advertise the exact location where they were going to drill, were they?’

Nick thought about it. ‘You’re saying someone in PanGlobal leaked the wrong information?’

‘Yes,’ Ella said. ‘I think Robin Miller leaked the wrong information. But that’s not the point.’ She turned eagerly to face him. ‘What if the real information has been changed somewhere along the line? Seismic reports must get seen by plenty of people. Maybe that’s why the wells are dry. Maybe the environmentalists are cleverer than I thought. Maybe someone has fiddled the numbers, making PanGlobal drill in the wrong place?’

‘Is that possible?’

Ella sighed and slumped back again. ‘I don’t know.’

They called at the hospital again on the way back, and this time Paul’s parents were sitting at his bedside. Once again Nick opted to stay in the car and, realising he didn’t want to leave the car unattended, Ella didn’t try to dissuade him. Paul was looking marginally more lively but it was hard to chat normally with his parents there and when they very tactfully withdrew for a few minutes, Ella couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘You look windswept,’ Paul commented.

‘I went out on a boat to see the PanGlobal drilling.’

‘So Greenpeace didn’t manage to stop it after all,’ Paul said.

‘No,’ Ella said.

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘Well, I suppose I am a bit. It’s an incredibly beautiful area and it would be a shame to spoil it.’

Paul managed a laugh. ‘You’re beginning to sound like an environmentalist.’

His parents came back then, and after a few minutes Ella left, promising to come back the following day.

Paul looked surprised. ‘It’s Monday tomorrow, isn’t it? Haven’t you got to go back to work?’

‘I’ve taken a couple of days off,’ Ella said.

‘That’s kind of you,’ Mrs Taylor said.

It turned out that Vicky and Red had invited her and Nick for supper.

‘But I haven’t got anything to wear,’ Ella said.

‘You look fine as you are,’ Nick said.

Ella was appalled. ‘But I’ve been in these clothes all day.’

He laughed then. ‘I have a nasty feeling Vicky and Red wear the same clothes all week. In Red’s case, maybe all month.’

Ella looked at him suspiciously. ‘I hope you are joking,’ she said. ‘But seriously, can’t we collect my stuff from the hotel? I need to settle up for the room and my car’s still there too. We were due to check out today.’ So much for the reconciliatory romantic weekend with Paul, she thought. It could hardly have been more of a disaster.

So they called at the hotel and Nick stood in the bedroom looking around with an irritatingly quizzical expression while Ella packed her and Paul’s bags.

‘Hmm, interesting,’ Nick remarked, picking up the Economist from Paul’s bedside table.

‘Don’t you like the Economist,’ Ella took one of Paul’s jackets out of the wardrobe and folded it carefully. ‘Too complicated for you? Or don’t you approve of its politics?’

‘No,’ Nick was flicking idly through the pages. ‘I was just thinking if I had a girl like you in a bed like this, I probably wouldn’t waste time reading the Economist.’

Once again Ella felt that irritating surge of heat and covered it up with a light laugh. ‘Are you flirting with me, Nick Jardine? Or just casting aspersions on my boyfriend.’

‘Neither,’ he looked up, coolly. ‘Just stating a fact.’

Ella busied herself in zipping up the cases. Bloody Nick Jardine, she thought sourly. How come he always seemed to manage to rattle her? And now on top of everything else she was mortified to discover that she seemed to have got the hots for him. It must have been all the fresh air and sea and surf, she thought. It had acted on her like some kind of aphrodisiac.

So on balance she was glad they were going to Vicky and Red’s, she decided, as she followed Nick back to the cottage in her own car, carefully checked over by Nick for bombs and bugs while she was paying the bill. Things would be a lot easier there than alone with him in the little cottage. Or so she thought.

Vicky and Red had seemed pretty normal on the boat and it obviously hadn’t occurred to anyone to mention to Ella that they lived in a tepee. A tepee that was part of some ghastly eco community.

It seemed a bit rich, Ella thought, that Vicky had mocked the man who lived on the island for returning to the stone age, when she herself didn’t even have running water.

Why they lived in a tepee when they had a perfectly good, comfortable cottage at their disposal was anyone’s guess, but as she stepped in through the triangular entrance flap, Ella quickly realised that Nick had not been entirely joking about Red’s personal hygiene. The tepee had an open fire right in the centre and the smoke plumed straight up and out of a hole high between the poles that supported the canvas walls. The heat, however, seemed to hang in the tent, contributing to a pretty strong general aroma, some elements of which were, unfortunately, easily identifiable, and others that Ella couldn’t quite identify and found slightly unsettling.

‘Take a seat, take a seat,’ Red said after greeting them jovially. He waved at some floor cushions covered in brightly coloured cloths. Ella inspected them dubiously before sitting down rather primly and then realised that Nick had slumped down right next to her and was laughing at her expression.

‘How the other half live,’ he said.

For the first time she noticed what very nice teeth he had. He looked as though he would be a good kisser, she thought, and immediately berated herself for allowing such an idea to cross her mind. She certainly wasn’t going to try to find out. Instead she reached up to take the proffered drink from Red. ‘I’ve never been in a tepee before,’ she said.

‘It’s a great way to live,’ Red said. ‘If you stay over with us tonight, you’ll see what I mean.’

Ella felt the colour leave her cheeks as a sudden vision of the evening turning into some kind of frenzied hippy orgy entered her mind.

‘I think he means if we’re not quite up to driving back to the cottage.’ Nick murmured beside her.

Ella was relieved and determined there and then that she for one certainly wasn’t going to drink too much. And she would be keeping a stern eye on Nick’s intake too. It was only later, after Vicky had brought in a steaming cauldron of a surprisingly tasty vegetable stew and rice that Ella noticed Red pulling out a packet of cigarette papers and a tin of something that definitely wasn’t tobacco and realised what Nick had really meant.

With a sinking heart, she now finally recognised the illusive aroma that was impregnating the floor cushions. It wasn’t that she disapproved, it was a free world after all, and marihuana for private use wasn’t even illegal, but the thought of lying around in a tent with a crowd of hey man hippies doped up to the eyeballs and talking about peace and free love left her feeling very cold.

In due course, inevitably, the enormous spliff Red had rolled made its way towards her.

The uncomfortable choice she now faced was either to act like a prude, or to throw caution to the wind and have a go.

As she hesitated, Red nodded eagerly at his masterpiece. ‘It’s good stuff,’ he said. ‘Home grown.’

And then Nick leant round her and took the joint. ‘Don’t pester the poor girl, Red,’ he said. ‘Can’t you see she’s more used to snorting cocaine. You know what these city types are like.’ As she turned to expostulate, his eyes glinted at her through the smoke. ‘You could think of it as medicinal,‘ he murmured. ‘It would relax you.’

‘I don’t need relaxing,’ she retorted.

‘No?’ His brows rose slightly. He took another lazy drag and passed the joint on to Vicky. Ella knew when he turned back he was going to try and prove his point and she could feel her traitorous skin already burning in anticipation of his touch.

And then Wallace and a large hairy dog appeared in the opening of the tepee and the moment was lost.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Wallace had run the photos off on his computer and brought them with him. He had got a full face of each man, two profiles and one of them standing together.

Ella studied the blond man. She knew everyone was watching her. She looked up. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s the same man.’

‘How sure?’ Nick asked. ‘Sure enough for me to go beat his brains out?’

She smiled at the thought. ‘No. But sure enough to make it worth asking around to find out who he is.’

Red leaned over and picked up one of the photos. ‘So what exactly has this guy done?’ he asked.

Ella saw Nick hesitate, and knew he was wondering how much to say. ‘OK,’ he said finally, ignoring her warning glance. ‘My brother’s child, George, and his nanny were kidnapped in Monaco two weeks ago. My brother has agreed a huge ransom demand, the money’s ready, but the kidnappers keep delaying the exchange.’

‘My God,’ Vicky whispered. ‘Are you sure they’re still alive?’

‘Yes. We’ve had proof. At first we thought the kidnap was just about George. And the money. But here’s the thing. It turns out that the nanny’s father works for the government and is involved in the licensing for offshore oil exploration.’

‘So you think the kidnappers are putting pressure on him for some reason?’

‘Maybe to stop giving any more drilling licenses.’ Ella said.

Red laughed sourly. ‘There’s plenty of people round here who would be in favour of that,’ he said. ‘But I can’t think of anyone who would set up an elaborate scheme like you’re suggesting.’

‘It would be a good scam though, wouldn’t it? ’ Wallace said. ‘Think about it. If you played it carefully you’d get the money and save the seas. Double whammy.’

‘But a kidnap,’ Vicky said. ‘That poor child. Who could be so cruel? Hugh and Miriam must in agony.’

‘They are,’ Nick said.

‘And this guy,’ Red tapped the photo. ‘Where does he fit in?’

‘Ella thought she saw him in France,’ Nick said. ‘Then again in London. Maybe even twice. And then yesterday she and her boyfriend were in a freak accident up on the mountain. They were lucky not to be killed. And now surprise surprise she sees him at Newland.’

‘Shit,’ Red said.

‘It’s suspicious, right,’ Nick said.

‘So what are you going to do?’ Vicky asked.

Nick drummed his fingers on the table. ‘We have to be careful. This really does have to stay just among us, guys. The kidnappers stipulated no police. No nothing. We can’t afford to jeopardise any chance of getting George back. So we have to tread real gently. I’ll go back to Newland tomorrow to see if I can find out anything about this guy. Ella is going to stay well out of sight. And you guys are hopefully going to put out some very delicate feelers to see if there’s anything unusual going down among the eco warriors.’

Ella was sitting back watching him. Nobody seemed to notice, or perhaps care, that Wallace’s dog had joined her on the cushions. She fondled the animal’s ears thoughtfully. Nick obviously trusted his friends implicitly. She hoped he was right to. She couldn’t quite believe that they were going to put their hearts into an investigation that might ultimately lead to the exploitation and devastation of their coast.

‘You be careful then,’ she heard Vicky say to Nick. ‘If this is the guy who tried to kill Ella, he might try to kill you too.’

Ella frowned. It was all ifs. It was so frustrating. If only they had one piece of concrete evidence to go on. Just one solid thing, then they might be able to make some progress. Her brain felt like treacle and she wondered if the dope was affecting her second hand. Like passive smoking. The dog seemed to have gone into a coma too.

Suddenly realising Nick had stood up, and seemed to be ready to go, Ella attempted to get to her feet too, but her knee was still stiff and in any case the dog had other ideas and kept putting its enormous paw imperiously on her arm.

Nick watched her struggle for a moment then held out his hand, pulling her easily to her feet. He let her go straight away, but not before she had felt the surprising strength in his long fingers.

It was completely dark outside and he put his arm round her to guide her to the car.

‘How can you see where we are going?’ she asked stumbling along beside him.

‘Cat’s eyes,’ he said. ‘I’ve always been able to see in the dark.’

She stopped and pulled away from him slightly. ‘Are you serious? So you can see my face right now?’

‘Yup,’ she felt his fingers cool on her skin. ‘Eyes. Nose. Cheek bones. Mouth …’ he paused there for an electric moment, then let his hand drop abruptly.

‘What’s the matter?’ Ella murmured, her lips still tingling from his touch.

He laughed softly under his breath as he propelled her on to the car. ‘If you don’t know that, you’re one hell of a lot more innocent than I thought.’

He was right, of course. It was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Ella desperately tried to pull herself together. It was madness. She didn’t even like him. And her boyfriend was lying in hospital only twenty miles away. But it was rather galling that Nick was able to brush off that sudden spark of attraction so easily.

‘Coffee?’ he asked when they got back to the cottage.

‘No thanks, I’m going to hit the sack,’ she said. ‘All that marihuana smoke has quite gone to my head.’

He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Lucky it didn’t go to mine, huh?’

‘Very lucky,’ she agreed firmly and retreated to the safety of her bedroom.

Chapter Twenty Nine

She was woken by the sound of his phone ringing. It irritated her that his mobile got a better signal round here than her iPhone. She needed to phone the office and it annoyed her that her superior technology was letting her down. Padding into the kitchen she could hear Nick talking in his bedroom. She put some coffee on, pleased to notice that he had bought Lavazza, her favourite brand, and by the time he emerged, she had showered, got dressed and was sitting at the table nursing her mug.

‘That was Hugh,’ he said. ‘They’re getting desperate. The kidnappers are clearly just playing them along. Now they’re suddenly asking for more ransom. They’re offering another proof of life, but still no firm date for an exchange.’

‘Did you tell him about the man?’

‘I did.’ Nick poured himself some coffee. ‘I’ve asked Wallace to email the photos over to Hugh just in case he or Miriam or any of the staff might recognise him. And I’ve left another message for that Jenny’s family, asking them again to let me know urgently the moment she regains consciousness.’

‘You have been busy,’ Ella said, but actually she was impressed by his efficiency, particularly after a night on the dope. He certainly seemed very brisk this morning, not like his usual languid self.

‘OK,’ he said, putting down his empty mug and picking up the photos. ‘I’m going to head off to Newland. I’ll see you later.’

‘Why don’t I come with you?’

He stopped and turned back to her. ‘You’d be a lot safer here.’

‘I know,’ she said, cross that he obviously thought she was a complete wimp. ‘But it’s pointless me staying here. And as you’ll be going past the hospital I’d like to call in on Paul.’

‘Ah yes. Paul. Of course.’ He smiled enigmatically.

In the car she looked across at him wondering what he was thinking. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was piqued because he hadn’t followed through last night. She was damned if she would give him that satisfaction. He was smug enough already. God only knew why. She had quite clearly been out of her mind yesterday. On the other hand, she had to admit to herself that deep down she didn’t want him to think badly of her. She was just wondering how best to get all that across when her phone rang.

It was Claude.

‘Ella? Where the hell are you?’

‘I was just about to ring you,’ she lied. ‘Did Hugh talk to you about me taking a few days off? I was in an accident on Saturday.’

‘Were you injured?’

‘Not really. But Paul was. Quite badly. He’s in hospital.’

There was a pause. ‘I think we both know, Ella, that I don’t care very much about Paul. I care very much about you, but if you are not injured I think you can come in, no?’

‘No,’ she said doggedly. ‘Hugh has given me some time off.’

‘Listen, Ella. The trading room is in a mess. And you don’t work for Hugh you work for me.’

‘Ultimately I work for Hugh.’

‘Ultimately you may not work for either of us if you don’t come in tomorrow,’ Claude said silkily and disconnected.

She clicked the phone off angrily. ‘I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Or I’ll get sacked.’

Nick frowned. ‘I’ll talk to Hugh again …’

‘It’s not worth it,’ Ella said. ‘Claude will make my life hell if I don’t go back.’ And actually, she thought, maybe it’s the best thing. At least it will get me away from blasted Nick Jardine.

Ella had imagined having to ask around for hours before finding any trace of the men in the photo, but to her astonishment, the first person they asked, the friendly Welsh lady who manned the café on the quay at Newland, nodded immediately.

‘Yes, yes, I know him all right,’ she said, pointing to the second man. ‘He’s got a boat here. Jimmy’s his name.’ She peered at the photo of the blond man again. ‘I’ve not seen this one, mind. I don’t think he’s been in here.’

‘And do you know where this Jimmy might be now?’ Nick asked.

‘On his boat I dare say,’ the woman peered vaguely out of the window towards the lines of moored boats on the pontoons. ‘I don’t know the name of it, but you could ask up in the harbourmaster office.’

The man in the harbourmasters office couldn’t have been more helpful either. He didn’t know the blond man either but he recognised Jimmy Bennett. His boat was Seagull Two, berthed on K Pontoon in the upper basin. He was a live-aboard. He had been there on and off a month or so. He checked in his register and sure enough Jimmy Bennett had arrived in early August. Ella noticed that there was no address, just c/o Newland Marina.’

‘On and off?’ Ella said. ‘You mean he has gone away and come back?’

The man gave her a long look. ‘That’s what people with boats do, go out cruising or sailing. Some go over to Ireland or down to Cornwall. Some just go out for the day.’

‘Do you keep a note of how long they are away?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘They can do what they want, so long as they’ve paid for their berth.’

Ella leaned on the counter to rest her leg. ‘So you mean a boat could come in from France and no-one would know?’

He glanced out of the window at the lines and lines of boats. ‘We have to let the water police at Milford know when we get foreign boats in,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they bother to come over to check. And customs. But not always. A UK boat, though, they’re meant to tell us if they’ve come from a foreign port, but ...’ he shrugged. ‘Who’s to know?’

‘So it’s pretty casual?’ Ella said. ‘Anyone can come and go.’

‘We’ve got CCTV, the man said, rather stiffly. ‘And the pontoon gate is security coded. And we do night patrols.’

‘It looks like a real nice place to come to,’ Nick said placatingly. ‘I’m not surprised you’ve got so many boats here.’

The man looked mollified. ‘Well, it’s not as sophisticated as Milford Haven, but our customers seem to like it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to make a call, but do you want someone to go and tell Jimmy he’s got visitors?’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Nick said. ‘We’re waiting for friends.’

‘Are we?’ Ella asked as they went back down the steps into the sunlight.

‘No,’ he glanced about casually as they strolled along the quay. ‘We’re waiting until we can get through the pontoon gate without anyone seeing us. I just hope it’s the same security code as yesterday.’

It was. A minute later they were through and walking purposefully up K pontoon.

Ella had been hoping that Seagull Two would at least be some kind of cabin cruiser, the sort that could easily smuggle a couple of unwilling passengers from the South of France to Wales in a matter of days. But disappointingly Seagull Two turned out to be a sailing boat undergoing some major renovation. She looked at its bare decks and new woodwork with irritation.

Nor did Jimmy Bennett look much like a man likely to be involved in a kidnap. He looked more like a man likely to be involved with a bottle. If the bleary eyes and the stains on his crumpled shirt were anything to go by, he had certainly had a very good session the previous night. He was sitting on a white plastic chair on the deck smoking a cigarette and reading the Daily Mail. He looked up unconcernedly as they approached.

Expecting him to be Welsh, Ella was surprised when he responded to Nick’s greeting with a broad Scottish accent.

‘We were wondering if you could help us,’ Nick said. ‘We’re looking for someone and we think you might know him.’

Jimmy flicked the cigarette into the water and came over to the rail. ‘Who is it you’re looking for?’ he asked.

Nick offered the photo of the blond man.

Jimmy took a pair of cheap reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. He studied the photo carefully. When he looked up his eyes seemed slightly less bleary. ‘And what do you want with him?’ he asked.

Nick ignored the question. ‘Do you know him?’

Jimmy took off the glasses again and handed the photo back. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

Nick smiled pleasantly. ‘And in which manner of speaking would that be?’

‘You’re American.’ Jimmy said.

‘And you’re Scottish,’ Nick replied.

‘I am that,’ Jimmy nodded. ‘So what’s a yankee doing round here?’

‘I could ask what’s a Scot doing around here?’

‘Minding my own business.’

‘And your friend’s business perhaps?’

‘He’s not my friend.’

Nick’s brows rose slightly. ‘But you were with him yesterday,’ he said.

Jimmy looked at Ella and nodded towards Nick. ‘He’s twisty, your boyfriend,’ he said.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Ella said.

Jimmy laughed and Ella could smell last night’s whisky on his breath. ‘You’re a sharp one too,’ he said. He rubbed his nose. ‘Look, I don’t really know him. I’ve taken him out fishing a few times that’s all. He’s a nice enough bloke. We’ve had a wee drink or two. But that’s all. Is he in some kind of trouble?’

‘No, no, not at all.’ Nick said. ‘I just need to talk to him. Do you know where I might find him?’

‘Well,’ Jimmy said. ‘I think he said he lives near Bristol, but he comes down here at the weekends. He talked about fishing next weekend. So I suppose he’ll be down again then.’

‘Do you have a number for him?’

‘No,’ Jimmy shook his head.

‘A name?’

‘His name is Kevin Casey. You might find him in directory enquiries.’

Back on the quay, Ella and Nick sat down at one of the café tables in the sun.

Nick sighed. ‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ella said. ‘At first I thought he was shifty but then he seemed actually quite sweet.’

‘Sweet?’ Nick looked incredulous.

‘Well, not sweet scented obviously. But a bit charming.’

‘I thought he was a complete rogue. And I’d say the chance of finding Kevin Casey in directory enquiries is zilch.’

The same lady waitress came out then and they ordered coffee. ‘Did you find Jimmy?’ she asked when she brought the drinks.

‘We did,’ Nick said. ‘What do you know about him?’

She shrugged. ‘Not much to be honest. Scotch isn’t he? Friendly enough but close, if you know what I mean. Keeps himself to himself.’

‘Do you see him every day?’

She thought about that. ‘No. He comes and goes. Don’t know where. Working maybe.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Or drinking. They do say he likes a drink.’

Nick laughed. ‘You don’t say.’ He took out money to pay for the coffees, then glanced at Ella. ‘Have you got something I can write on?’

Ella took out a business card and a pen and handed it to him. He smiled up at the waitress and showed her the photo of Kevin Casey again. ‘And if you ever do see this guy around here, would you be real kind and let me know?’ He wrote his number on the back of the card.

The waitress glanced at the photo. ‘I’ll know him if I see him,’ she said. She fingered the business card for a moment then put it in her pocket. ‘What do you want him for? What’s he done?’

Nick stood up and put a possessive hand on Ella’s shoulder. ‘He’s been after my girl and I want to have a word with him about it.’

‘Oh right.’ The waitress looked as startled as Ella felt, but when Ella caught her quick gaze, she saw to her surprise that there was a touch of envy in her eyes, and realised that the other woman had immediately seen in Nick Jardine what she was finally beginning to see. That lazy, self assured sex appeal. She wondered why she had been so slow to notice it.

Back in the car Ella leaned her head back and closed her eyes. ‘It’s all so nebulous. We don’t really know anything. We haven’t managed to make any progress at all. We are no closer to finding George and Amanda. And God only knows what they are going through. I feel like screaming,’ she said. ‘It’s so frustrating.’

‘I know,’ he said. He sat for a moment with his hands resting on the steering wheel. ‘So maybe we should have gone to bed together last night. At least it would have taken our minds off everything.’

She stared at him aghast. Talk about getting things out into the open. But how irritatingly casual he was. And confident. Just assuming she would have fallen into his bed. Who the hell did he think he was? Bloody Casanova?

He turned his head and grinned at her as he started the engine. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’re living in cloud cuckoo land,’ she said, hoping that would wipe that mocking smile right off his face.

But to her irritation it just made him laugh, a low chuckle of amusement which left her wondering if he was just trying to provoke her.

And then before either of them could speak again, his phone rang. Nick dragged it out of his pocket, glanced at the caller ID and turned the engine off again.

It was the lady who Jenny, the nanny, had been working for in Monaco. She was calling, as promised, to tell Nick that Jenny had regained consciousness. Thanking her for the call, Nick took the name of the hospital and clicked the phone shut.

‘She’s in a real bad way, apparently,’ he said, their previous exchange clearly forgotten. ‘But somehow we have to talk to her.’

‘But there’s something going on here.’ Ella said. ‘I’m convinced of it. I don’t know if Jimmy is involved or not. But I’m pretty sure he knows more than he’s saying.’ She waved her hands back towards the quay. ‘For example, what boat does he take Blondy fishing on? Not that wreck he’s living on for sure.’

‘And why did he take so long looking at the photo?’ Nick said thoughtfully. ‘He must have recognised the other guy straight away.’

‘He was playing for time,’ Ella said. ‘Deciding what to tell us.’

‘Or he was trying to figure out when and where the photo was taken. Also, did you notice he never once asked who we were?’

Ella turned sharply round in her seat. ‘If he knew who we were then he must be involved. And Blondy must be the same man I saw in France.’

Nick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘We need to be sure. If that Jenny could identify one or other of them as the kidnappers then we’d really be on to something. I suppose I could ask Hugh or Miriam to talk to her.’ He made a slight face. ‘But I’d much rather it was one of us.’

‘Then it will have to be me,’ Ella said, pleased that he valued her ability more than Hugh or Miriam’s. She clicked her iPhone onto Google, smirking slightly. ‘You’ll only faint if you fly anyway.’

Nick ignored that. ‘We’re in West Wales,’ he pointed out. ‘I doubt there are any airports round here. And you’d need a passport.’

‘I have my passport with me,’ she said. ‘I always carry it. I often have to fly somewhere at short notice.’ She clicked rapidly through the options. ‘Shit, you’re right though. Heathrow is the only option unless I went from Cardiff via Paris or Amsterdam and that takes for bloody ever. And even if I left this second, I couldn’t get to Heathrow before six and then with check in … I’d never be back in London by tomorrow morning.’

‘We’ve been past an airfield here somewhere,’ Nick said suddenly.

Ella nodded. ‘I saw it. Presceli Aerodrome. But it was hardly more than a runway. There’s no way they are going to have flights to France!’

‘They may have planes to charter.’ He nodded to her phone. ‘Call them and check it out.’

Ella could hardly believe her ears. ‘But it would cost a fortune.’

Chapter Thirty

It did cost a fortune. Ella couldn’t believe it when less than an hour later, after a brief stop at the hospital, Nick took out a gold credit card and coolly paid over £6000 for a young pilot to fly her to Nice in a Piper P831. A gold card? Nick Jardine? The man who wore the scruffiest clothes she had ever seen. Who shopped in Primark for goodness sake.

She was so stunned that, ‘What about my car?’ and ‘What about all my stuff?’ was pretty much all she could think of to say as they walked across the deserted tarmac to the small twin engined plane. The pilot was already doing his checks.

‘I’ll take care of it.’ Nick handed her the photos. ‘You can manage without a car for a few days.’ He nodded at the plane and smiled. ‘Good luck. I doubt anyone will follow you. But be careful anyway.’

I’m in a film, Ella suddenly thought. I’m Ingrid Bergman saying goodbye to Humphrey Bogart at the end of Casablanca. We just need Victor Laszlo in the guise of Paul to step aboard and it would be complete. What was it had Humphrey said? ‘You’ll regret it if you stay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.’

Those words were appropriate, Ella thought. But Nick wasn’t looking remotely soulful or agonised by her abrupt departure. He was looking unflatteringly brisk and unconcerned, even slightly amused. To her surprise he put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her towards him and dropped a light kiss on her lips. ‘It’s maybe not the most tactful thing I could say to you right now,’ he murmured as he let her go. ‘But give my love to Miriam.’

The flight took four hours but she enjoyed it. Oddly her fear of heights didn’t apply to planes, even small ones apparently. She had never travelled in such a small plane but at 10,000 feet you could see a whole lot more of the terrain below than you could in a commercial airline at 35,000 feet. A lot of the time they flew over cloud but as they crossed down over Clermont and central France, she could see the roofs and streets of tiny toy towns and villages, even animals in the fields.

You could also struggle up to the cockpit and sit next to the pilot. Ella had never realised that flying was so easy. Easier than driving, in fact, as you didn’t even have to stay on a road, or deal with other traffic or anything mundane like that. It seemed to her that once you were in the air, you just pointed the plane in the right direction and went for it. Obviously the take off was a bit tricky, but after that, apart from checking a few switches and dials from time to time and exchanging a few garbled remarks with various air traffic control towers along the way, Tom, the pilot, seemed to have very little to do. And was quite happy to pass the time of day with his passenger.

He was too discrete to ask what had caused the mad, and extremely expensive, rush to Monaco and she didn’t tell him. Instead they talked about his job, the places he had been, the funny things that had happened along the way. Encouraged by her interest, he also explained how all the controls worked, and the basic principles of aeronautics and the radio protocol, and by the end of the flight Ella felt she could have passed a private pilot’s license exam with flying colours.

Ironically, the Princess Grace Hospital Centre was where Princess Grace herself died in 1982 after driving off the edge of a precipitous road.

Jenny Westlake had been more lucky. In fact she had been unbelievably lucky.

It was only the presence of mind of some Dutch tourists on a day charter boat that had saved her from certain death. When they had seen the car come flying over the cliff and smash into the sea, they had steered their boat as close as they could, then two of them had dived in, and at some risk to their own lives, had managed to extricate Jenny from the sinking vehicle. They had taken it in turns to give her mouth to mouth resuscitation while the others steered the boat at high speed back to Monte Carlo harbour to meet the ambulance they had alerted by mobile phone.

Jenny had been unconscious for over two weeks. But yesterday, for the first time, she had surfaced from her coma and, despite the severe spinal injuries she had suffered, she was just about able to talk.

It was not easy getting in to see her though. Jenny’s mother was understandably reluctant to allow anything that might harm her daughter’s recovery.

‘What exactly is it you want her to do?’ she asked when Ella made the request.

‘I have some photos,’ Ella said. ‘I just want to know if she recognises someone she saw a couple of days before the accident. I can’t really say more than that, but I really do need to see her. It should only take a moment.’

‘I don’t want her upset,’ Mrs Westlake said nervously. ‘She doesn’t remember what happened. You can’t imagine what it has been like. We thought we had lost her.’

‘I do understand,’ Ella said. ‘But this really is very important.’

And so she had been allowed into Jenny’s room. And now as she approached the bed, she could see Mrs Westlake’s concern was justified. Paul’s sorry state was nothing compared to the condition Jenny Westlake was in. Every part of her body seemed to be either in plaster or in traction, and her head was supported in a contraption like a gruesome kind of metal halo. She was so white Ella could see the thin blue veins in her cheeks.

‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Jenny,’ Ella said leaning awkwardly over the bed so the poor girl could see her. ‘But I need your help. You saw your friend Amanda a couple of days before your accident. She was with George and some men in a car leaving the car park above La Bala beach. You called her on her mobile and spoke to her. Do you remember?’

‘Amanda?’ Jenny whispered blankly.

Ella leaned closer to hear her. ‘Yes, that’s right. Amanda Saville. Look, I’ll show you some photos.’ Carefully she held the first of Wallace’s photos up in front of Jenny’s face.

Ella didn’t know quite what she had been expecting. A faint sense of recognition perhaps, a whispered yes or no. What she hadn’t expected was for Jenny’s eyes to widen in alarm, then close abruptly and a buzzer to start blaring from a machine attached by a wire to her head.

She looked around wildly, but a nurse was already running towards her. ‘Qu’est ce que c’est arrivé? Qu’est ce que vous avez faites?’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Ella said, stepping back. ‘I just showed her a photograph.’

And then to her relief the buzzer stopped and Jenny’s eyes opened again.

‘It’s the man. The same man,’ she whispered.

‘The same man? What do you mean?’ Ella asked urgently.

‘He rammed my car,’ Jenny whispered as the buzzer started up again. ‘Over the cliff. I can remember it now. He tried to kill me …’

‘Mademoiselle, you must go,’ the nurse was trying to physically push Ella away.

‘No,’ Ella said urgently. ‘I must ask her one more thing. Let go of me you stupid woman. Jenny, listen, was it the same man with Amanda?’

‘Amanda?’

‘Yes, please think,’ Ella tried to calm her voice. The blasted nurse was tugging at her arm. ‘Was it the same man in the car with Amanda, your friend Mandy? It’s very important. She might be in danger too.’

Jenny looked suddenly worn out. Her eyes flickered. Despite her condition, Ella felt like shaking her. She was damned if she was going to miss the crucial piece of information. ‘Jenny, please …?’ she shouted as the nurse starting dragging her away.

‘You must go,’ the nurse was shouting too.

‘In the car,’ Jenny whispered. ‘With Mandy, I remember. The same man. And another man.’

‘This one in the photo?’ Wrenching her arm out of the nurse’s grip, Ella desperately flapped the picture of Jimmy Bennett in front of Jenny’s nose.

Jenny’s eyes watered pitifully as she tried to focus. ‘I don’t know. He had a beard. I was worried. I called her. But Amanda said it was ok. Her boss had sent them. Something to do with her car. But I couldn’t see, I couldn’t see ...’

Ella leaned forward. ‘What couldn’t you see?’

‘George. I couldn’t see George,’ Jenny’s eyes flickered then closed.

‘Mademoiselle?’ A different nurse was there now, a larger one with an air of authority. ‘On doit partir,’ she said firmly.

Ella knew her time was up. She touched Jenny’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been great.’

To her surprise Jenny’s eyes opened again. ‘Is Mandy all right?’ she whispered faintly.

‘She’s fine,’ Ella lied.

‘Send her my love.’

If only I could, Ella thought. And I hope to God she is fine.

She felt quite shaky as she left the room. So it was Blondy then. Or Kevin Casey. She had been right all along. And he was prepared to kill.

‘Was she all right? Could she help you?’ Jenny’s mother was hovering anxiously outside.

‘She was great,’ Ella said, then hesitated, thinking quickly. ‘Look, this is going to be a shock, Mrs Westlake, but Jenny’s crash wasn’t an accident.’

‘But the police …’

‘I know. But Jenny remembers it now. She recognised someone in the photo I showed her. She said he was the driver of the car that forced her over the cliff.’

Mrs Westlake paled. ‘You’re saying it was deliberate? Someone tried to kill her?’

Ella bit her lip. ‘I think so.’ She handed her a photo of Blondy. ‘His name may be Kevin Casey. That’s all I know.’

‘But why?’

‘I think Jenny saw something she shouldn’t have seen,’ Ella said. And Hugh and I brought that to the kidnappers attention, she realised suddenly. My God. That poor girl. She felt sweat in her palms. She drew Mrs Westlake to one side. ‘Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but I would be so grateful if you would not tell the police or the press about this. Not just yet anyway.’

Mrs Westlake looked absolutely astonished. ‘But I have to, if he tried to kill my daughter …’

Ella put her hand on her arm. ‘I know. I know how you feel. He’s tried to kill me too. But other lives are at stake. I just need a few days. Please Mrs Westlake? Can you give me a few days? I promise he will come to justice.’ Good God, I sound like something out of Agatha Christie now, she thought. But Mrs Westlake was already looking hesitant.

‘A police enquiry might even jeopardise Jenny’s safety,’ Ella pressed home her advantage. ‘If this man knows she is alive he might come back.’ This was a lot harder than buying and selling oil, she thought, but the techniques are the same. Listen for the hesitation, lead them on, then back off. ‘But if you don’t feel you can I will completely understand …’ she stopped and held her breath.

‘No, if by not saying anything it will help someone else, perhaps it’s the right thing to do …’

Ella breathed out a sigh. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it. If you give me your number I’ll contact you immediately I know anything. And in the meantime, don’t let any strangers near to Jenny.’

Outside the hospital she rang Nick.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘So you were right. But I bet the mother will go straight to the press. And then they will be on to us. Hugh will go ballistic.’

‘I don’t think she will. But I wouldn’t blame her if she did. For God’s sake, the man tried to kill her daughter.’ Ella said angrily. ‘Jenny’s barely alive as it is. I did the best I could in the circumstances.’

‘Hey, you did great,’ he said. ‘But this has made things a lot more serious. This guy is not good news. You should get up to the villa now. Don’t tell anyone where you are. And tomorrow when you get back to London, go straight to your office and keep a low profile.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to make some calls,’ he said. ‘Then later on I am going to pay Jimmy another visit.’ He added grimly. ‘And see if he has a razor.’

‘Nick?’

‘What?’

‘You be careful too.’

She heard his soft laugh. ‘Don’t worry. I’m only going to make him talk.’

‘You sound like Jack Bauer.’

‘Jack Bauer has nothing on me,’ Nick said.

Chapter Thirty One

It was strange being back at the Jardines’. Like a time warp. In one way everything seemed the same; the pristine villa, the stiff butler, the amazing views. But Ella could sense a change. There was a new sense of despair permeating the place. When she had left there had been outbursts of anger and grief, now Miriam was quiet and withdrawn, her mother was smoking steadily, and Hugh looked older and less crisp.

But he was still a bastard. She had barely been in the villa five minutes before he said, ‘I hear from Claude that the trading results have been pretty poor?’

Ella felt a very strong urge to punch him, but she merely lifted her eyebrows. ‘I have been trying to find your son,’ she said coldly. ‘It’s hard to do two things at once.’

‘And have you made any progress?’

‘Yes,’ she said with gritty satisfaction. ‘Those photos Nick sent you. The blond man was definitely one of the kidnappers. He tried to murder the nanny who saw him drive Amanda and George away. And I’m pretty sure he tried to kill me.’

The stunned expression on Hugh’s face almost made the last two weeks worthwhile. But he soon recovered. ‘And where is he now?’

‘Nick is working on that right now.’ Ella said. ‘Oh, and by the way, Miriam,’ she added innocently. ‘He sent you his love.’

Dinner was just about as agonising as it had been on her previous visit. The food was lovely of course, quails eggs followed by melt in the mouth lemon sole, but the conversation was inevitably stilted and Hugh’s irritability and Miriam’s self-pity made her want to scream.

How could Nick Jardine still be in love with such a self absorbed drip? Yes, Miriam was beautiful, very beautiful, but was that really enough? Perhaps in normal circumstances she was more lively minded, more compassionate; the loss of her son certainly hadn’t brought out the best in her. And you only had to look at her awful chain smoking, jewellery jangling mother to see what Miriam was likely to become in later life.

‘So Nick thinks this is all something to do with the exploration in Cardigan Bay?’ Hugh asked suddenly.

Ella gritted her teeth as she recalled that it was in fact she who had first mooted the idea. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We certainly think there’s a connection. It can’t be a coincidence that Amanda’s father is in charge of the licensing.’

‘Hardly in charge,’ Hugh said. ‘He’s only a civil servant. Robin tells me he’s quite a small fish.’

‘You’ve discussed this with Robin Miller?’

‘Of course. It was Robin who recommended Amanda to us in the first place. Much good it did us.’

‘Well, it was hardly his fault she got kidnapped,’ Ella snapped.

‘If she really was kidnapped,’ Miriam cut in. ‘I never trusted her.’

Yes, Ella thought, it was exactly like a time warp. She could see Hugh’s colour rising and to prevent the inevitable she asked, ‘And is there any news from the drill site? Is it going to be successful?’

‘It’s dry,’ Hugh said shortly. ‘I knew it would be. I told Robin to stop wasting money weeks ago.’

‘I suppose it’s easy to be wise after the event,’ Ella said, feeling she should stand up for Robin. According to Robin, it was Hugh who had wanted to plough on and bore the second test well. And she knew which of them she most trusted.

‘So do you think they will let George go now?’ Miriam asked pitifully. ‘I don’t think I can bare much more of this.’

And once again Ella had to feel sorry for her. However vapid she seemed to be, she was under the most terrible strain.

‘If it was environmentalists who took him, then yes,’ Ella said, ‘I suppose this is the result they wanted. Nobody will want to drill if there’s no oil. So maybe they will let him go.’

But even as she said the words she knew it couldn’t be that simple. There was still something wrong about it all. She toyed with mentioning her theory that the results might have been falsified. That PanGlobal might have drilled in the wrong place. Then decided against it. Suddenly she didn’t care. If the environmentalists won the anti-oil battle then so be it. Good luck to them. So long as George and Amanda got out safely, did it really matter? Yes, she realised, it did matter. She felt more strongly than that. She actually wanted Greenpeace and Vicky and Wallace and Red to win. She wanted that beautiful bit of coast to be safe. They were right. The dolphins and the birds should be protected.

Good God, she thought, I’m sitting at Hugh Jardine’s table and allowing myself to root for the opposition.

‘Well all I can say is I hope you and Nick don’t mess it up,’ Hugh said with a sudden spurt of temper. ‘I just want to pay and do the deal and get all this over with.’

‘Well why don’t you do it then?’ Ella snapped back. ‘Because you can’t, can you? It’s the kidnappers who are messing it up. Messing you around. All Nick and I are trying to do is find out why.’

At once he backed down. Tried to make a joke of it. ‘I know you are doing your best and I appreciate it.’ He gave a short un-humorous laugh. ‘But in the circumstances I’d appreciate some good trading results also.’

It was in the middle of the night that Ella woke with a jerk with a sudden thought on her mind. She had told Mrs Westlake that Jenny’s life might be in danger in order to try to stop her going to the police or the press. But the truth was that Jenny’s life was in danger. And had been the whole time. She was a key witness. That was presumably why Kevin Casey had tried to kill her in the first place. So why hadn’t he gone to the hospital and finished her off there? It would surely have been a relatively easy thing to do. The poor girl was only hanging on by a thread as it was. Why hadn’t he done it? Could it be that he didn’t know she was still alive?

But the dramatic accident and the heroic rescue must surely have been reported locally. The press never usually let some amazing human interest story like that slip through their fingers.

Sitting up in bed, Ella reached over to the bedside table and flicked on the light. She grabbed her phone and by Googling Monaco Media she brought up a list of publications. Scrolling back, she quickly found the reports, just as she thought. They were more muted than she had expected, but that seemed to be due to Jenny’s perilous medical condition. But nevertheless the stories were there, and pictures of the scene, the broken railing, even a view up the cliff from the sea. It had been on the local radio and TV too, not just in Monaco but the whole Riviera area. Leaning back against her pillows, she thought about it.

While Jenny was unconscious Kevin Casey could assume he was safe. But as soon as she regained consciousness he was in danger. And she had been conscious for two days now. So either he didn’t know, or he didn’t care.

Of course the chances of Jenny surviving that crash into the sea were a million to one. Maybe he had driven away and never even bothered to check. It wasn’t like the Carningli ‘accident’, which was much less of a dead cert. Although it still niggled Ella why, if he’d really wanted to kill her, he hadn’t whacked her on the head with a stone before she’d climbed down to Paul. Or even when she was waiting for the air ambulance. That would have been easy too. Nobody would ever have known.

She smiled grimly. One thing was sure. Luckily for her, and for Jenny, Kevin Casey wasn’t a good finisher. Maybe he was over confident. Or maybe, quite simply, he didn’t hang around. He just did what he could and got out.

He had definitely got out of Monaco pretty quickly after Jenny’s accident. She knew that because she had seen him in London. But if his fellow kidnappers were still here they must have seen the French papers or the TV. After all, they were using the Monaco Times website as their proof of life. Thoughtfully Ella scrolled back through the Monaco Times website. Jenny’s accident was mentioned, but it had never been front page news. And as far as Ella could work out, the two short articles she could find had not fallen on the days when Hugh had received proof of life.

She glanced at the time, hesitated, then smiled grimly and scrolled to Nick’s mobile number. The phone rang eight times then clicked to his voicemail.

‘Hi. I’ve just thought of something,’ Ella said. ‘Jenny’s accident was in all the paper and on the news here. If the kidnappers were still in this area they would have found out she hadn’t died. And then surely they would have finished her off somehow. She had seen Kevin Casey twice. He must have known she could identify him. She was too dangerous a witness to be left alive. Anyway this makes me sure that they aren’t anywhere near here. So maybe they’re in Wales and that’s why Kevin Casey was there, nothing to do with me. Call me when you get the message.’

Then she lay awake for the rest of the night worrying about why Nick hadn’t answered his phone.

Chapter Thirty Two

Amanda knew she had to do something. They couldn’t go like this. She could feel herself going mad. Mad with fear. Mad with her own thoughts. Mad with listening.

There was no traffic noise, no sound of people, apart from their captors, no sound of life at all, apart from the occasional bird’s cry. All they ever heard were distant planes. Flying high overhead. Left to right. But that was all they could hear. Nothing else but the wind and the rain. And what good was a plane when they were underground?

But what could she do? They were locked in for twenty three and a half hours a day. Locked in a cold, empty cellar. Empty except for the two foam mattresses, some hideous dirty blankets, a bucket that didn’t bear thinking about and a diminishing pile of rags torn from a sheet.

Even through the mortification and degradation, she felt a slight flash of bitter satisfaction. Her period had caught them out. They may have prepared for everything else but they hadn’t prepared for that. But it was nearly over and she knew the man’s eyes were on her again. Lusting through the slits of his balaclava. Burning into her as he let them out for their midnight exercise. Watching them as they walked about in the darkness, watching to make sure they didn’t step over the wall. That beastly wall.

And then slowly, like a fleeting shadow, an idea crept into her dulled brain. Maybe she could use that wall after all. She would have to be careful. Have to explain it carefully to George. They would do it very slowly. Night by night. But maybe, just maybe, someone in one of those planes would see.

Chapter Thirty Three

Nick Jardine parked in the centre of Newland at just after midnight and walked down the hill to the quay. There was no moon but the occasional street lamp cast just enough light to show the way. There was nobody around. Even so he moved quietly and kept to the cover of the trees. He was dressed in dark clothes with a black ski hat pulled over his hair.

At the corner where the road swung round on to the river frontage, he paused by the wall of a trendy apartment block before crossing the road to take cover by the gate to a boat repair yard.

He could hear water lapping at the quay, some gentle clanking of the boats moored on the nearest pontoon and some geese or swans murmuring on the water behind him. High up above the river ahead a few cars were crossing the Cleddau bridge.

He waited there for about twenty minutes, until the security guard emerged from the harbour master’s office, came down the steps and began his round. Nick could see the circle of torchlight flashing around casually in the shadows between the security lights as the man made his way along the quay.

Once he was out of sight at the far end, Nick emerged from his cover and moved swiftly up the road to take up a new position between the shower block and the refuse building opposite the upper basin security gate. From there he could just about make out K pontoon and could see that there were no lights showing on any of the boats moored there. It looked as though Jimmy was safely asleep.

He watched the CCTV camera revolving slowly on its pedestal while he waited for the security guy to come back past. Then, checking the camera once again, he ran swiftly across to the gate. Quickly he pressed in the code and slid through, closing the gate behind him, wincing as the lock rattled, and running silently on down the pontoon before the CCTV camera turned back for another sweep.

He was in.

He stood for a long while in the shadow of a tall motor cruiser watching Seagull Two. The boats on the pontoon were moving restlessly on the incoming tide, bumping and creaking gently against their fenders. There was barely a breath of wind down here, but somewhere behind him the high metal rigging of a sailing boat was tapping rhythmically against the mast. He could smell the water now, that seaweedy, salty tang with a slight hint of diesel. A real harbour smell. Suddenly there was the shrill cry of oystercatchers and he heard the brush of wings as they flew swiftly past up the river. Nothing else moved.

He approached Jimmy’s boat from the starboard side, the side away from the distant security camera, feeling his steps carefully on the creaking wooden slats of the pontoon. It was too dark to see in through the small cabin porthole so he crept further alongside, crouching by the side of the boat, listening intently. He had hoped to hear snoring to show that Jimmy was well away after a night on the whisky, but there was no sound from the boat at all. Nothing.

Carefully he eased himself in a fluid motion over the rail and onto the deck. The boat rocked slightly under his weight. He moved quickly now and a knife glinted in his hand. Avoiding a couple of empty whisky bottles, he tested the handle to the hatch then pulled it open. A moment later he was down the shallow steps and into the forward cabin, the knife poised, ready.

But he didn’t need to use it. There was nobody there. The bunk was rumpled and dirty but it had not been slept in. Saturday’s Daily Mail lay tossed on the ticking pillow.

It took Nick less than a minute to check around the cabin, galley and heads, then he was back on deck and off the boat.

Crouching at the side again, he cursed silently.

He was just about to retrace his steps to the quay when he noticed the white plastic chair and a glass right at the back of the deck near the tiller. A glass that still had a good inch of amber liquid in it.

He couldn’t see the angle of the security camera from that distance so, sliding back on board, he lay flat on the deck and wriggled forward to sniff the glass. Whisky. He looked at it thoughtfully. Why hadn’t Jimmy finished his drink? Had he heard the rattle of the security gate? Was he hiding, or waiting to pounce?

And then Nick felt something bump the boat. Freezing, face down for a moment, he listened hard. Then, very slowly, he raised his head and eased the knife soundlessly out of his pocket. Then the gentle bump came again and this time he realised it was coming from underneath the back of the boat. There was something, or someone, in the water. Soundlessly, he inched to the stern and peered over.

There was someone in the water. There, in the black oiliness of the river, fully dressed, face down. A body. One foot caught in the rudder mechanism. The incoming tide was bumping the head against the side of the boat.

Nick rested his head on his hands and swore under his breath. He didn’t need to turn it over to see who it was. He knew who it was.

And he knew he was too late. Kevin Casey had been there before him.

Chapter Thirty Four

Ella was back at the airport and on the Piper by seven o’clock. They landed at Biggin Hill just south of London at nine o’clock UK time. Disobeying Nick, she took a taxi to her flat and made it wait while she changed. There were limits to her dedication and she absolutely could not bring herself to go into the office dressed in travel worn, weekend clothes. She had a reputation to maintain.

Amazingly, she was still in the office by ten. A private plane was definitely the way to travel, she thought. If you could afford it.

It was on the second leg of the taxi journey that Nick finally returned her increasingly desperate calls.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Where on earth have you been? How did you get on with Jimmy?’

‘I didn’t get to see him,’ he said. ‘He’d fallen off the back of his boat and drowned before I arrived.’

Ella gasped. ‘You are joking?’

‘Sadly for Jimmy I’m not.’

Aware of the taxi driver, she lowered her voice. ‘He fell or he was pushed?’

‘The police are confident he fell. There are apparently no suspicious circumstances. He was under the influence of course. A tragic accident.’

‘Another tragic accident.’

‘Exactly.’

‘How very annoying.’ My God, she thought, how far have I come that I think someone’s death is annoying. But apparently Nick agreed with her.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d held a damn knife to his throat yesterday.’

‘But we didn’t know for sure he was involved then,’ she said. Then she stopped short and took a sharp breath. She lowered her voice another notch. ‘Is that what you were going to do? Hold a knife to his throat?’

‘Only in a manner of speaking.’ His voice was light, almost amused.

But somehow she didn’t quite believe him. ‘Miriam said you did something to do with protecting wildlife,’ she said. ‘I thought she meant something like pretty tame like the WWF or RSPB. But I’m getting the feeling I might be wrong about that?’

There was a fractional pause. It sounded as though he was drinking something. Coffee probably at this time of day. He was as much of a coffee fiend as she was. ‘You’re not far off,’ he said. ‘I work for CITES, I’m involved in preventing the trade and exploitation of endangered species.’

‘And that involves knives? And guns?’

‘Only very occasionally.’ She could definitely hear the smile in his voice now. ‘Mostly it’s just paperwork and meetings.’

The problem with Nick Jardine, Ella thought, was that it was impossible to know if he was telling the truth. ‘Did you get my message?’ she asked.

‘Several. It’s nice to know you were so worried about me.’

‘Then why didn’t you call me back sooner?’

‘I was driving. It occurred to me that I’d better go back to Newland once they’d found the body just in case the police heard that we’d been asking around for Jimmy and were getting suspicious.’

‘But they aren’t suspicious?’

‘No. At least, not yet. Maybe they will be after the autopsy. But I doubt it. Kevin Casey is clever at his work. I’ll give him that.’

‘Not that clever. Assuming he did this, it’s only third time lucky for him.’

‘True,’ Nick sounded thoughtful. ‘I guess Jimmy must have mentioned our visit, and Casey was worried he might talk. But it still doesn’t prove they are holding the hostages someplace near here.’

‘But it’s not impossible, is it? They could easily have come by boat from Monaco.’

‘But why would they? What would be the point?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ella admitted. ‘I can only think it’s something to do with the drilling.’

‘You still think they are hidden away on the Greenpeace vessel?’

‘No,’ she said irritably. ‘But they are hidden somewhere. I know it seems fanciful but I’ve been thinking about that lighthouse. The one Red was talking about. Or one of those islands we passed on the boat. They would make good hiding places.’

‘So would any remote farmhouse in Italy or Spain.’

‘But Blondy isn’t in Italy or Spain, he’s in Pembrokeshire.’

‘He was,’ Nick agreed. ‘He may be miles away by now.’

‘And Vicky and Red haven’t heard anything suspicious?’

‘No.’

‘Bugger,’ Ella said. ‘Look, I’ve just arrived at the office. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.’

Everyone except Claude was solicitous about the accident. Graham in particular seemed very concerned. ‘Are you really OK?’ he asked quietly. ’I obviously didn’t say anything to anyone, but I couldn’t help wondering if it was something to do with what you asked me to do last week?’

Ella studied his anxious face, she had never paid much attention to him before. Or to the others come to that. There never seemed to be time to do anything other than work. I’m a good trader but I’m not a good manager, she thought. I don’t get the best out of my people. No wonder the results are bad.

‘I’m fine,’ she said now. ‘I just twisted my knee a bit. My boyfriend suffered much worse than me. But it was just an accident.’

He didn’t look convinced but as Claude was approaching across the trading floor, he withdrew.

‘So, Ella, it’s nice to have you back.’ Claude drawled. ‘I’m pleased to see you can occasionally do what you are told.’

‘I try to do what’s right,’ Ella said sweetly. ‘But sometimes if you work for two complete bastards pulling in different directions that’s not so easy.’

‘Oh, come now, Ella, you didn’t always think I was a bastard.’

‘Oh yes I did,’ she said. ‘But I just happened to fancy you, so I overlooked it for a few weeks.’

Luckily her phone rang then so Claude went away and she got down to some work.

It was some time later when Graham slid back to her desk.

She looked up impatiently, busy with some paperwork.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘But I picked up a rumour from one of the exploration boys and I thought you might be interested in it.’

‘What?’ she said leaning back in her chair. ‘What is it?’

‘It may not be true but they think the government are about to award some more licenses in the Irish Sea tomorrow.’

‘What?’ Ella jerked upright. ‘You’re joking right?’

‘Well, it’s only a rumour …’

‘Shit,’ she said. ‘What the hell is going on?’ She saw Graham looked taken aback and smiled apologetically. ‘Thanks Graham. And if you hear any more let me know, OK?’

He went back to his desk and she put her head in her hands. Why, she thought. Why would the government award more licenses when the PanGlobal wells were dry and the environmental lobby against exploration in that area was so strong? OK, the government was desperate for new oil, as Claude had said, but why bang their heads against a brick wall? Why not just give up a lost cause and concentrate their efforts elsewhere like the Falklands. Or the North Sea come to that. There were plenty of smaller fields still untapped up there by all accounts, ones that the big companies hadn’t bothered with when they found the huge reserves like Brent and Ninian and Ekofisk all those years ago. She had read recently there might be nearly as much as thirty five million barrels still untapped. Almost as much as had already been recovered.

So why bother with the Irish Sea? Glancing around to make sure no-one was within earshot, she picked up the phone and called Nick.

‘I think we should go and see Andrew Saville again,’ she said. ‘Something really weird is going on here and we need to find out what it is.’

‘You’ll have to go,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t get up there in time. Show him the photo, oh, and ask if he knows someone called Barry Caldwell.’

‘Who the hell is Barry Caldwell?’

‘He may be Kevin Casey. I’m not sure if he uses both names, or if Jimmy made up the Casey name to throw us off the scent. I think the latter, mainly because there was a big article about Kevin Spacey, the actor, in the paper Jimmy was reading when we went to see him. It may have been the first name he could think of.’

‘How on earth do you know that?’

She could sense the laugh in his voice. ‘I have laser vision. Didn’t I mention that.’

‘No,’ she said crossly. ‘Only the night vision. And I don’t believe that either. I suppose you have been helping the police with their enquiries?’ she asked mockingly.

‘No, I made my own enquiries some time before the police started theirs,’ he said and she could imagine that enigmatic smile. ‘But anyway, I’ve pulled in a few favours from a couple of old colleagues and Kevin Casey and Barry Caldwell seem to be the same man. Ex services, probably special forces, arrested in 1999 for assault but not charged, served a bit of time for dangerous driving, done some work on the rigs, no known address.’

‘He sounds like our man,’ Ella said, wondering what favours Nick could possibly have pulled in to get that information. ‘I wonder when he was on the rigs, and where. There might be some connection to something or someone there.’

Nick chuckled, ‘No prizes for clarity there, Ella, but I think I kind of know what you mean.’

Ella gave a frustrated laugh. ‘That just about sums it up doesn’t it? So now you want me to go and hold a knife to Andrew Saville’s throat?’ She heard a slight movement behind her and spun round to find Graham looking startled. ‘Only joking,’ she mouthed. Then back to Nick. ‘OK, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know how I get on.’

‘Hey, Ella. Listen.’ For once Nick actually sounded serious. ‘Take someone with you. Don’t go alone. Don’t forget we don’t know where that blond haired bastard Caldwell, or Casey, is right now.’

Chapter Thirty Five

She took Graham with her. Unfortunately Claude caught them in the lobby just as they were heading out.

He spread his hands in a gallic gesture of surprise. ‘Leaving again so soon?’

‘We have a meeting,’ Ella said.

He inclined his head. ‘Ah yes. A meeting. Are you going to tell me where?’

‘No. It’s none of your business.’

‘Your business is my business,’ he said. Then when she didn’t say anything, he shrugged negligently. ‘Be careful Graham, she’s a very beautiful woman, but don’t let her lead you astray.’

Graham flushed but Ella just turned away. ‘I’d love the equal ops lady to hear you say that,’ she said.

She heard Claude’s complacent laugh. ‘I think I can handle the equal ops lady.’

Even Ella had to smile at that. She suddenly remembered that he had already handled the equal ops lady. Rather thoroughly, by all accounts, after last year’s Christmas party.

Ella had ordered a black cab and it was waiting outside. ‘Don’t take any notice of Claude,’ she said to Graham. She took a quick look up and down the street before she got in. ‘It’s me he’s gunning for not you.’

Graham didn’t respond immediately, then he spoke hesitantly. ‘I don’t care about him. Or at least, only in as much as he can sack me. Look, I know there’s something going on. And I don’t want to pry but I might be more use to you if I knew why you’ve brought me along. And where we are going.’

Ella looked at him thoughtfully. He was only about twenty two, gawky and geeky. But bright.

‘I haven’t said anything to anyone in the office because I don’t know who I can trust,’ she said. His eyes widened and she went on. ‘But I am going to have to trust you. Yes, there is something going on. I can’t tell you exactly what because I don’t know myself. But it’s something to do with the oil exploration in the Irish Sea. There’s something fishy about it.’ They both smiled briefly at the pun. ‘And I am going to see Andrew Saville at the Department of Energy to talk about it.’

‘And you want me to come in with you to help you hold a knife to his throat?’

She smiled at his eagerness. ‘No,’ she said. I’ll see him alone. And it’s only a metaphorical knife.’

‘OK,’ he looked disappointed. ‘So I’m just here to mind your back?’

Ella glanced at him sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because you keep checking that we are not being followed.’

Ella sighed. She thought she had been rather more subtle than that. ‘You’ve definitely been watching too many thrillers,’ she said. ‘But yes,’ she admitted. ‘Someone has been following me on and off. He’s a pretty nasty guy. And just now I don’t want him to know where I am or where we are going.’

‘This is brilliant,’ Graham said, rubbing his hands gleefully and glancing out of the back window. ‘Maybe we should get the taxi to stop or to take a detour. So we can see if there’s anyone tailing us …’

Andrew Saville didn’t want to see her. She hadn’t rung ahead because she feared he would make an excuse. She knew she had not endeared herself to him at the last meeting. It took a lot of persuasion for them even to be allowed past the front desk. And now the frumpy dragon secretary was keeping them waiting for ever in the outer office while Andrew Saville pretended he had more important things to do in the inner sanctum.

‘It is rather urgent,’ Ella said.

‘His schedule is full,’ the secretary spoke dismissively. ‘He doesn’t have time for unnecessary interruptions.’

‘What about necessary interruptions?’ Ella asked sweetly and Graham giggled.

Eventually she was allowed in.

Andrew Saville greeted her coldly and shut the door.

‘I haven’t got much time. What is it you want?’ he said.

Ella sat down calmly on one of the uncomfortable chairs. ‘I don’t want to be rude,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap. ‘But wouldn’t it be more normal for you to ask me first if I have any news about your daughter’s kidnap? You must be very worried. It’s two and a half weeks now.’

He flinched and his voice became more placating. ‘Of course I’m worried,’ he said. ‘But Hugh Jardine keeps me informed. But I am not at all happy about your involvement. It seems to me that it may make thing worse.’

‘Oh?’ Ella raised her eyebrows. ‘How do you mean.’

‘Well the kidnappers have said from the start that they’ll only release Amanda and the boy if we do exactly what we are told. And I don’t want to jeopardise that. Nor does Hugh Jardine.’

‘I see,’ Ella said slowly. ‘And what exactly have they told you to do Mr Saville?’

For a moment she thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Then he took control of himself. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘All the negotiations have been with Hugh Jardine.’

‘And there has been no pressure put on you to stop the licensing in the Irish Sea?’

He blinked in obvious surprise. ‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘I am perfectly sure,’ he said.

‘And I gather you are intending to award more licenses tomorrow?’

He looked amazed. ‘How do you know that? It hasn’t been announced yet.’

She leaned forward urgently. ‘Don’t do it,’ she said. ‘At least delay the announcement.’

‘Certainly not. The companies involved need to know.’

‘What companies are involved? Why would anyone want to drill there now? There’s nothing there.’

Andrew Saville stood up. ‘If you think I’m going to tell you which companies are bidding you have another think coming, young lady. That is highly confidential and sensitive information.’

Ella stood up too. ‘Please listen to me, Mr Saville. Surely you don’t want to do anything that might put your daughter’s life in danger.’

Andrew Saville’s brows snapped together. ‘It’s you that is putting her life in danger,’ he said. ‘By poking your nose into things that don’t concern you. If you want to do the right thing, just keep out of it. Just tell Hugh Jardine to pay the ransom and let’s get this thing over with.’

Ella took out the photos. ‘Do you recognise either of these men?’

He only gave them a cursory glance but Ella could see no recognition in his expression. ‘No,’ he said shortly.

‘And does the name Kevin Casey, or Barry Caldwell, ring any bells with you?’

‘No,’ he said again.

Ella wanted to say more but he had already opened the door. ‘Goodbye Miss Crossley,’ he said, suddenly relaxed and easy again for the benefit of his secretary. ‘Thank you for taking the time to come and see me. But I’m sure you’ll find everything is under control.’

But it’s not under control, Ella wanted to scream at him. You’re lying. I’m sure the environmentalists are putting pressure on you, but for some bizarre reason you’re now about to do the opposite of what they want. The very thing that would jeopardise the safety of the hostages.

‘Did it go well?’ Graham asked on the way back. Clearly taking his new duties to heart, he had insisted on leaving Ella in the lobby while he went out to hail a taxi. Ideally he would have liked her to put her jacket over her head as she ran out but she drew the line at that.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It went very badly. But I’m sure he knows more than he’s letting on.’

‘We could torture him,’ Graham suggested.

‘I’d love to torture him,’ she said, leaning forward to slide the drivers screen closed ‘But he’s a senior civil servant and I suspect he could get us into a lot of trouble. Especially if I’m wrong and he doesn’t know anything at all.’

‘We could hack into his computer? Or his mobile phone. You can switch the SIM card for a few minutes and get all his contacts and call log.’

Ella stared at him. ‘Do you know how to do that?’

‘Well no,’ he admitted. ‘But I saw it on Spooks, so I know it’s possible.’

She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Close your ears for a moment,’ she said. ‘I’m going to make a phone call.’

Nick answered on the first ring. ‘Any luck?’

‘I want to break into Andrew Saville’s office,’ she said. ‘Do you have any ideas?’

There was a second’s silence, then that familiar soft laugh. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said.

Chapter Thirty Six

It was a long afternoon. But at least Ella did manage to get some trading done. She bought and sold two dated cargos of Brent at 20 cents profit on each, and found some possible interest in the States for the new PanGlobal oil from Argentina.

At one point during the long afternoon she had to suffer an irritating interview with Claude who accused her of being unprofessional by showing insubordination in front of a junior employee. Ella knew she was guilty of the charge. She also knew that Claude had deliberately provoked her. It galled her to do it, but she had to apologise. And then he was gracious about her trading losses, which for some reason annoyed her even more.

‘I know you have been a little bit busy with other things,’ he said. ‘But it is important to keep focus. You are a very good trader Ella, don’t let yourself be distracted.’

Ella manfully bit her tongue to hold back a sharp retort. After all it was Claude who had got her involved with the Jardines’ kidnap fiasco in the first place. No wonder she was distracted. But she knew from experience that there was little point in arguing with Claude. Let alone in pointing out his inconsistencies.

When she got back to her desk she found a message asking her to call Robin Miller.

‘Ella,’ he sounded relieved to hear her voice. ‘I tried you yesterday but you were off sick. They said you’d been in an accident over in Wales. Were you hurt?’

‘No, I got off lightly. But Paul is still in the hospital down there. He’s broken quite a few bones.’

‘Good God. How did that happen?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Ella said. ‘We got caught in some kind of landslide. It was scary. We had to be rescued by helicopter.’

‘But you were OK? You didn’t have to stay in hospital?’

‘No, they weren’t very interested in my meagre wounds.’

‘So you were stuck in darkest Pembrokeshire on your own?’

‘No, actually Hugh’s brother came down,’ she said with studied nonchalance. ‘He’s got some friends who live there. And we went out on a boat looking for dolphins.’

‘Nick Jardine?’ She could hear the quizzical note in his voice. ‘You seem to be seeing a lot of him. Do I sense romance in the air?’

‘Good God, no,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But I liked the dolphins. Oh, and we saw your drill ship on the way back.’

‘That bloody well was dry,’ Robin said.

‘I heard. I’m sorry.’ She hesitated then said lightly. ‘I suppose it’s completely idiotic to ask if you are sure you were drilling in the right place?’

He didn’t reply immediately and she hoped it didn’t sound as though she was somehow questioning his exploration prowess. ‘I just wondered if the environmentalists could have sabotaged you somehow? Whether it was remotely possible for the locator on the drill ship to have been tampered with, or the data itself?’

‘Highly unlikely.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘But it’s kind of you to think of excuses for our failure.’

‘Because it’s odd, isn’t it,’ she persevered, ‘that the original seismic reports were so positive?’

‘It’s not odd,’ he said ‘It bloody annoying. And it’s made us waste God knows how much money. But seismology is never a precise science, even with today’s technology.’ He sighed. ‘Oh well, you win some, lose some, in this game, I suppose.’

‘I heard a rumour that the government are going to license more exploration,’ Ella said. ‘The lucky companies are going to be announced later this week.’

Robin laughed sourly. ‘Well, good luck to them is all I say. You certainly won’t see PanGlobal’s name on the list. I will check our calculations though, just in case you are right. I wouldn’t put anything past those environmentalist fanatics. If I find anything suspicious I’ll let you know.’

Looking round to make sure Claude wasn’t in the trading room, Ella flicked one of her screens on to the FTSE. She had been intending to check up on PanGlobal’s share prices ever since she had had lunch with Robin last week.

As she suspected the PanGlobal price on the Alternative Investment Market had dropped away dramatically since the news of the dry well had come out. But even before that, the price had been steadily slipping.

Checking on the company’s own website she found that the Jardine Corporation owned 51% of the company. Looking back at the previous quarter she saw that it had been 53%, so Hugh had obviously slimmed his holding somewhere along the line, either when he thought the wells were going to be dry or perhaps to raise money for the ransom. Slightly to her surprise, Robin Miller wasn’t listed as a major shareholder of PanGlobal, which meant he must have less than a 3% stake, which seemed low for a Managing Director.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she checked the situation for Energie Mondiale. The four directors owned 25% of the company between them, which probably meant that Claude Visconte’s personal wealth was not to be sniffed at either. Although, of course, it was nothing compared to Hugh Jardine who again owned 51%. Even at today’s somewhat low share price that put his stake at about thirty million pounds. Which in turn made six million euros ransom seem like a drop in the ocean. Ella’s own holding of Energie Mondiale shares, gleaned from trading bonuses in the good times, seemed utterly pitiful in comparison.

As four thirty approached, she could see Graham getting fidgety. Nick had promised to be with them by five. Ella wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but Graham had somehow become an integral part of the proposed break-in operation, mainly because he had a better knowledge of geology and the exploration process than she did. He also had better computer skills and had thought he might be able to hack into Andrew Saville’s computer if it was actually there in front of him. Ella knew he had spent the afternoon glued to his screen, earnestly studying some highly illegal information forwarded to him by some nefarious contact of Nick’s which purported to show how to bypass login security and password protection.

It was hardly what Graham had been hired by Energie Mondiale to do and Ella dreaded that someone would ask what he was up to. Once when Claude strolled in she felt her pulse accelerate and coughed frantically to alert Graham to the danger.

‘The flu?’ Claude asked solicitously.

‘No just a frog in my throat,’ Ella replied.

Claude gave a suggestive smirk. ‘If only,’ he murmured and everyone, except Ella, laughed sycophantically.

When Nick texted to say the traffic was awful so he had gone straight to the DTI building, Claude was still in the room. Ella made a subtle sign at Graham who nodded discreetly and began surreptitiously to tidy up his desk.

Eventually Claude went away and Ella and Graham made a speedy exit. Once again Graham took charge of the journey, telling the taxi a different address first, and then making the driver do a U turn at the bottom end of Victoria St so he could make sure that no-one was following.

They were just getting out of the taxi outside the DTI building when Nick strolled up to them. Ella found herself doing a double take. To her astonishment he was wearing a stylish business suit. ‘Where on earth did you get that?’ she asked.

‘It’s Wallace’s,’ he said. ‘I thought it would make me look the part.’

It actually made him look rather desirable, but Ella wasn’t going to say that.

‘Surely not the Wallace I met,’ she said instead. ‘The one in the kaftan top covered in dog hair?’

Nick smoothed the lapels and adjusted his tie. ‘He used to be a fashion photographer for Vogue,’ he said. ‘He was pretty famous at one time. Made quite a lot of money. Didn’t he tell you?’

He hadn’t told her. ‘There’s obviously more to these old hippies than meets the eye,’ Ella said.

Nick’s eyes glinted in faint mockery. ‘I’m glad you have finally begun to realise that.’

Before Ella could answer, he was introducing himself to Graham. ‘OK,’ he said briskly. ‘We need to get going. It’s going to be a whole lot easier to do this while there’s still people coming and going than when everyone has gone home. We just have to be a bit brazen.’

Ten minutes later they were in position. Plan A was surprisingly simple, but it hinged on whether Marjorie Hilton, or the frumpy old dragon as Ella preferred to call her, had driven in to work that day. Graham thought she had, having noticed what he thought were car keys on her desk that morning. If she hadn’t come by car, then Plan B came into play.

The success of Plan A also relied on Andrew Saville leaving the office first. So it was with some glee that Ella, positioned on the pavement at the bus stop opposite, saw the easily recognisable figure leaving the building and heading for Victoria station. She gave Nick, on the far corner, a subtle thumbs-up and then they continued to wait, until ten minutes later Marjorie Hilton emerged. She was wearing a hideous maroon coat so she was very easy to follow. To their relief she didn’t set off towards Victoria station, but the other way, down Artillery Row.

A few minutes later Ella was on her phone. ‘I think she’s going to the NCP,’ she murmured as Marjorie turned the corner into Horseferry Road.

She was.

‘OK. Plan A it is.’ Nick’s voice came back. ‘Tell Graham to wait just up the road. You follow me in, but keep well back.’

Marjorie Hilton’s car was parked on the lower ground floor towards the back. Ella caught Nick’s quick hand signal and stopped at the end of the section. It was five thirty and there were plenty of people about. Ella waited by a pillar and pretended to be concentrating on a phone call.

What she saw then was the neatest trick she could ever have imagined. Marjorie Hilton bleeped her car open from quite a distance. Even as she reached the car and got in, Nick was already crouching behind it, sticking something that looked like a flyer under her back windscreen wiper. It was done in a flash and a moment later Ella heard the engine and saw Marjorie begin to manoeuvre out of her space. Once she was in the open she stopped again, and leaving the car running and the driver’s door open, she got out and went round to the back, obviously to remove the flyer which was impeding her view. Before she had even pulled back the rear wiper, Nick was in the driver seat and the car was moving swiftly away.

Ella could hardly believe her eyes. Nor could Marjorie Hilton. She stood there gaping like some kind of demented fish. Ella didn’t wait to see what she would do next. The car was already swerving past her up the ramp. Once out of sight of Marjorie Hilton, Nick paused to let Ella get in, and then proceeded steadily to the exit. Twenty seconds later he had put the money in the machine and they were out.

They picked Graham up from his post just outside the exit.

His eyes were goggling. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Old car thief’s trick,’ Nick said carelessly, turning into Greycoat Place and then Vincent Square. He slowed down, checked around carefully, then pulled in at an empty meter. ‘I don’t think we are in sight of any CCTV cameras here.’

He found the DTI security swipe card in Marjorie’s handbag and handed it to Ella with a bunch of keys. ‘She won’t make that mistake again,’ he said. ‘Hopefully she’ll take a while finding car park officials and police and giving statements. And she won’t be worrying about the office. She’ll be much more concerned about her house, car and credit cards. But we should try to be in and out within the hour to be safe.

Chapter Thirty Seven

It was so easy. Ella just walked into the lobby, nodded friendlily to the security guard on the desk, swiped Marjorie Hilton’s card through the two security doors, took the lift up two floors, unlocked the office door and went in. If it hadn’t been for the peculiar pounding in her ears, she would have laughed. As it was, she thought she was about to have a heart attack. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this, she thought, as the phone on the desk rang shrilly making her nearly jump out of her skin.

Her hand was shaking as she lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’

‘Front desk, I have two gentlemen to see you. Mr Casey and Mr Caldwell.’

‘That’s right’, she said. ‘If you get them to sign in, I’ll be down in a moment.’

Back she went down to the lobby. Nick and Graham were sitting looking very relaxed in the waiting area. Careful to keep her face turned away from the security guy she greeted them politely and escorted them back through the two swipe doors, up in the lift and into the secretary’s office. Another few seconds and they were in Andrew Saville’s office.

‘OK,’ Nick said. ‘Keep everything exactly where it is. We don’t want anyone to know we have been here.’

‘How come you are so calm?’ Graham was standing by the door looking extremely pale. ‘I hadn’t realised how completely terrified I’d feel.’

‘There’s no time for nerves,’ Ella said briskly, completely terrified herself. What on earth would happen if someone came in and caught them red handed? It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Just get on the computer and see what you can find.’ She took the bunch of keys and fitted one into the filing cabinet with trembling fingers.

Nick was standing behind Graham flicking idly through some papers on the desk. ‘What does DECC stand for?’ he said. I thought we were in the Department of Trade and Industry?’

‘It’s all part of the same thing. DECC is the Department of Energy and Climate Change,’ Ella said. ‘It’s a relatively new department.’

‘Don’t you think it’s odd that they’ve lumped Energy and Climate Change lumped together?’ Graham remarked tapping anxiously at the keys on Andrew Saville’s computer. ‘Talk about chalk and cheese. How can one minister manage such conflicting issues effectively?’

‘I guess it just goes to show they’re still not taking climate change seriously,’ Nick said.

As he spoke, he casually opened the top drawer of Andrew Saville’s desk. Ella heard his quick indrawn breath and looked round. He caught her glance and held a finger to his lips. There was an envelope in his hand. He came over to Ella and silently showed her the stamp. Monaco. Inside was a curl of smooth blonde hair.

Ella stared at it. Then she went over to Andrew Saville’s desk and picked up the photo of Amanda. They both looked at it and then at each other. So they had been right all along. Someone was indeed holding a metaphorical knife at Andrew Saville’s throat.

‘I’m in,’ Graham said suddenly. He pulled a memory stick out of his pocket and stuck it into the back of the computer. ‘So what am I looking for?’

‘See if you can find the draft of the licensing announcement,’ Ella suggested, as Nick put the envelope back in the drawer. ‘Who’s been awarded what? And which blocks have been excluded for environmental reasons.’

‘Which blocks are we interested in?’

‘The ones in Cardigan Bay,’ Ella said. ‘Off the coast of Pembrokeshire. Anything near Skomer Island. Near PanGlobal’s current block. I think it’s quadrant 107.’

‘Offshore exploration licenses last for three years,’ Graham was flicking through the screens. ‘And it looks like you can explore wherever you want, except in blocks that already have Seaward production licenses. You have to have a Seismic survey license if you want to do seismic testing, but they look pretty easy to come by. Ah, except in Special Areas of Conservation. It’s not clear who designates those, but then you have to carry out a full impact assessment.’

‘Listen to this,’ Ella said, holding up an open file. ‘It’s from BERR Appropriate Assessment 2007. Cetaceans of Cardigan Bay Special Area of Conservation are part of only two resident populations of bottlenose dolphins in UK waters. Knowledge of foraging and breeding behaviour is important to understanding of potential adverse effects of drilling and how they may be mitigated.’ She looked up. ‘They could ban drilling there,’ she said. ‘That’s one way they could be mitigated.’

She caught Nick’s quick glance of surprise and continued. ‘On this basis, on account of uncertainties in Cardigan Bay Nature Site this assessment does not support granting of consent for blocks 106/30, 107/21 and 107/22. Oh well that’s something,’ she said, then her eyes caught another sentence. ‘Oh no. Not so good. This conclusion may be revisited.’

‘It has been revisited, Graham said. ‘I have it here. Qualifications may be overridden by imperative reasons of overriding public interest.’ And guess what? They have been overridden. All those blocks are going to be licensed tomorrow.’

‘Overriding public interest?’ Ella said incredulously. ‘What possible public interest can there be? Overriding greed more like.’

Nick was watching her. ‘Have you figured out what that really means?’

‘It means that they are basically saying ‘stuff the dolphins,’’ Ella said.

Nick shook his head. ‘What it means,’ he said grimly. ‘Though you don’t want to admit it, is that someone must be putting pressure on Andrew Saville to make him continue licensing. Not to stop licensing.’

Ella stared at him as her mind spun through the implications. ‘That can’t be right,’ she said. ‘I just can’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘No. It wouldn’t make sense for environmentalists.’ Nick said. ‘But it might make sense for an oil company. I know you don’t want to hear that but …’

No, she didn’t want to hear it. It was all wrong. And she hated that sudden smug, know it all smile. Reluctantly she met his eyes and nodded slowly. ‘But who on earth would want to drill there? And why, if there’s nothing there?’

‘I can’t answer why,’ Graham said, tapping at the keys on Andrew Saville’s computer. ‘But I can see who. Petrotex are bidding and Cloud 9 and Bluebird. Have you heard of any of them?’

‘I don’t know many of the upstream companies,’ Ella said.

‘Wait a minute,’ Graham said. ‘This is odd. It looks like Bluebird are bidding for the exact same block that PanGlobal has now. PanGlobal must be giving it up.’

‘They are,’ Ella said. ‘Robin Miller told me today. Can you see which blocks are going to be awarded to which companies?’

‘No,’ Graham said. ‘I’m not sure that information is even on here. Do you want me to go on looking?’

Ella glanced at Nick. He looked at his watch. ‘I reckon time’s up. Copy everything that you think might be useful onto the memory stick. We’d better get out while we’re ahead. And regroup.’ He threw Ella a wry glance. ‘This puts a very different slant on things.’

They returned the files to the appropriate cabinets and quickly checked that everything was back in place. Graham pulled out the memory stick and turned off the computer. Nick wiped the keyboards and the table tops with a cloth he’d brought with him for the purpose. Then they turned out the lights and sauntered casually back downstairs and out of the building, talking earnestly, heads down, as they passed the security camera in the lobby.

Out on the street again, Ella could feel her knees shaking.

‘That was the coolest thing,’ Graham said, looking at Nick in awe.

‘I can’t believe we just did that,’ Ella said. ‘Brazen is the word. And completely illegal.’

‘Now she tells me,’ Nick said. He gave his soft laugh. ‘Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s not something I‘d do every day. But as you Brits say, ‘needs must when the devil drives.’’

But who is the devil, Ella thought. It just simply didn’t make sense. It was so much more logical for the kidnap to be the work of environmentalists. Why would any oil company want to drill in a proven dead duck area?

Back at the car, Nick took the cash out of Marjorie’s purse, replaced the security card, put the keys in the ignition and tucked the bag under the front seat. He wiped the steering wheel and the door handles and stood back. ‘The police will probably find it soon enough and think it was just some joker after a bit of cash. Or we could tip them off anonymously right now and save her some trouble?’

‘I think we should tip them off,’ Graham said. ‘Poor old bat.’

Nick smiled. ‘You’ll never make a decent criminal,’ he said. But he made the call, saying that there was a car parked in Vincent Square with the driver’s side door wide open and the keys still in the ignition.

As they walked up Victoria Street, they passed a busker in the entrance to the Royal Bank of Scotland strumming away at a rather fine rendition of Born to Run. Nick took Marjorie’s cash out of his pocket with a grin. ‘Shall we?’ he asked and, to the musician’s evident delight, dropped the money into the open guitar case.

‘That was the most exciting couple of hours of my life,’ Graham said gleefully as they parted outside Victoria Station.

Nick shook his hand. ‘Thanks for your help. And if you ever get bored of oil let me know and I might be able to find you something more interesting to do.’

Huh, Ella thought sourly, I notice he doesn’t offer me a job. Then she saw him watching her with a faint smile lingering on his lips.

‘Where to now?’ he said. He jangled the Fiat’s keys. ‘I’m parked just around the corner. Shall I take you home? Or do you want to spend the night with me?’

Suddenly Ella felt absurdly shy. She knew what he was asking. Or she thought she did. But she didn’t know what she wanted. She wanted to go home. But did she want Nick to come with her? Somehow he was a different proposition dressed in that suit.

His smile widened. ‘What I’m saying is that I don’t think it’s safe for you to be in your apartment on your own.’

Ella wasn’t sure that it was very safe to be in the apartment with Nick Jardine either. She had a nasty feeling that she might not be able to resist him if the opportunity presented itself.

Chapter Thirty Eight

He drove her home.

There they found a note from Gabriella, I am hope your sexy friend he feel better now. Gabriella. PS. Man from British Gas came for checking. No problems.

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Nick said.

‘I’d have thought you’d be flattered,’ Ella said dryly.

He grinned, ‘Very flattered,’ he said. ‘But I’m more concerned about the man from British Gas. I’d better have a look at your furnace.’

Ella laughed. ‘I think you mean the boiler. Do you know anything about boilers?’

‘Not much.’ He shrugged off the suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves as she opened the kitchen cupboard where the boiler was housed. But he couldn’t see anything untoward. Maybe the British Gas man had been genuine. Ella did have a maintenance contract with them. In any case, the central heating wasn’t on. It was still warm enough without it.

Nick asked her to flick the switch and the boiler fired perfectly normally. There was no smell of gas.

Eventually he emerged from the cupboard. ‘I reckon it’s OK,’ he said. He stretched and ran his hands over his face. Ella remembered he had been up half the previous night skulking around Newland marina. She felt pretty knackered herself.

‘What we need more than anything is something to eat,’ he said. ‘So why don’t you relax while I find a food store and then I’ll fix you a nice meal?’

And that’s what happened. As Ella lay soaking in the bath, Nick went to the supermarket, then knocked up a stir fry with egg fried noodles, fresh prawns and sweet chilli sauce. Emerging from her bedroom in casual jeans and a sweater, Ella found the table laid and a glass of Chardonnay waiting for her.

They were just starting to eat when a text message bleeped on Nick’s phone. He read it and smiled. ‘Just my parents,’ he said. ‘Asking for news. They are so worried about George.’

‘Your parents?’

‘Yeah, why do you look so surprised, don’t you have parents?’

‘Well, yes, but …’ She stopped, realising she could hardly say it, but it seemed somehow extraordinary that either Nick or Hugh Jardine would have anything as mundane as parents.

Luckily, before she could dig a hole for herself, his phone actually rang. This time it was Vicky. She wanted to know how the assault on the DTI had gone. Nick told her that it was now looking more likely that it was an oil company behind the kidnapping rather than environmentalists. Vicky said they hadn’t found any sniff of anything suspicious their end. The only thing that had happened was that the man who lived on Wickholm Island had once again taken a pot shot at some tourists. A company called Thousand Island ran tours out round the islands on big inflatable dinghies to look for dolphins and seals. They had been repeatedly warned to keep clear of Wickholm, but on this occasion they got too close and John Howes, the environmentalist, had fired a warning shot, scaring them all to death.

‘Of course, it’s not the first time it’s happened,’ Vicky said. ‘It’s nothing new. He’s always been protective of his precious island. The seal survey team are the only ones he lets near, and even they aren’t allowed to land.’

When she had rung off, Nick looked across the table at Ella. ‘So what do you think?’

Ella finished her mouthful and put her fork down. She suddenly felt very tired. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Previously I would have been suspicious, but now if it is an oil company rather than the environmentalists, it does seem unlikely. Anyway how could some mad old environmentalist scratching a living on a remote island possibly have organised something like this?’

‘That’s what I’m thinking,’ Nick said. ‘This has been a pretty sophisticated operation. It would have needed a fair amount of cash to set it up. An unscrupulous oil company does sound a more likely candidate, doesn’t it?’

‘Some of these eco warriors are pretty unscrupulous too,’ Ella said. ‘Attacking animal research laboratories and threatening the staff and things like that. And you said yourself some of them do seem to have money.’ She paused then added, ‘Like Wallace.’

‘Wallace?’ Nick closed his eyes in momentary frustration. ‘For God’s sake, you’re really clutching at straws now, Ella. I know it’s hard for you to admit that there might be unscrupulous players in your precious oil business, but just think for a moment what damage the oil business has done to the world already. Pollution, exploitation, corruption of governments, you name it. If that’s not unscrupulous, I really don’t know what is.’

‘But this would actually be completely illegal,’ Ella insisted. ‘Fraud. Kidnap. It’s hard to believe.’

‘You found it easy enough to believe when it was the environmentalists who were the main suspects,’ Nick retorted. ‘Anyway a bit of dirty dealing in the Irish Sea is nothing compared with the scandalous and rapacious exploitation of the world’s resources by oil companies over the last century. Don’t talk to me about illegal …’

Ella sighed wearily. There was no point in arguing with him. He was completely fixed in his views. Suddenly she felt fed up with the whole thing. She was also conscious of a niggling sense of disappointment. She had thought she and Nick had found some common ground, some kind of camaraderie, which oddly she had valued. Apparently that had all evaporated with his bitter accusation. He obviously thought she was a narrow-minded, oil fanatic and she no longer had the energy to disabuse him.

In silence she picked up the plates and carried them into the kitchen. She was just about to put them in the dishwasher when she heard him behind her and tensed. To her surprise, he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her gently back towards him and folded his arms across her chest.

‘I guess we are both real tired,’ he said. ‘We’ve spent so much time chasing shadows, it’s worn us out. Let’s get some sleep. We can reassess everything in the morning and decide what to do next.’

‘I need to clear up,’ Ella murmured. But she couldn’t help leaning back against him, feeling the strength in his long body supporting her. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so sleepy. ‘It’s only fair after you cooked such a lovely meal.’

She could hear the smile in his voice as he turned her round and pushed her firmly out of the door. ‘I’m going to clear up. You’re going to bed.’

It was nice to be back in her own bed. As she stretched out in the clean sheets that Gabriella had put on that morning, she wondered if Nick might make a move to join her. Wondered how she should react if he did. What she would say.

But he didn’t. For a while she heard him moving about in the kitchen then she heard him go into the other bedroom and close the door. Then there was silence.

And now of course she couldn’t sleep. She kept listening out for him, wondering if the door would open. Wondering what he would be like in bed. He had the jizz of a man who could be rather nerve-wrackingly competent in that department. She had to admit, reluctantly, that now that she had got used to his provocative hippyish scruffiness she actually found him rather sexy.

Eventually, in desperation, she reached into the bedside cabinet, pulled out a bottle of liquid flu remedy and took a good slug. He probably will come in now, she thought drowsily as the medicine began to take effect, and I won’t be able to do anything about it.

But when he did come into her room a couple of hours later it was in very different circumstances to those she had been dreaming about.

The first she knew of it was someone yanking her upright in the bed and a cold, wet towel being slapped across her face. It was still dark but some yellow light was filtering in through the window from a distant street lamp outside. ‘Wake up,’ Nick was shouting. ‘Wake up! For God’s sake what’s the matter with you?’

She was struggling against him now, suffocated by the towel, desperately trying to pull it away from her face. Hitting out at him with the other hand.

‘Ella, please listen to me.’ His voice was more steady now, but very insistent, and she realised belatedly he wasn’t trying to kill her. ‘The apartment is on fire. Hold this to your face and get some clothes on.’

She could see smoke now, creeping in around the door frame, and smell it too. And she could actually hear the flames somewhere, crackling and hissing. Nick was naked to the waist, he seemed to have a wet tee shirt tied round his face, which made him look oddly piratical. He had already wedged towels along the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door, now he was trying to open the window.

But it was locked.

‘Where do you keep the key?’ he asked urgently.

‘In the lock,’ she said.

‘It’s not there,’ he snapped. ‘Think, Ella, where would it be?’

‘I always keep them in the locks,’ she said.

He swore, ‘Well surprise, surprise, someone has taken them. We’ll have to break the window.’

But there was nothing on hand to break it with, it was double glazed and the glass was strong. He yanked open the fitted wardrobe doors and felt about inside, coming out holding one of Ella’s high heeled Manolas, but even that made little impression on the glass.

Ella had pulled on a jersey and jeans and was now standing helplessly watching him, clutching the towel to her nose and mouth. The thin yellow light from outside showed up the eerie grey billowing smoke. She could already feel her lungs filling up with fumes. Her breathing was hard and tight.

‘See if you can tie the sheets together,’ he said, still bashing at the window.

She tried to pull the sheets off the bed but the only way to breath was through the wet towel. She felt a sudden curl of fear creep up her spine. The whole situation seemed unreal, but she realised that unless they could get out pretty quickly, things weren’t going to be too good.

‘What about the fire brigade?’ she mumbled and immediately started coughing convulsively.

‘I’ve already called them,’ he muttered through his mask. ‘But at this rate they’re not going to be in time. There’s only one thing for it.’ To her amazement he put his hand into the trouser pocket and pulled out a pistol. ‘Stand back,’ he said sharply and pointing it at the window fired a sudden deafening shot.

The glass shattered. Nick bashed out the remaining glass off the bottom rim. But even then it wasn’t going to be easy to get out. There was glass everywhere and a sheer drop down to the ground on the other side.

They could hear sirens now, but there wasn’t time to wait, the smoke was thick in the room and they were both coughing badly. Furiously Ella fumbled to tie the corner of the sheet and the duvet cover together, but she knew the makeshift rope wasn’t going long enough to reach the ground and there wasn’t anything suitable to fix it on to anyway.

Nick grabbed the duvet and the pillows off the bed and dropped them out of the window to soften the landing.

‘Go!’ he shouted at her, grasping the tied sheet and winding it round his wrist. He flipped the end of it out of the window and braced himself against the frame. ‘I’ll hold it. You climb down. Try to roll as you fall off the bottom.’

‘But what about you?’

‘Just go,’ he said grimly, and somehow Ella found herself poised on the window ledge. She told herself firmly not to look down. Already she felt faint with fear. But she knew she had to get out.

Fighting her vertigo, she grasped the sheet in one hand, struggled her legs over the sill and forced herself to let go of the edge with the other hand, crying out as her weight on the sheet caused her knuckles to graze hard on the brick work of the outside wall.

Half swearing, half coughing, she lowered herself as fast as she could, but she didn’t have the strength in her arms to hold herself, and the last bit of the sheet whipped through her hands, taking some of her skin with it, before she slipped off the end and crashed into the back yard. She landed on the pillows but she still felt winded. The duvet had protected her from most of the broken glass, but she could feel it underneath, sharp and painful.

Even as she lay there she saw Nick leaning out of the window to fasten the corner of the sheet to a down pipe. As she scrabled out of the way, she could see the smoke billowing out around him. Then he too was clambering out over the sill. His descent was marginally more elegant than hers, but he still inevitably fell the last bit and landed hard in a crunch of glass, swearing fluently.

And then the back gate burst open and a fireman rushed in. ‘Anyone else in there?’ he shouted.

‘Not upstairs,’ Nick said, picking himself up gingerly and rubbing his bare shoulder. ‘I don’t know about downstairs.’

‘We’ve got them out already. But actually downstairs isn’t much affected so far. The fire’s upstairs,’ the fireman said. He noticed Ella lying slumped on the ground at his feet. ‘Are you OK, darling?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

‘Bloody lucky to get out,’ the fireman said. ‘We’d have had a job to get the ladder back here in time.’ He spoke rapidly into a walkie-talkie, reporting the upstairs flat empty and calling for urgent medical assistance in the back yard, then ran back out of the gate.

Ella lay back on the duvet and closed her eyes. ‘You saved my life,’ she said weakly. ‘Thank you.’

Nick gave a soft laugh. ‘It was my pleasure,’ he said. ‘But I tell you what. This Barry Caldwell guy is seriously beginning to get on my nerves.’

Chapter Thirty Nine

Stones don’t make good footballs. They are too big and awkward and they hurt your feet when you kick them. Especially the big ones. Especially in the dark. But Amanda would always make a game of it. She was trying to make it fun. It wasn’t fun. It was really tiring but it was something to do. And she had a plan. Personally George didn’t think the plan would work but he went along with it. What else was there to do? It was so boring here. Just sleeping and lying on the floor and trying to remember what life used to be like. In the real world, the one they had left behind.

He should be back at school now. Chataignerie was where his school was. The International School. Near Geneva in Switerland. Last term they had done lots of sailing on the lake. In the winter they did skiing in the mountains. It all seemed a million miles away now. It probably was a million miles away. He had no idea where they were. Except they were sure they were near the sea. Somewhere stony and wild. Corsica maybe Amanda thought.

He didn’t remember anything between being thrown in that car and waking up in the cellar. But Amanda remembered being on a boat. And they’d worked out that the crying noises they could sometimes hear were seagulls. Amanda said she could taste salt on the wind. But he couldn’t taste it. And even on the nights with a moon you couldn’t see any sea.

All you could see was the building they were being kept in and the tumbled down wall round the field. The field was in a dip. The land curved up on each side. And sky. Lots of sky. And stars sometimes if it was fine. If he had paid more attention to the star chart he’d been given for Christmas, he might have been able to work out where they were. Sometimes they thought they could even hear the sea, a kind of growling noise, but they couldn’t be sure. It might have just been wind.

They could hear the planes though. They loved the planes now. In the cellar they gave a little cheer each time a plane went over, especially if it sounded low. They weren’t ready yet. It would take a few more nights before they were ready. Before they could really start to hope.

They had to be careful. The man watching them mustn’t get suspicious. They hated that man. He had a gun. So they’d choose a big stone and kick it around, in a slow motion game, pretending to enjoy it. And then when Amanda gave the sign they’d leave it where it was and start again with another one. It wouldn’t work. But it was something to do.

Chapter Forty

It seemed a long night and for Ella it passed in a daze. A medic treated their cuts and bruises in an ambulance while the fire brigade sprayed gallons of water through the front window of her flat. By the time the fire was out, the whole building was soaked and the road was running with water. But they weren’t allowed back in. There was concern that the ferocity of the fire might have damaged the internal structure.

Half the street was outside, watching behind a makeshift cordon. When it was all over, some neighbours Ella had never met before took them in, let them shower, gave them tea and fruit cake and fresh clothes and settled them down in their front room.

I’ve lost my flat, Ella thought dully, my lovely trendy flat. But now the panic was finally over, the flu remedy was regaining its influence and her eyes already felt heavy. She simply couldn’t worry about it now. All she could do was curl up on the comfortable sofa and sleep.

The next time she woke Nick was standing beside her with a cup of tea. ‘Trying to wake you is like trying to wake the dead,’ he remarked.

‘I couldn’t get to sleep last night,’ she admitted sheepishly, rubbing her face and hoping she didn’t look too hideous. ‘So I drugged myself with flu remedy.’

He sat down on the end of the sofa. ‘Ah. That explains it. I thought you seemed remarkably unconcerned about the whole thing.’

‘Have you been outside yet?’ Ella asked as the night’s events suddenly rushed back with a vengeance.

He nodded. ‘I’m afraid your apartment is pretty much ruined,’ he said. ‘Everything in the kitchen and sitting room is completely burnt out. The fire guys say the blaze was unusually fierce, but they don’t suspect foul play. I haven’t said anything to them, but I reckon our friend Caldwell must have somehow got into the communal hallway then gone upstairs and poured gasoline under your apartment door, or through the mail box. Then set light to it. And of course he had thoughtfully removed the window keys.’

‘The gas man?’ Ella said.

‘I guess.’ Nick grimaced. ‘And in more ways than one.’

‘It was lucky you woke up,’ Ella said with a shiver.

‘I must have heard something, maybe the gasoline lighting, certainly the whole place was well ablaze by the time I opened the bedroom door.’

But he had still had the presence of mind to get wet towels and call the fire brigade, Ella thought. If he hadn’t been there, God only knew what would have happened.

He was looking at her closely now and she wished he wouldn’t. She knew she must look a fright and wished she had had a chance to freshen up before having to face him.

‘How are you doing?’ he asked. ‘It was a bit of a rough night, huh? The only good thing is that we must be on to something or he wouldn’t be trying to kill us.’

‘Not us,’ Ella said grimly. ‘Me. He couldn’t have known you were going to be there last night.’

‘He might have taken a wild guess.’ Nick stood up with a wry smile. ‘In any case, if you are feeling up to it, I think you should go into your office. You must have unearthed something that scares him and we need to find out what it is. Oh, and I picked this up last night off your side table,’ he took her iPhone out of his trouser pocket and weighed it in his hand. ‘Call me if you need me.’

So, five hours after losing her home, Ella was back in the office. She had had to borrow clothes from her impromptu hostess and knew she looked a complete frump. And even though she had showered and washed her hair yet again, she was still conscious of a residual smell of smoke hanging about her. But Nick was right. This bastard Caldwell had to be stopped. And fast.

Graham wasted no time in sliding over to Ella’s desk.

‘Wasn’t it brilliant last night?’ he whispered.

Ella looked at him blankly. ‘Oh, the DTI.’ she said. She laughed sourly. ‘You actually missed the best bit. Someone set fire to my flat in the middle of the night.’

His eyes widened. ‘You’re joking.’ He saw from her expression that she wasn’t and added, ‘Deliberately? Someone to do with the licensing thing?’

‘I think so.’

‘Wow.’ He paled, then asked, as a solicitous afterthought, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Ella said airily, ‘Nick sealed the door with wet towels, shot a hole in the window and we both escaped by climbing down a sheet.’ As she said it she realised she hadn’t previously queried that sudden appearance of a gun. Had there really been a gun? Or had she just imagined it in the heat of the moment, so to speak.

Graham was looking at her in awe. ‘He’s a pretty cool guy, your Nick.’

‘He’s not my Nick,’ Ella said irritably. ‘He’s just a friend.’

Graham nodded hastily. ‘Right,’ he said obediently. ‘He’s still cool though,’ he added.

Ella changed the subject abruptly. ‘Have you had a chance to check out Bluebird Oil?’ she asked.

Graham nodded eagerly. ‘Yeah. It’s pretty small, only about 20mill capitalisation. Recently listed on the Alternative Investment Market. The guy who runs it is called Paul Whelan.’

‘I’ve never heard of him. Can you find out anything about him, or who the main investors are? And go back over what we took last night. See if you can find anything suspicious.’

‘I can try,’ Graham said. ‘But what happens if Claude catches me.’

‘Just don’t let him catch you,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll allocate your proper work to someone else.’

Ella spent the next hour talking to the fire brigade and sorting out a preliminary claim report with her insurance company. She had just arranged to meet an assessor at the apartment the next day when Nick rang her to say that Hugh had received another text from the kidnappers offering an exchange on Thursday. And this time he sensed it was for real.

‘Hugh wants to do it,’ Nick said. ‘He just wants to hand over the money and get George and Amanda back. But I don’t trust these bastards to deliver, and I really don’t want them to get away with it now.’

‘No,’ Ella agreed, checking to make sure nobody in the trading room was listening. ‘The thought of them waltzing off with six million Euros is pretty galling. Have they said where the hostages will be released?’

‘Monaco.’

‘That would mean the hostages must be somewhere near there after all. Do you believe them?’

‘Who knows what to believe?’ he said. ‘Have you made any progress?’

‘Graham is checking out Bluebird Oil right now.’ Ella hesitated, ‘But I can’t stop thinking about Caldwell being at the marina that day. Why was he there if he wasn’t following me? It must be something to do with boats. And why would he need a boat?’ She paused waiting for an answer, but it didn’t come. ‘To get to an island? Or a lighthouse?’

There was silence at the other end then Nick sighed. ‘I really can’t imagine that the Wildlife Trust wardens on Skomer or Skokholm are likely to be harbouring hostages, Grassholm is uninhabited, and as we said I can’t see how the man on Wickholm could have organised it.’

‘I know,’ Ella said. ‘It seems unlikely. To be honest everything seems unlikely. But the only reason I can think of for Caldwell to try to kill me on that mountain is because I was actually in Wales. Poking about. I can only think there was something there he didn’t want me to find.’

There was a long pause. Ella could almost hear Nick’s brain processing the information, all the ramifications, all the scenarios. ‘I guess we should check it out,’ he said eventually. ‘But how do we check out a deserted lighthouse and four remote islands? Especially as one of them has a madman on it, who shoots anyone who comes close.’

It was a good point, one which Ella had momentarily overlooked.

‘What about that pilot who took me to France?’ she suggested. ‘I could get him to fly over. Ask him to look out for extra people or … I don’t know, anything unusual?’ It sounded lame and she knew it. Talk about clutching at straws. She was certain Nick would veto the idea.

But he didn’t. He just sighed wearily. ‘Ok,’ he said. ‘Call him if you want. And bill it to me. In the meantime I’m going to head back to Monaco. I’d like to be around when Hugh hands the money over. Will you be OK? The fire service guys have sealed off your apartment to let it cool down. You should check into a hotel tonight. Or better still find some friends to stay with …’ He stopped and then said, ‘Wait up, Ella, I’ve got a text. Ok. According to my source, Caldwell left the services in 2001 and worked for Texaco on the rigs in the Gulf of Mexico in 2003.’

‘Who is your source?’

‘Someone I know at Interpol.’

Of course, Ella thought. Who else would it be? ‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘Then can you get them to check out someone called Paul Whelan as well?’ She spelled it for him. ‘He’s the MD of Bluebird Oil.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Oh, and did I imagine it or did you fire a gun last night?’

He laughed. ‘You imagined it,’ he said and rang off.

Ella sat staring into space for a moment then checked her phone, which seemed to have survived its night time ordeal, for the number for Presceli Aerodrome.

By a piece of luck the pilot was actually there. ‘Tom? This is Ella Crossley. You took me to Monaco a couple of days ago.’ It seemed an age but actually she realised it was only the day before yesterday. ‘I wonder if I can hire you to do something else.’

‘Sure.’

‘I want you to take a look at anywhere locally that’s only accessible by boat. Like fly low and have a look.’

‘And what exactly am I looking for?’

Ella grimaced. ‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. What we are really looking for is a nine year old boy and a blonde haired young woman of about twenty. But just let me know if you see anything unusual. I was thinking of the islands, Skomer and the others. Or anywhere wlse you can think of, like the Smalls Lighthouse ...’

‘The Smalls Lighthouse?’ The pilot sounded incredulous. ‘What on earth would they be doing right out there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ella said. ‘I just want to find them.’

She caught Graham’s urgent cough as Claude Visconte came into the trading room, and rang off quickly. Leaning back in her chair she waved at Claude and he strolled over to her.

‘Nice shirt, Ella, but not quite your usual style.’

‘I borrowed it,’ Ella said. ‘There was a fire in my flat last night.’

Claude looked genuinely astonished. ‘A fire? How did this happen?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ella said. ‘The fire brigade are still investigating. It may have been arson.’

‘Arson? What is this?’

‘When someone sets someone’s house alight deliberately.’

‘But who would do this to you, Ella?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But I am going to find out.’

Claude lifted his brows. ‘So, another excuse to stop you doing your work, hein?’

Ella stared at him grittily. ‘Have I ever told you that you are a bastard, Claude?’

He gave her his most sexy smile. ‘Many times, Ella. Many times.’

Graham waited until he had left her, then came over to her desk. ‘Paul Whelan has worked for Texaco, Chevron and Cairn Energy,’ he said. ‘He started up Bluebird Oil two years ago. The principal investor is a company called Investex but I can’t find out very much about them because they are a private company. Not quoted on the stock exchange.’

According to Nick, Barry Caldwell had also worked for Texaco. Ella wondered if there was a link. And then she remembered that Robin Miller had also worked for Texaco. The oil industry was quite a small world. It was possible he might know them. ‘Find out what you can about Bluebird and Investex,’ she said to Graham. ‘I’m going to call Robin Miller.’

But Robin Miller was in a meeting and unavailable. Ella left a message for him to call her back urgently and then tried to turn her attention to trading for a while. But it wasn’t easy. Her brain was buzzing.

She knew Claude’s veiled threats were not idle ones. He wasn’t happy with her recent performance, which by any standard was poor. Oh yes, she had a great excuse, she had been helping the owner of the company track down his missing child, a task she had effectively been given by Claude. But somehow that excuse didn’t seem to weigh with Claude, and she suspected that this whole power game he was acting out was actually just an elaborate way of getting his own back on her for dumping him.

And if he had somehow found out about Nick Jardine being in Wales with her and staying in her flat, he would definitely have jumped to the same conclusion as Graham. The concept of platonic friendship between a man and a woman, especially if that woman was her, would be completely beyond Claude’s comprehension. Ella knew he was still fixated on her. And the thought of any other man in her life was more than Claude could bear. Paul had been bad enough. For all she knew, Claude might consider Nick Jardine to be even more of a threat. For a second earlier she had even wondered if Claude’s bitter jealousy could be strong enough to make him commit arson. But then she had dismissed the thought. Claude may be a bastard but there was no way he was a killer. But he certainly would be after her blood if she didn’t do some work.

She had only managed to complete one trade when Graham was once more at her side.

‘Ok,’ he said. ‘Two things. I’ve worked out that Investex is owned by another company, Valco Investments. And DECC are definitely going to announce the new licenses tomorrow.’

‘Bugger,’ Ella said. ‘I wonder if I should ring Andrew Saville, and try one more time to stop it.’

‘Will he take any notice?’

‘No,’ Ella said. ‘And who the hell are Valco Investments?’

Graham looked despondent. ‘I don’t know. They’re not listed. It’s so hard to find out anything if they are privately owned.’

‘Keep trying,’ Ella said.

Chapter Forty One

Tom the pilot rang a couple of hours later.

‘I’ve done the fly over,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t see anything untoward. Certainly no blondes or children.’

‘What about the lighthouse?’ Ella asked hopefully. ‘Any sign of occupation?’

‘No. Nothing. No evidence of habitation. It’s completely deserted.’

‘Damn,’ Ella said, she sighed heavily. ‘Nothing else? Anything at all?’

Tom hesitated for a moment. ‘The only slightly odd thing was on the island of Wickholm,’ he said. ‘There’s a kind of pattern made out of stones in a field behind the farmhouse.’

‘What sort of pattern?’

‘Difficult to say. I only noticed it on the way back over. And I think you’d only be able to see it from the air. It’s not that easy to make out. It may just be random. For all I know it’s been there for years, but it looks a bit like someone’s spelt out the letters SC,’ he said. ‘Sierra Charlie. Does that mean anything to you?’

‘No,’ Ella said, writing it down on her pad. ‘But thanks anyway.’

As soon as she put the phone down she rang Nick. He was already on his way to Heathrow airport. She told him about the DECC licensing round being announced the very next day and then asked. ‘Do the letters SC mean anything to you?’

‘No. Why?’

She explained about the pattern of stones.

‘It sounds like someone’s initials,’ Nick said. ‘Shame it’s not GJ or AS or HELP. And the guy who lives there is called John Howes, isn’t he? Maybe it’s some former resident of the island. I’ll call Vicky and ask her if it rings a bell.’

‘It’s probably nothing,’ Ella said. ‘Tom said it might just be the way the stones are laying. I’m sorry,’ she added. ’You were right. It was a waste of time.’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Anything is worth a try at this stage. I’m wondering if I should have confronted Andrew Saville one more time, told him we knew about Amanda’s hair in his drawer and made him tell us who is putting him under pressure.’

‘I thought about that too,’ Ella said. ‘But I don’t think he’d say. My feeling is that he’s pretty frightened. I reckon you really would have to torture him to get it out of him. And you could hardly do that in the office. Maybe we should have gone to his house last night.’

Nick laughed. ‘You’re dying for me to torture someone, aren’t you? I hope you know that under UN law torturing people is entirely illegal.’

‘Jack Bauer tortures people all the time.’

‘Jack Bauer is a fictional hero,’ Nick said.

‘And he sorts everything out in twenty four hours,’ Ella said. ‘We’ve had nearly three weeks and we’re no nearer the truth.’

‘We may be nearer than we realise,’ Nick said. ‘Judging by last night, someone certainly thinks so. Just keep trying, Ella, and let me know what you come up with.’

But try to do what, Ella rolled her eyes in frustration as she rang off.

There was one thing she knew she had to do, however, and that was ring Presceli Hospital to find out how Paul was doing. Getting through to his ward seemed to cause the hospital switchboard enormous difficulties. But eventually a nurse took a phone to his bedside.

He sounded pleased to hear from her. She felt guilty that she hadn’t called him yesterday, but it had all been too frantic. Time seemed to be running away and Ella felt she was having to pedal hard to keep up with it. She told him about the fire, carefully editing out Nick’s involvement, and glossing over the exact method of her escape.

‘It was really awful,’ she said. ‘I just hope the insurance will pay up.’

Paul was shocked, ‘But how did the fire start?’ he asked.

Ella decided to gloss over that detail too. ‘Nobody seems to know,’ she said. ‘The fire brigade are trying to find out now.’

There was a short pause then Paul spoke again, ‘You realise that’s two near death experiences you’ve had in less than a week.’

‘Accidents,’ Ella said. ‘That’s all. I’ve been lucky really. It is just a shame you weren’t so lucky. How are you feeling now?’

He ignored the question. ‘What’s going on, Ella?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve been acting strangely ever since you came back from Monaco. I thought at first you’d found another guy or something, but it’s more than that isn’t it?’

‘No,’ Ella said. ‘I mean I haven’t found another guy. But yes, you’re right, there is something going on. I still can’t tell you what it is, but I will soon.

‘So why can’t you tell me now?’

‘Because I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’

He gave a disbelieving snort. ‘To the extent of putting your life in danger? And mine?’

Ella was wishing now she hadn’t called him. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I can’t explain now. Not on the phone. But I promise I will tell you everything when I see you.’

‘And when the hell’s that going to be?’ Paul asked irritably.

Ella gritted her teeth. ‘Soon,’ she said. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

Walking over to Graham’s desk, she found him glued to his screen, scrolling through the material he had pulled off Andrew Saville’s computer. He was hunting for Bluebird Oil’s application for an exploration license, hoping that there might be more clues about the ownership of the company. But he just kept coming up with the stone wall of Paul Whelan, Investex and Valco.

Ella dialled Robin Miller’s number again from Graham’s desk but was again told he was in a meeting.

‘What about Companies House?’ she asked Graham, perching on the corner of his desk. ‘Is it possible to find out stuff about companies through them?’

‘If you pay,’ Graham said. ‘And there’s a thing called Duport, which is the same, I think. You can put in the company’s name and find out if it has filed accounts and that sort of thing, but it’s not definitive, it relies on companies filing the correct information. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I’ve looked on BRINDEX too.’

‘BRINDEX?’

‘The Association of British Independent Exploration and Production Companies,’ Graham said with a grin. ‘But they only list the company’s address. Which we already have. It’s registered in Aberdeen like so many of these small operators.’

‘And Bluebird’s own website?’ Ella asked.

‘That’s where I got the names of the major investors. But neither Investex or Valco seem to have a website of their own.’

‘Is that suspicious?’ Ella asked.

‘Not really,’ Graham said reluctantly. ‘I have checked around other smallish exploration companies and some of their investors are pretty shadowy too. It’s amazing really. You only need about ten million pounds to start an exploration company. With that you can bid for licenses in likely areas, do some seismic surveys and drill a few wells. Even if you only strike lucky one in three you stand to make millions. And if you float the company on AIM with some good publicity to persuade other people to buy in, then you don’t even have to come up with all the cash yourself.’

‘But if you don’t strike lucky at all …?’ Ella said.

Graham looked up at her. ‘Then you stand to lose ten million quid. And a lot of friends.’

‘But if you were pretty sure where some oil might be, then you’re really on to a winner?’

‘Even a small gas find would easily pay off the initial investment,’ Graham said. ‘And bearing in mind you can sell just one 500,000 barrel cargo of oil for about fifty million dollars, at today’s exchange rates you’d be smiling all the way to the bank.’

‘You would indeed,’ Ella said thoughtfully. ‘And do we know when Bluebird did their Seismic surveys?’

Graham brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll check.’

‘Check then.’ She straightened up. ‘And keep hunting for Bluebird’s investors. I want to know exactly who would be heading for the bank if they strike lucky when they get their license.’

Back at her desk she wracked her brains for something she might have missed. Picking up a pen she began to jot down the things she knew for sure.

Someone had kidnapped George and Amanda. Someone was putting pressure of some sort on Andrew Saville. A Greenpeace boat had been in Monaco. A boat could get from Monaco to Wales in a few days. Barry Caldwell (alias Kevin Casey) was one of the kidnappers. Barry Caldwell had tried to kill Jenny Westlake. Barry Caldwell had also been in London and Wales. Jimmy had probably been involved in the kidnap in some way but was now dead. The PanGlobal wells were dry. It would be hard for anyone outside the company to have altered the coordinates. A Greenpeace boat was in Wales. The environmental protest had been strong. Bluebird Oil were now applying for PanGlobal’s block. Bluebird’s MD and Barry Caldwell had both worked for Texaco. The dolphins were the only thing making the government hesitant about licensing in the Irish Sea. The government were going to license anyway despite the dolphins and environmentalists.

While she wrote, and thought, she doodled on the side of her pad and when she finished her list, she stared at her pad in amazement.

‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘It can’t be.’ But it just could be, and once again she picked up the phone to Nick. He was in the departure lounge ready to board his flight.

‘SC,’ she said. ‘I think it might be the first half of SOS.’

Chapter Forty Two

There was a silence. Then Nick’s voice, low and incredulous. ‘SC, SOS, I’ve just written it down. I can see what you mean.’

‘It’s just possible, isn’t it?’ Ella insisted. ‘That it could be them? Trying to make a sign to attract attention.’

‘Even if it is them, they may have been taken someplace else already.’ Nick pointed out. ‘And that’s why it’s not finished.’

‘Or they may not have had time to finish it. They may only be able to add a few stones at a time,’ Ella said.

There was another long pause. Ella could hear the last call for the BA flight to Nice coming over the tannoy in the background.

Then Nick spoke decisively. ‘I think we should go down there. It may be nothing, but it may be something. And if it is something we can’t afford to ignore it.’

Ella felt a surge of excitement, quickly tempered. ‘But how would we get on to the island?’ she asked. ‘Surely the guy will just shoot us.’

‘I’ll talk to Vicky right now,’ Nick said. ‘See if she has any ideas. Then I’ll come back into town and collect you at the office. We’ll drive straight down there tonight.’

Putting the phone down, Ella could feel her heart beating unusually fast. Her mind was racing too. Were they really on to something at last? Or was it going to be another dead end. And what about Bluebird Oil? How did that fit into the picture? Maybe it was an environmentalist plot after all, as she had suspected all along. But either way she realised what Nick had clearly realised, there was little time to lose. If Hugh was going to hand over the ransom money tomorrow and the government was going to announce the new licences, then George and Amanda might suddenly become expendable.

Of course if they weren’t on the island any more, or had indeed never been there, then she and Nick were back to square one. Because despite the hair in the envelope and all the stuff they had discovered on Andrew Saville’s computer, there was actually no hard evidence that Bluebird Oil was involved at all. The problem was that there was really no hard evidence about anything. Or anyone, come to that. Except blasted Barry Caldwell, whoever he might be. It was all so infuriatingly nebulous.

Resting her head on her hands, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Something had momentarily niggled in her brain just then, some small detail, or some connection that she wasn’t making, but infuriatingly she couldn’t quite pin down what it was.

‘Ella? Are you OK?’

She jerked her head up to find Graham beside her. ‘Claude is on the warpath,’ he said. ‘He just called me to ask what I was doing. I bluffed and said I was finishing off the Brent deal you made this morning. Now he wants me to do some work for him.’

‘Damn,’ Ella said. ‘You’d better do what he wants. I don’t want you risking your career for me. But listen. I’m not going to be in tomorrow and I want you to keep digging around Bluebird and their main investors. Call me on my mobile if you find anything. Anything at all.’

‘Where are you going to be?’

Ella hesitated, then saw his eager expression and weakened. ‘Wales again,’ she said. ‘But if anyone asks, tell them I’ve taken a day off to sort out about the fire in my flat, ok? Oh, and Graham, be careful, this is all getting a little bit dangerous.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll be standing by if you need me.’

It was five thirty when Nick called up to say he was waiting on a yellow line outside her office. Quickly Ella briefed the other members of her staff that she would be away for a day or two, asked them to cover her as best they could, picked up her phone, winked at Graham and ran downstairs, hoping not to be intercepted by Claude.

‘Did Vicky come up with a plan for getting to the island?’ she asked as soon as she got into the car.

‘I’d hoped we might be able to sneak over in the dark tonight, but everyone says it’s too dangerous. It’s a very treacherous piece of water,’ he said. ‘But she thinks she can persuade the Seal Survey team to take us over tomorrow. Apparently John Howes guy doesn’t shoot at the Seal Survey boat. He’s used to them coming by. She reckons they could drop us in a cave out of sight pretty easily, but she’s worried he’ll notice if there are two people missing when the boat came out again. It’s only a small inflatable so if he was watching he’d be sure to notice. We’ll have to think of a way round that …’

‘Wait,’ Ella said suddenly. ‘I’ve got an idea. We might need to go back to the office. Let me call Graham.’

She dialled his number. ‘It’s me’ she said. ‘I need you already. You remember those blow-up dummies you and the other guys had the other day? Where are they now, do you know?’

‘I’ve got one of the Katy Price ones in my drawer,’ Graham said. ‘Deflated obviously. I don’t know about the others. They must be around here somewhere.’

‘I need two. Can you find them and smuggle them downstairs?’ She glanced questioningly at Nick and he nodded. ‘We’ll be outside.’

Five minutes later they drove back down Surrey Street and Graham darted out carrying a large bag. Ella opened the window and he thrust the bag into her arms. ‘One Jordan, one David Beckham,’ he said, ducking down to give Nick a quick ingratiating smile.

‘Thanks, Graham,’ Ella said. ‘Perfect timing. What a team!’

‘I’d love to know what you’re going to do with them?’ he said hopefully.

‘I’ll tell you later, if it works,’ she called back as Nick drew away.

‘Interpol don’t have anything on a Paul Whelan or Jimmy Bennett,’ Nick remarked. They were through the rush hour traffic and out of London on the M4 heading West. ‘I also asked Hugh if he knew anything about them but he didn’t recognise the names.’

‘Let me try Robin Miller again,’ Ella said, looking at the time on the dashboard. It was 6.30. ‘I might just catch him now.’ But according to his secretary, Robin was still tied up in meetings. She said she had passed on the earlier message and he would ring back when he had a moment.

‘Please could you tell him I want to talk to him urgently,’ Ella said. ‘About a company called Bluebird Oil.’

Nick glanced across at her as she disconnected. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘OK. Why?’

He smiled faintly as he turned back to the road. ‘Well, you very nearly died last night, you’ve lost your apartment and most of your possessions. Your boyfriend is lying in hospital. I guess I just kind of wondered how you were feeling …’

‘Oh,’ Ella said. ‘Well, if I think about it, I feel pretty weird. Pretty angry actually. So I’ve been trying not to think about it.’

Nick moved his hands on the steering wheel. ‘Hugh said that he’s happy to help you financially if you don’t get the full recompense from your insurance. He doesn’t feel you should lose out in any way because of your involvement with us.’

‘Right,’ Ella said drily. ‘And how much pressure did you have to put on him to say that?’

‘None,’ Nick said. ‘That was what he said.’

‘I don’t understand why you are so loyal to him.’

‘He’s my brother.’

‘He’s a twisting, slippery, two faced bastard,’ Ella said.

Nick’s lips curved slightly. ‘I think my mother would deny that.’

‘And I’m sorry to say that I think Miriam is a pathetic little drip,’ Ella went on.

At once Nick lost the smile. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Her only child has been kidnapped. She’s utterly devastated. You can hardly expect her to be the life and soul of the party.’

‘No, but I can expect her to show a bit of gumption,’ Ella said sourly. ‘She’s the most dim-witted, self-absorbed person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. And her mother isn’t much better. In fact, maybe she’s even worse.’

‘Is there anything else you’d like to say about my family while you are at it?’ Nick asked pleasantly. ‘Please don’t feel you have to pull your punches with me.’

Ella noticed with some satisfaction that he hadn’t rushed to the defence of Miriam’s mother. ‘No,’ she said, settling back in her seat. ‘I think that just about covers it, for now.’

They stopped for petrol and a packet of jelly babies at Leigh Delamere and for a snack at Cardiff West. The journey seemed to be passing quickly this time, but that was perhaps because, for once, she and Nick managed to maintain a reasonable conversation.

She asked him about his parents and he told her that his father was a professor of Economics at Princeton and his mother ran her own management consultancy business. Both he and Hugh had been educated in preppy schools on the East Coast, then Hugh had gone to MIT and Nick had gone to Dartmouth where he majored in Anthropology.

After a year’s travelling in South America, Nick had then gone to LSE in London to do a Masters in Environment and Development. By which time Hugh had finished an MBA at the INSEAD business school in France and was working for Total. Two years later he left Total to start up his own oil company and the rest, Nick said with a wry smile, was history.

‘And after LSE you went to work for Greenpeace?’ Ella asked.

‘After LSE I went travelling again and ended up working for a charity in Africa. It was a while after that when I joined Greenpeace.’

‘As a reaction to what Hugh was doing?’

‘Because I believe in what they do.’

‘Or maybe you were sulking because Hugh had run off with your girlfriend?’

He smiled. ‘I’ve been sulking about that for years. But I’m not sure that it informed my career choices.’

‘And whose career choices do your parents most approve of? Yours or Hugh’s?’

He looked surprised. ‘I don’t know. I never asked.’

At Cardiff West services as she headed for the Ladies and told Nick she would see him back at the snack bar, Ella had a strange sense of déjà vu. She couldn’t help comparing this journey with the one she had taken the previous week with Paul.

It was a harsh truth, and one which she scarcely allowed herself to acknowledge, but despite their many differences of opinion, she was actually finding Nick Jardine to be better company on this journey than Paul had been last week. Nick was intensely irritating, of course, opinionated, stubborn and often disparaging of her own perfectly reasonable opinions, but he also had an unusual sense of liberality about him, a kind of take it or leave it, tolerant acceptance of life, coupled with an irreverent sense of humour that appealed to her.

He intrigued her. She couldn’t make him out. Sometimes she thought he was interested in her, but then other times he seemed completely indifferent, even amused by her in a faintly patronising way she found piquing. It was almost as though he felt he ought to flirt with her for form’s sake, but actually couldn’t quite be bothered. And it wasn’t just his attitude to her that was disconcerting. Sometimes he was so laid back, provokingly hippyish with his socialist views, dope smoking habit and apparent disregard for his appearance, and then other times he was quick, sharp, efficient and decisive. And somewhere along the line she was pretty sure he had acquired a gun.

‘You know that gun?’ she said when they got back into the car.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘What sort is it?’

‘It’s a Glock 17.’

She pretended to be disappointed. ‘Not a Walther PPK then?’

‘No.’

‘Where did you get it?’

‘I can’t tell you that,’ he said. He gave his slow smile. ‘Well, actually, I could tell you, but then I’d have to shoot you.’

‘You do know it’s illegal to carry a gun in the UK?’

‘I do know. But, hey, I’m an American and I don’t feel safe unless I have a gun in my belt.’

Chapter Forty Three

It was nearly midnight by the time they arrived at the cottage and the activity of the previous night was now taking its toll on both of them. Nick had been smothering yawns for miles, and even though she had slept some of the way, Ella was so tired that her balance and equilibrium seemed to have gone wrong, making her feel as though she was still in motion in the car even when she was sitting in the kitchen.

This must be what sailors felt like after long voyages, she thought as she watched Nick checking carefully around to make sure there had been no unwanted visitors in their absence. Her car was still parked outside.

‘Go to bed,’ Nick said as he finally locked the door and turned to find her slumped over the kitchen table. ‘You need a decent sleep and Vicky’s coming for us by eight tomorrow morning.’ Then as she stood up reluctantly and stretched, he groaned softly. ‘Why am I always sending you off to bed on your own?’ he said. ‘I must be crazy.’

Even through her weariness, Ella felt a sudden unexpected flicker of desire, but she quickly got a hold on herself. She was damned if he was going to seduce her as easily as that. With one easy, provocative comment. She wasn’t going to let him make a fool of her this time. Nor was she intending to fall into his arms the moment he gave her the nod.

‘You must be crazy if you think there’s any chance of me sleeping with you tonight.’ She gave a deliberate yawn and smiled sweetly. ‘But there’s always a Katy Price blow up dummy in the car if you’re desperate.’

Vicky arrived before eight. She was agog with excitement. ‘Do you really think they are on Wickholm?’ she asked, as Nick put a cup of coffee into her hand. ‘It seems incredible. I just can’t see how someone like John Howes could have organised something like this. I know he’s a complete eco fanatic but even so …’

‘We’re not remotely sure,’ Nick said. ‘But if someone is trying to attract attention by laying out those stones it would be pretty harsh to ignore it.’

‘I spoke to the warden of Skomer this morning,’ Vicky said. ‘And she thinks she caught sight of someone over on Wickholm a couple of days ago talking to John Howes. Another man.’

‘Now she tells us,’ Ella murmured. She felt much better this morning. She had slept like a log and had woken for the first time in days feeling refreshed. It had been an unusual experience for her to feel so desperately tired. She normally didn’t seem to need much sleep. She worked long hours and socialised hard as well, but her life as a trader was pretty straight forward, high adrenalin, yes, but decisions were made quickly and then you moved on. She wasn’t used to this constant sense of uncertainly, indecision and nagging anxiety. Nor, of course, in her everyday life, did people keep trying to kill her.

She wondered now if an extra unidentified man on the island made their proposed expedition too dangerous. But Nick just shrugged, apparently unconcerned, so Ella buried her qualms. The whole mad adventure was probably going to be a complete waste of time anyway. ‘What time is Hugh due to hand over the money?’ she asked.

‘One o’clock their time,’ Nick said, draining his mug. ‘So we should get going right now. If by any chance we find them we’ll call Hugh straight away and stop him going through with it.’

‘What about Andrew Saville?’ Ella asked. ‘Should we tell him what’s happening?’

Nick stood still for a moment, thinking. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I don’t trust him not to tell the kidnappers, and we don’t want a reception committee on the island. On the other hand if we’re wrong, if the island thing is a red herring, and the kidnappers do release Amanda and George today in exchange for the ransom, then I think Andrew Saville’s life may be in danger. If the kidnappers have been putting pressure on him in some way, and he’s done what they asked, or even if he hasn’t, they’re not going to want him to talk about it afterwards, are they?’

‘A tragic accident?’ Ella murmured. ‘Woops. What a shame, and just when he’d got his daughter back after she had inadvertently been taken hostage with George Jardine.’

‘Exactly,’ Nick said dryly. ‘So I guess we should warn him.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But we’ll do it later. We need to leave right now. We don’t want the Seal Survey guys setting off without us.’

Ella was pleased to find that Wallace was one of the Seal Survey guys. A rather hearty, red faced man called David was the other. They met at a tiny beach harbour called Martin’s Haven at the end of an interminable winding road. An orange inflatable Zodiac Rib with SEALWATCH painted in black on its sides was bobbing in the shallows. Wallace and David were already wearing black wet suits. Lacking the loose bulk of his normal clothes, Wallace looked like a long spindly black spider, all arms and legs, and his Adam’s apple and enormous teeth seemed even more prominent. But he smiled warmly at Ella and seemed ready for the adventure ahead. His dog was there too and it gave Ella a rapturous greeting which involved a lot of shrill barks and a desperate attempt to lick her face.

‘You’ve made a friend there,’ Wallace said as he hauled the animal off her.

‘Is he coming with us?’ She asked hopefully. She felt the presence of a large dog might give her courage.

‘No,’ Wallace laughed. ‘He’d scare all the seals away. He’s going to stay with Vicky.’

Wallace had brought an extra ‘dry bag’ with him for Nick and Ella’s phones, money and clothes, once they had put on the wet suits Wallace had provided. Nick was apparently happy to strip off on the beach, but Ella, accompanied by Wallace’s dog, coyly carried her allocated wetsuit up to a small public lavatory a little way back up the steep road.

Pulling on the uncomfortably cold, rubber wetsuit made Ella feel suddenly nervous. She was about to face a bumpy journey in an inadequate looking blow-up boat over an extremely treacherous stretch of water to confront a mad environmentalist maniac who was armed with a gun. And the whole ridiculous venture was based on her own very shaky intuition.

Back on the beach, Nick and Wallace had stowed the flaccid dummies and a couple of spare wetsuits into the boat’s locker and David had fired up the powerful looking engines in preparations for departure.

They were going to head for Skomer first, do a bit of obvious seal counting, which they hoped would reassure any interested observers on neighbouring Wickholm, then they would head across to Wickholm to see if they could get ashore.

‘Good luck,’ Vicky said, hugging them as they waded into the water to climb into the boat. ‘Call me if you need me. I’ll be here to meet you with towels and hot drinks when you get back.’

Up to his waist in water, Wallace indicated that Ella and Nick should climb in and take up their positions on the only two seats at the back. He and David were going to have to stand in the middle of the boat behind the wheel with just a kind of padded bar to lean on.

Wallace pulled up the anchor and dropped it inside the boat on the floor, then he went to the back, gave the boat a hard shove and clambered over the side just as David revved up the powerful engine. The front of the rib seemed to rise up on the water and Ella could feel the vibration from the engine running right through her body.

Looking back, she saw Vicky and the dog, already distant figures on the beach. Vicky was waving and the dog was dancing around in the shallows barking frantically. Ahead she could see the rougher water awaiting them at the entrance to the small bay. The wind was already whipping up her hair. Leaning across, Nick handed her a close fitting black knitted hat. The other three were already wearing them and quickly she slipped it on, tucking her hair inside, glad of the warmth round her ears.

‘Are you OK?’ Wallace called back at her.

She nodded nervously. She could see white tips to the waves bashing against the cliffs at the end of the bay. Even as she looked, the wind whipped salty spray into her face. No, I’m actually not OK, she wanted to shout back. I’m already soaking wet and completely petrified. But she held her breath. They probably wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway. The combination of the engines, the wind and the waves hitting hard against the underside of the boat made conversation impossible.

Suddenly David upped the revs again and the front of the small orange boat reared up even more out of the water, for an awful moment Ella thought it was going to flip right over backwards. In sudden terror, she grabbed the metal bars beside her and clung to it, hoping her knuckles weren’t showing white.

‘Hold on tight,’ David shouted. ‘It’s going to be a bumpy ride.’

Chapter Forty Four

At first the islands were just a distant blur on the horizon, mostly obscured by the waves and spray, and by the front of the boat. In any case Ella was too concerned with clinging on and attempting to conceal her fear every time they crested a wave and crashed down the other side to notice where they were going. Wallace, standing next to David, was also having to hold on for dear life, bracing his spindly legs against the jolting motion. But gradually, as the little boat bumped and jumped across the turbulent water, Skomer island slowly started to take shape and she began to believe they might actually get there without capsizing.

Nick, of course, looked completely relaxed, clearly enjoying the experience, apparently entirely unconcerned about the possibility of imminent death by drowning. In fact it was him who first spotted the porpoises. They weren’t easy to see and even when he touched her arm and pointed, it took Ella a few minutes to get what he was looking at. Then at last she was able to make out the little black triangular fins, riding the swell of the current, which ran alongside the island. They were like mini dolphins and much less easy to see because they rolled with the waves instead of jumping out like the dolphins had, and all you could see was the little fins and the occasional streak of a shiny black back.

Wallace produced a camera and wedging himself between the wheel housing and the padded bar, managed to fire off some shots. And then they were past and suddenly, thankfully, the wind dropped and the water became calmer as they came into the lee of the island.

David brought the boat close into a small bay and cut the engine to idle. Suddenly there was a blessed sense of calm, you could hear the sea, that washing, growling noise, and the haunting cries of the gulls overhead. Now the grey cliffs towered right above the tiny boat. Jagged and streaked in places with guano, they were clearly home to a huge number of birds, although why anyone would want to nest in such an inhospitable place Ella could not imagine.

At the tide line where the rocks met the sea, the water was swirling, eddying and gurgling through crevices and gullies. Suddenly Ella noticed a fat grey cigar shaped creature lying on a half submerged boulder.

‘Is that a seal?’ she asked, pointing eagerly. And then she realised there were several more, camouflaged so closely to the rocks that she hadn’t noticed them. Great fat shapes, lounging languidly in the thin sunlight. And then Nick touched her arm and there poking out of the water, quite close to the boat was a grey, almost doglike face with great black eyes, a big roman nose and impressive whiskers.

‘Oh, isn’t it sweet,’ she whispered and Wallace grinned.

‘That’s Big Daddy,’ he said, pulling out a clipboard from the locker and marking it with the date and a cross. ‘He’s one of our tagged seals. In the spring he sometimes goes over to Ireland, but he always comes back here to mate with his lady friend as soon as she has pupped. She’s the one over there with a spotty back.’

‘Has she got a pup now?’ Ella asked looking around hopefully.

‘No, but she’s due pretty soon. Take these,’ he handed her and Nick clipboards and binoculars. ‘We’ll be in sight of Wickholm in a minute and we want everything to look as normal as possible.’

David began to steer the boat slowly out of the bay. ‘What’s our time frame?’ he shouted at Nick as they passed a deep inlet and the black entrance to a big gurgling cave.

Nick looked at his watch. ‘I reckon we need to get over there by eleven thirty latest. I want to have checked the place out before my brother hands over the ransom.’

‘Then we’ll head straight round to the beach on the other side of Skomer now,’ David said. ‘That’s where he’ll get the best view of us from Wickholm. And we want him to see us and realise who we are before we try and go over. We don’t want a bullet hitting the side of the Zodiac mid channel!’

Ella wished he hadn’t said that. The Zodiac boat seemed pretty flimsy to her already. It was only made of rubber after all. The thought of it deflating and depositing them all in the dark churning water didn’t bear thinking about.

‘There’s Wickholm now,’ Wallace said, and Ella saw the island appearing in the distance as David steered the boat slowly round Skomer’s rocky perimeter.

Equally high cliffed as Skomer, and pitted with caves and crevices, Wickholm looked impregnable. She couldn’t imagine in a million years how they would ever manage to get ashore. Or indeed get across to the island in the first place. Even from her position on the boat, so low on the water, she could see the tidal race churning through the intervening half mile or so of water between the two islands. And it wasn’t just the current that alarmed her. It was the foaming and swelling turmoil as the water hit obstructions just on or under the surface, rocks presumably, adding an extra layer of spice to the potential treacherousness of the journey across.

She caught Nick’s eye. ‘Who’s crazy idea was this?’ she said as they chugged into a bay cut in a curve out of Skomer’s north eastern cliffs.

Before he could reply, Wallace said sharply, ‘Don’t look now but we’re being watched. I just saw the glint of binoculars.’

‘Ok,’ David said, manoeuvring the boat so the SEALSURVEY logo on the side was clearly visible from the neighbouring island. ‘Pups ahead, so look busy everyone.’

Here, away from the prevailing winds, scrubby vegetation grew further down the high rocky slopes and some kind of lichen or tiny rock plant stained the top of the cliffs yellow. At the innermost point of the small bay, a shingle beach littered with large boulders backed onto the cliff face. There, among the rocks, looking like small boulders themselves, lay about half a dozen fat, seal pups.

‘These are what the Canadians club to death for fur,’ Nick murmured.

‘Don’t!’ Ella glared at him. It was a horrible thought. The pups were the most adorable things she had ever seen. She wished she could go ashore and pet one. Lying there covered in fluffy, white fur, wide eyed and somehow innocent, they looked so hopeless and vulnerable, just deposited there on the uncomfortable shingle. Two seemed to be asleep, but the great black eyes of the others watched the boat nervously while the huge mother seals kept an attentive vigil bobbing and wallowing in the shallows between the boat and the beach.

She and Nick pretended to take notes while Wallace took photos and David kept the boat as steady as he could.

Five minutes later they had worked their way to the furthest edge of the bay, the edge closest to Wickholm. And from the odd quick casual glance across the channel, Ella had been able to pinpoint the roof and upstairs windows of the farmhouse where the gun toting environmentalist must live. She too had seen the glint of binoculars from one of those top windows and now, glancing again as David eased the boat in that direction, she noticed a man walking purposefully across the high slope to the cliffs nearest to them.

‘Is that him?’ she whispered.

Wallace took a swift look through his binoculars. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And lo and behold he has the twelve bore with him.’ He lowered his binoculars and glanced at David. ‘What do you think? Can we risk it?’

David in his turn looked at Nick. ‘This is really important to you guys, right?’

Ella waited for Nick to look at her, but to her relief he didn’t. She didn’t want to have to be the one that made the decision. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Now we are here, I reckon we should go for it.’

‘Ok,’ David said grittily. ‘So someone keep an eye on matey up there, and the moment he raises that gun, shout, and we’ll scarper.’ He glanced at the powerful, churning water ahead. ‘If we can.’

They looked at each other in silence for a tense moment. Then just as David was about to rev up the engine, Ella’s phone started ringing in the dry bag.

It seemed so incongruous they all burst out laughing. Wallace scrabbled in the bag but couldn’t find the phone before it stopped ringing and switched to voicemail.

Ella was amazed there was even a signal. But then beyond Wickholm she saw the hazy outline of the mainland. The signal must be coming from there.

Eventually Wallace found the phone. The voicemail was from Graham. ‘Hi Ella, two things. The licenses have just been announced. Bluebird got the areas we thought. And this is a weird thing. I’ve checked as far back as I can and I can’t see that Bluebird have ever done seismic surveys at all.’

Ella relayed the first part of the message to the others. For an extraordinary moment she thought Wallace was going to cry. But then she realised his eyes were actually welling with fury. He slammed his hand so violently against the side of the boat that his clip board jumped and slipped onto the wet floor.

‘So that’s it,’ he hissed. ‘The fucking government. It just makes a complete mockery of their so called Marine Conservation Zones and Marine Protection Areas.’ He swung his arm round wildly to indicate the beautiful bay, the green water, the seal pups blinking at them from the tiny beach. ‘All this,’ he said. ‘Will be ruined. Just one spill, just one leak and it’s goodbye to Pembrokeshire’s marine life. And the birds.’

Wallace’s outrage was justifiable in the circumstances, but the violence of it alarmed Ella. It was clearly the result of bitter frustration, the utter impotence of the environmentalists’ efforts to bring their case to the government. And why, she wondered, hadn’t the government listened? Surely it wouldn’t kill them to protect this one small precious area? And why hadn’t Bluebird Oil done seismic surveys? What did that mean? The only explanation would be if they had got the surveys from someone else. But any company with positive surveys would be bidding for licenses themselves. It just didn’t make sense.

Under cover of a new volley of obscenities from Wallace, she glanced nervously at Nick. ‘Should I call Graham back?’ she murmured. ‘I ought really to try Robin Miller again too.’

Nick looked at his watch. ‘No,’ he said abruptly. ‘If we are going to go, we should go right now or we’ll be too late. It sounds as though we may be too late already.’

‘Hold tight then,’ David said, and a moment later the engines were revving angrily and the small boat shot out of the bay into the tidal race. Immediately they could feel the current. The boat fought against it, veering sideways, lurching diagonally through the water as David powered the engines as hard as he could to carve a path between the half submerged rocks.

Ella could see from his tense shoulders that he was concentrating hard. Once as they bumped against something hard, the small boat jolted and he swore. But it was clear that he was a competent skipper and Ella felt herself relax slightly as she realised David obviously knew his onions where boats and water were concerned.

‘What’s our friend doing?’ he shouted about half way across and Wallace shouted back that the man was watching them but so far hadn’t raised the gun.

‘We’re nearly in range,’ Nick said a minute later. ‘So we’re going to know any time now …’

And then they were safely through the race and back in the relatively calm waters adjacent to the island. Immediately David powered back the engine.

‘Ok,’ he murmured. ‘Here we go.’ Raising an arm he waved casually at the figure up on the cliff above them. ‘Hi,’ he yelled up. ‘OK to count seal pups?’

‘OK, but keep away from the jetty,’ the man shouted back. He was bearded and had wild straggly hair. ‘There aren’t any seals on that side of the island anyway.’

‘And that’s a big fat lie,’ Wallace murmured, as David gave a thumbs up and steered the boat off to the left.

Ella’s heart was pounding. She looked at Nick but he was busy studying the rock face. ‘Ok,’ he said. ‘So where do Ella and I get off?’.

‘There’s a cave just round the corner,’ Wallace said. He seemed to have put his anger to one side and was now brisk and businesslike. ‘It’s pretty deep so we can get the boat right into it and he won’t be able to see us from above. We’ll need to be quick though or he’ll get suspicious. You’ll have to climb or swim out and round the rocks a bit, then you should be able to climb up on to the island itself. It’s steep but not sheer.’

What? Ella thought in utter horror. Nobody had mentioned swimming and rock climbing. Where on earth had that aspect of the expedition come from? But before she could voice her concerns, they were nosing into the cave.

It was suddenly dark, cold and eerie and she suspected there were bats hanging overhead. Wallace produced a waterproof torch and handed it to Nick. A moment later she heard the foot pump puffing and wheezing and David Beckham began to take shape. Once he was semi filled, Wallace fitted him into one of the spare wetsuits and pulled a black cap over his blond plastic head. Katy Price was more problematic, and had it not been so urgent and tense, Ella would have laughed at the sight of three men in a boat trying to stuff her luxuriant bosoms into a wetsuit. But a moment later it was done and the two dummies were waiting to take her and Nick’s seats.

But Ella didn’t want to move. Her hands were involuntarily clinging to her seat. The last thing in the world she wanted to do right now was get into that water. It was inky black and gurgling unnervingly.

‘Ella?’ Nick’s voice was urgent. ‘Are you coming? Or do you want me to take Wallace instead? Make a decision, but make it quickly.’

Ella knew this was a make or break moment. She also knew there was every chance the man on the cliff would notice the dummy substitution and shoot at the boat. Neither option was particularly appealing.

‘I’m coming,’ she said.

The boat lurched as Nick dropped into the water. And a second later Ella found herself scrambling after him. The water was freezing cold. She almost screamed as it trickled down her back into the wet suit. Somehow she had imagined that wet suits were designed to keep people dry. She had been wrong. Swearing under her breath, she clung to the rope on the side of the boat. Wallace handed Nick the dry bag and then he was pushing away, heading seal-like towards the rocks at the side of the cave.

One of the hardest things Ella had ever had to do in her life was let go of that rope. Then she was swimming frantically after him, and then half swimming, half flailing as she came into her depth and scrabbled to get a purchase on the slippery rocks under her feet.

Nick grabbed her arm just as she was about to nosedive back into the water and pulled her up onto the rocks at the side of the cave. The rocks above the water line were sharp and jagged and she swore again as she scratched her other hand.

From there they watched Wallace settle the wet-suited, black-capped dummies in the back seats. He tied them on discreetly round their waists, hanging binoculars round their necks and fixing clipboards to their legs. They wouldn’t bear a close inspection, but they looked pretty realistic in the dim light of the cave.

‘Ok,’ David said quietly. ‘We’d better go. We’ll head along close under the cliff north from here. We should be able to keep a good distance ahead of him that way. We’ll come back here in half an hour. Good luck.’

‘You too,’ Nick murmured. And then the engine fired and they were gone.

‘Shit,’ Ella said as the water settled again. ‘Now what?’

Chapter Forty Five

‘We swim out round the corner,’ Nick said. ‘And come ashore a little bit further round, where we should hopefully be able to climb up onto the island.’

‘And hope the mad gunman doesn’t see us?’ Ella added grimly, wishing he had omitted the word ‘hopefully’ from that sentence. ‘By the way, do you happen to know if they have sharks round here. I forgot to ask Wallace.’

She sensed rather than saw Nick’s smile in the dim light as he slipped back into the water. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘And if you hear shots, dive as deep as you can. Water dissipates the impact of bullets.’

‘Useful tip,’ Ella murmured as she slithered after him. ‘I wonder why I never needed to know that before.’

She had a vague feeling that adventurous thrill-seekers types called this kind of activity ‘coasteering’. Although why anyone would undertake something like this for fun she simply couldn’t imagine. It was icy cold, dark, extremely scary, you got seaweed wrapped round your feet and sea water up your nose, and by the time you actually managed to get out on the rocks again in the open air your knuckles were bleeding and your fingernails were broken.

But at least nobody had shot them, so that was something.

‘Don’t forget to turn off your cell phone,’ Nick said quietly. He was studying the rock face for a way up. Now they were actually here on the island, the likelihood of finding the hostages seemed like a fool’s errand. But just incase, they knew they had to find a route up the cliff that they could get down again in a hurry, maybe with two others in tow.

Already time was running short. Nick kept looking at his watch, and every time he did, Ella’s heart seemed to miss a beat. In less than an hour Hugh Jardine would be handing over six million Euros. And if that happened, she and Nick would have failed.

Before doing anything they had to get out of the wetsuits and back into normal clothes and shoes. But Ella soon discovered that getting wetsuits off was even more difficult than getting them on. Especially if you didn’t want the other person to see you writhing about on the cliff, stark naked.

To Nick’s amusement, Ella insisted that they turned their backs on each other, but even so she caught a quick glimpse of a long strong back, hard looking buttocks and well muscled legs. She dreaded to think what glimpse he had caught of her unmaidenly contortions, but there wasn’t time to find out because he was already shoving the wetsuits into a crevice above the tide line and heading for a gully in the cliff where it might just be possible to scramble, climb or crawl to the top.

It was possible. But only if you gritted your teeth rigidly, held your breath most of the time and didn’t look down.

‘Take your bearings,’ Nick murmured as they lay side by side on a patch of springy heather at the top. ‘Just in case you need to find your way back here alone.’

Oh great, Ella thought, there’s optimism for you. But obediently she studied the terrain. From where they lay, the farmhouse was straight ahead and slightly below them in the central valley of the island, about half a mile away and sideways on. There was nothing much in between. Just some collapsed dry stone walls and some patches of gorse and bracken. To the right, towards the south of the island, the cliff dropped away in a sheer rock face. Above it was heather, some thin wiry patches of grass pockmarked with sandy rabbit holes and a couple of small rocky outcrops. To the left, the north, was another steep cliff topped by heather, grass, rabbit holes and another couple of rocky outcrops. How on earth was she meant to get her bearings when everything looked exactly the same?

Then suddenly she froze as a man emerged from a dip in the land. It was John Howes but thankfully he was heading briskly away from them up along the northern cliff edge, still carrying his gun.

‘It looks like he’s trying to keep an eye on the boat,’ Nick whispered. ‘I hope to God he doesn’t spot the dummies. But it gives us a chance to get over to the house undetected. There are no windows on this side.’

There was also very little cover. Ella studied the little, grey, stone farmhouse carefully through her binoculars. The roof sloped low at the back and there were two stone sheds at the side of the back yard. At the far side of the house slightly sheltered from the westerly winds was what looked like a vegetable patch with some ragged looking plants climbing up bamboo wig-wams. Immediately behind the house there was a green sward bordered by a stone wall and she guessed that was where the stones must be that the pilot had seen. But although she could see some individual stones lying there, even from this relatively high point, she couldn’t make out any actual pattern. Certainly not SOS. Like the pilot said, it must only be visible from the air.

‘OK,’ Nick said. ‘Let’s go. We need to check out the house. It’s the only possibility unless they are in a cave on the other side of the island.’

‘What about the other man?’ Ella whispered nervously.

‘We’ll have to hope he’s having a nap,’ Nick whispered back lightly.

Ella glared at him. ‘And if he’s not having a nap?’

‘We’ll have to try to put him out of action.’

‘Have you got that gun with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you could shoot him?’ Ella suggested hopefully.

Nick smiled. ‘Not without alerting John Howes,’ he said. ‘Ideally we don’t want either of them to know we are here. Anyway the poor guy may just be having a peaceful holiday with his pal. I can hardly cut him down in his prime before we know if he’s done anything wrong.’

Slightly reassured by the presence of the gun, if not by Nick’s reluctance to use it, Ella followed his crouching, darting run to the first patch of shelter in the bracken. Then to some rather painful gorse. Then to a less protective tumbled down stone wall covered in yellow lichen. Then to some more bracken, which they crawled through to get a better look at the back of the house.

They found themselves behind a ragged wall only a couple of hundred yards away from the building. Cautiously Nick lifted his head above the lichen encrusted stones and looked around. There was no sign of John Howes and no sound from the house.

‘Those outhouses look pretty flimsy,’ Nick murmured. ‘But I wonder why he feels the need to padlock that door right at the back of the house. I guess we should take a look in there if we can.’

‘So what do we do? Break the lock?’ Ella asked.

‘Too noisy. We need keys. They may be in the house.’

Ella stared at him.

He grinned. ‘I want to check out the house anyway. We need to know if there is another man. But we’ll have to be quick. John Howes might come back any time now. I’ll go first, then if nothing happens, check there’s still no sign of him and then you come over too.’

She watched him sprint over to the side wall of the house. Heart hammering, she glanced up the island, saw no-one, and ran as fast as she could towards him. She was only perhaps twenty yards away from him when she heard a man’s voice nearby and nearly fell as the muscles in her legs froze in terror. Forcing herself on, she stumbled the last bit and crouched down next to Nick in the shadow of the side wall.

If someone came round the corner of the house now they would be completely exposed. Ella felt rather than saw the gun materialise in Nick’s hand. But no-one came, and gradually they realised the second man was inside the house, upstairs, talking on the phone. They could hear him through an open window at the front.

‘Yes,’ he said, the voice was accented. French perhaps, Ella thought, as her pulse settled slightly. Similar accent to Claude’s but more pronounced. ‘We are ready. Yes, of course. He’s not here at this moment. Somewhere on the island. Yes. I go tell him now.’

‘Quick,’ Nick hissed. ‘Come.’ They retreated round the back of the house and flattened themselves against the stone wall between the two outhouses. Ella could feel sweat prickling in her armpits as she pressed in next to him. He put an arm round her and pulled her in tight against him. Despite her dread of discovery, she realised this was pretty much the closest she had ever got to Nick Jardine. He smelt not unpleasantly of seaweed with a hint of heather and she could feel his heart beating steadily. Much more steadily than hers. On the other side of the wall she could hear some hens clucking around inside the stone shed.

A moment later they heard the man walk past in the direction John Howes had taken.

‘Excellent,’ Nick murmured. ‘The coast is now clear.’

Silently, praying the man wouldn’t look back, let alone come back, they crept round to the front of the house.

Chapter Forty Six

The front door was open, and before Ella had time to demur, they were both inside, flattened against the wall in a narrow hall. There was no sound. Nick indicated that Ella should look round downstairs while he ran lightly upstairs and ducked through a low doorway.

Ella could hear his quick footsteps overhead as she glanced round nervously. It was a small house. There were two sparsely furnished main rooms downstairs, one each side of the hall, one of which seemed to be being used as a makeshift bedroom with a camping mattress, a stained pillow and some dirty blankets on the floor. At the back of the house was a small primitive lean-to kitchen that smelt of fish.

The other front room seemed to be where the occupants ate. There was a tatty old velvet armchair, and a well-used floor cushion was slumped beside a low table, which had the remnants of an unappetising breakfast still on it. Some stale bread, a smear of egg yolk on a blue plate, a tub of soya margarine and two dirty mugs. A small fireplace held the remains of a dead wood fire. There was obviously no electricity on the island, but a number of discarded blue Gaz cylinders and a solar battery charger indicated that John Howes wasn’t living quite as much off the land as he apparently made out. The whole place smelt of damp, egg, and unwashed men. There was no sign of Amanda or George. But there was a small bunch of keys hanging on a nail in the kitchen.

Ella picked them off carefully and then nearly jumped out of her skin as Nick touched her on the arm. She hadn’t heard him come downstairs. He laughed softly at her reaction and his eyes glinted gleefully when she showed him the keys. He’s enjoying this, she thought. While I am finding it absolutely, mind numbingly terrifying, he’s bloody well enjoying it.

Outside again, they paused at the corner of the house to check neither of the men was in sight, then ran swiftly back round to the door at the back.

Ella’s fingers were shaking so much she could barely separate one key from another, so she handed the whole bunch to Nick who quickly identified the most likely candidate and fitted it into the lock.

The door opened with a slight squeak and they looked at each other.

It was dark inside, but they could see shallow steps leading down. There was no light, and they had left the torch in the dry bag under the cliff, which meant they would have to leave the door open in order to see.

Nick’s eyes questioned if she wanted to go down first, but she hung back, scared about what they might find. So Nick began to feel his way carefully down the steps, and ducking to avoid the low ceiling, turned the corner. There he stopped abruptly and for a moment Ella feared the worst. There was no sound from the cellar. No sound at all. Just the faint cluck of chickens in the shed behind her. Involuntarily she put her hands to her face.

She saw Nick’s shoulders tense and his neck stiffen. Then he looked up at her with an odd expression in his eyes. She could see a pulse beating in his neck. ‘They’re here,’ he said.

Ella stared down at him through her fingers. ‘Dead?’

‘No. Alive. Go check the men aren’t coming back. We need to get them out of here. And fast.’

Chapter Forty Seven

There was no sign of the men and as Ella tentatively descended the cellar steps, she could hear Nick’s oddly calm voice, echoing slightly below her. ‘It’s OK,’ he was saying. ‘We’ve come to get you out of here.’

Then another voice, a girl’s voice, almost incoherent, slurring with terror. ‘Leave us alone. We haven’t seen you. We’ve never seen your faces. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.’

As Ella’s eyes gradually accustomed themselves to the darkness, she saw two figures huddled in blankets in the furthest corner of the low, dank, cave like cellar. They both had their arms over their eyes, hunched into their knees against the intrusion.

‘Amanda,’ Nick tried again, more urgent now. ‘Listen to me …’

And then a younger voice, a boy’s voice, shrill and angry, ‘Leave her alone. Just leave her alone.’

Nick and Ella exchanged glances.

‘George?’ Ella said quietly. ‘Listen to me. This is your uncle Nick. He’s come to rescue you. You’ve got to come with us. We saw your SOS sign. We’re going to take you away.’

‘Don’t listen to them, George,’ Amanda said, then when she felt the boy move, she started shouting. ‘Don’t look at them! George don’t look at them …’

In two swift strides Nick had his hand over her mouth and pulled her to her feet. Over her head he made a frantic gesture for Ella to say something.

Ella took the girl’s hands and shook them. ‘Listen to me, you stupid girl,’ she hissed. ‘This is Hugh Jardine’s brother. I know you are frightened, but for God’s sake pull yourself together. And you, George, just listen to his voice. Can’t you tell it’s your blasted uncle?’

She caught a twitch of amusement on Nick’s lips and realised she had gone slightly overboard. But her words had had some effect. Amanda at least seemed to have stopped struggling. ‘Did you really see our sign?’ she asked as Nick loosened his hold on her. ‘But it’s not finished.’

‘It doesn’t matter. We figured it out. And we are going to get you both out of here right now,’ Nick said, frogmarching the girl to the shallow steps.

‘I think it is my uncle Nick,’ a small voice said behind them. It seemed to Ella the boy’s words seemed oddly blurred at the edges. She wondered if he had a slight stammer or a lisp.

‘Good boy,’ Ella said, as he came forward slowly. ‘At least one of you still has some sense. Now listen to me. My name is Ella. I work for your Dad. You’ve got to be completely quiet and do what we tell you. OK?’

‘Nobody ever comes down in the daytime,’ George whispered. ‘That’s why we were frightened at first.’

Again Nick’s eyes met hers and this time they were full of compassion. But even as Ella felt her own eyes well with pity, he was swiftly straight back to business. ‘Go check the coast is clear,’ he said. ‘If it is, take these two and run like hell for that bit of wall. Wait there for me.’

Ella blinked. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to put the keys back,’ he said.

‘You’re joking?’

‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘It might just buy us some time.’

The coast was clear, but Ella quickly found that running like hell with the two hostages was not an easy task. For a start, neither of them could see. They had been in the dark cellar so long they were both completely blinded by the daylight. They were also incredibly uncoordinated and clumsy.

‘Come on, make an effort,’ Ella pleaded in desperation, expecting a shot to ring out at any moment. ‘What on earth is the matter with you …?’

Holding one of them in each hand, she urged them to pick up their feet, and half running, half stumbling, she eventually managed to drag them across the open field and get them hunkered down behind the shallow broken down wall.

‘I’m sorry,’ Amanda gasped. ‘I think we’ve been drugged.’

But Ella wasn’t paying attention to her. Over the distant hill she could see the head and shoulders of the Frenchman. He was coming back. And coming fast. And there was no sign of Nick. Why the hell was he taking so long?

She swore under her breath and forced the two hostages to huddle closer and lower into the wall. Then she wriggled herself slowly and carefully into a position where she could see the front door of the house. Surely Nick would look across at her to check all was OK before he started back across the open ground. Surely he would. Wouldn’t he?

As her gaze flicked between the house and the rapidly approaching man she felt like James Stewart watching Grace Kelly getting trapped in his murdering neighbour’s house across the backyard in the film Rear Window. It had always been one of her favourite films. Now she felt the same thudding in her chest as she had the first time she had watched that desperately tense sequence of events unfold.

But this time the fear was for real and her thudding pulse was accompanied by a prickling in her scalp. She asked herself why she had ever liked that blasted film. She’d certainly never want to see it again after this.

And then Nick emerged from the front door. And as he glanced over towards the wall, Ella raised her head another inch and held up her hand in a stop gesture. Then she pointed to the left. It was a tiny sign and she was a long way away, but he saw it. He signalled for them to keep well down. Then she watched him hesitate, look around, then run swiftly to the far end of the house. As he disappeared round the far corner of the house, she carefully sank down as low as she could while still keeping an eye on the Frenchman. A stone was pressing painfully into her groin but she ignored it. Against her shoulder she could feel Amanda trembling.

‘Keep completely still,’ she breathed.

He was a stocky, rough looking man with a dark beard and a navy baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. She saw the beak of the cap twist slightly towards the cellar door as he crossed the back yard. Thank God Nick had re-padlocked the door, she thought. Then he was rounding the front of the house and a moment later he had gone in through the still open front door.

Closing her eyes in relief, Ella opened them again to see Nick appear at the back corner of the house by the cellar door. She gave him a thumbs up and he sprinted across to them, throwing himself over the wall to land flat on the ground next to Ella. He winced and Ella suddenly remembered his shoulder wound. For someone who had collapsed on her carpet only a week before, he was doing pretty well.

‘So far so good,’ he muttered.

Their heads were very close together. Ella turned hers slightly to look at him and saw her own reflection in his eyes. His pupils dilated slightly as he held her gaze, then his long lashes lowered a fraction and the edges of his eyes crinkled, and she knew he was smiling. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he whispered.

‘Why not?’ she whispered back.

‘Because my nephew is watching,’ he said. He eased himself up on his elbows, winked at George who was looking at him through squinting, blinking eyes like a nocturnal animal, and glanced around cautiously.

‘OK everyone. Complete silence now. Take some deep breaths and then we are going to run up to that patch of gorse. If you see anyone just drop flat to the ground.’

They were catching their breath after two more sprints up the hill, crouched in a patch of bracken, when Nick caught sight of John Howes. He was leaning on the gun, looking down over the cliff some distance away from them towards the north end of the island.

‘Damn,’ Nick murmured. ‘It looks like he’s following the boat back again.’ He checked his watch and hissed some air through his teeth. Then he looked back at the terrain and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I reckon he’ll be out of sight for about a minute when he goes into the dip,’ he said. ‘Get ready everyone. When I say ‘go’ we run as fast as we can to that patch of heather and lie down flat on the other side. OK?’

Ella glanced at Amanda and George as they nodded obediently. It was the first time she had been able to have a good look at them and they were a pitiful sight. Amanda’s hair was lank and greasy and George, tow-headed, thin and grubby, looked like he’d just walked off the set of Oliver.

After their initial terrified resistance they had both now become unnervingly passive, trembling silently as though in some kind of blind hypnotic daze. Ella couldn’t begin to imagine what it had been like for them locked in that hideous cellar for days on end, but it was clear that the shock of their sudden release had sent them both into some weird catatonic state. Or perhaps they really had been drugged as a way to keep them quiet and under control, permanently half asleep on those filthy mattresses.

They clearly hadn’t seen much in the way of food or sunlight, they both looked pallid and underfed and the tension, or perhaps the crisp air, was making them shiver convulsively in their inadequate clothes. Peering at them more closely, she realised suddenly that they were both still dressed in their Monaco beach clothes. The shorts and tee shirts almost unrecognisable now, grimy and smelly. God, she thought, those bastards. Those utter bastards.

‘Go!’ Nick said, and taken unawares, Ella nearly tripped as she lurched forward in a frantic dash to the patch of heather.

The next minute she was lying flat on her face on the cliff edge. We’re nearly there, she thought in relief. Nearly back at the boat. Thank God. Spitting heather out of her mouth, she lifted her head to find Nick already urging Amanda to follow him, crawling backwards down the narrow gully. He directed Ella to come next and George pluckily followed her, almost treading on her hand in his eagerness not to be left behind.

When George’s foot dislodged some stones they all flattened themselves against the cliff as the debris crashed down over their heads onto the rocks below.

Once Ella herself nearly fell as a clump of thrift came away in her hand, but luckily her foot found a new hold and the sudden moment of terror passed. It seemed somewhat easier slithering down than it had going up, or maybe the thought of imminent safety spurred her on. In the distance she could already hear the reassuring hum of the boat’s engine.

Back on the lower rocks Nick retrieved the wetsuits and silently indicated to Amanda and George to put them on. Ella noticed they were pulling them on over their filthy clothes, but there was no time to point out the error. George’s was far too big anyway, he looked even more like a waif inside it.

Now Ella could hear the slap of water on rubber as the boat approached. A moment later it was nosing round the corner into the mouth of the cave, and there were Wallace and David staring at them in utter amazement, and the two dummies nodding happily over their clipboards in the back.

And it was only at that moment that Ella belatedly realised a terrible truth. In order to get the hostages away safely she and Nick were going to be left on the island.

Chapter Forty Eight

The tide had gone out a bit and they were able to scramble across the rocks under the cliff towards the cave. The rocks were sharp and slippery with seaweed but it was better than that awful swim she and Nick had had to do earlier. Stripping off his trousers and bundling them under his arm, Nick waded into the water at the cave mouth and held his hand back for George who followed without a qualm. His gaze scanned the top of the cliff behind them and then back at Ella.

‘You’d better take your pants off,’ he mouthed.

‘Oh, you are a one,’ Ella murmured and amazingly in the circumstances Amanda giggled.

‘He means your trousers,’ she whispered.

And then suddenly there was Wallace, floundering about like a drowning spider as he lifted the two dummies out of the boat and tried to store them up on a kind of shelf above the tide line at the side of the cave. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he whispered to Nick, pulling the boat up as close to them as he could, ‘So it was John Howes who kidnapped them after all?’

‘I guess so,’ Nick said grimly, as he lifted George into the boat. ‘These are friends of mine,’ he said quietly to George. ‘They are going to take you back to the mainland.’ He helped Amanda climb into the boat and handed her the two woolly hats the dummies had worn. ‘Tuck your hair in and keep your heads down.’ David settled the two of them into the seats at the back and kitted them out with binoculars and clipboards. Then Wallace was struggling back on board too.

‘We thought we might be on an island,’ George whispered. ‘Is it Corsica?’

Nick was holding the boat steady, he stared at him in surprise. ‘No, it’s Wales,’ he said.

‘Wales?’ George looked as amazed as his uncle and for the first time Ella saw a vague resemblance between them. ‘You mean the Wales in England?’

‘Well, in the UK, yes,’ Nick said. ‘We think they brought you here by boat. Don’t you remember the journey?’

George’s brow wrinkled. ‘Amanda thought she remembered being on a boat, but we were drugged. The man in Monaco did it. He stuck a needle into me in the car.’

‘Which man was it that drugged him?’ Ella whispered to Amanda. ‘Did you see?’

‘A man with fair hair,’ Amanda said with a convulsive shiver. ‘Before that he held a knife to George’s head and made me say we were OK when my friend called me on my mobile. Oh God … I should have done something, but then he jabbed the syringe into me too …’ Tears sprang into her eyes.

‘You didn’t have a chance,’ Nick interrupted firmly. ‘Look, you’ve both been great. Real brave. And making that SOS sign was inspired. But right now you’ve got to go,’ he pushed the boat away gently and nodded at David.

‘I wish you were coming with us, Uncle Nick,’ George whispered.

‘I wish we were too,’ Ella murmured through chattering teeth, up to her thighs in water.

‘But we can’t,’ Nick said. ‘Just hold on real tight and do exactly what Wallace and David tell you. And we’ll see you later.’

Ella floundered back out of the way as David revved the engine. Then the boat nosed out of the cave. She saw George’s little face in its black woolly cap look back at them forlornly, then as Wallace said something to him he turned away abruptly and looked down at the floor.

As the boat accelerated out into the channel, they saw David glance up to the cliff. ‘Thanks,’ he yelled up with a casual wave that must have cost him several heartbeats. ‘We need fuel. Back again later, OK?’ And then the noise of the engine increased again and the little boat was forging bravely into the tidal race. They watched it for a moment, struggling diagonally against the current and then it slipped out of sight beyond the edge of the cave.

They waited, holding their breaths for another second or two just in case a shot rang out, but there was only the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks, the gurgling of the water at the back of the cave, the cry of gulls and the dry cough of a lone seal somewhere nearby.

‘I think we did it,’ Nick said, letting out his breath and turning to Ella with a big grin of relief. Wrapping his arms round her he pulled her against him. Despite the ice cold water she felt heat surge through her. But she only had time to feel the hard wall of his chest and the wet strength of his bare legs before he let her go again and glanced at his watch. ‘And just in time too. But I need to call Hugh right now. And the police.’

‘I don’t think you’ll get a signal in here,’ Ella said.

She was right. Nick mouthed a silent curse as he stared at his unresponsive phone. ‘I was hoping we could wait in here until they came back for us,’ he said. But there was no signal outside the cave either and Nick’s curse was less silent. ‘Now we’ll have to climb up that bloody cliff again. Let’s hope John Howes has finally gone back to the house.’

He had. As they once again eased themselves up over the cliff edge on to the patch of scented heather, they could see his retreating back. But there was still no signal on either of their phones.

‘I think we have to be in sight of the mainland to get a signal,’ Ella whispered. Their eyes met in dismay. They both knew that meant going over to the other side of the island. They also knew there was no time to lose. Any minute now, Hugh would be setting off to hand over the ransom.

‘You stay here,’ Nick said. ‘You’ll be safer here.’

‘You’re not leaving me here,’ Ella said. ‘I’m staying with you and your gun.’

His lips curved. ‘You’ve got a lot of faith in that gun.’

I’ve got a lot of faith in you, Ella thought, with some surprise. But she certainly wasn’t going to admit that.

They watched John Howes disappear back inside the house.

‘Right,’ Nick said. ‘We haven’t got much time, so we do this fast, OK? We just have to hope that they both stay indoors. So long as we stay behind the house we’ll be out of sight. Ready?’

Ella took a deep breath and followed as he sprang to his feet and once again sprinted off across the springy grass.

This time there was no staging or sheltering behind patches of bracken or gorse. They just ran hell for leather, arms flailing, straight down the slope, avoiding the multiple rabbit holes, jumping over the broken walls and stopped, chests heaving, behind the chicken shed.

‘Maybe we should go upstairs in the house,’ Nick gasped. ‘We know there’s a signal up there.’

For a second Ella thought he was serious, but then he grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Ready for the next lap?’

No, she thought as she lumbered after him. I’m not ready. I’m seriously unfit and haven’t run as far or as fast as this in my entire life. She could feel the muscles stinging in her thighs as they began to climb the slope on the other side. Her heart felt as though it was going to explode. Any minute she was going to get a stitch. How Nick was doing it she couldn’t imagine. She could see from the way he held his arm that it was still uncomfortable.That languid attitude of his clearly concealed the fact that he was actually pretty tough.

Now, to the right, she could see a rough path from the house leading down through some weather beaten trees to the landing jetty on the east side on the island. Glancing back, Ella saw to her horror that there was a window on the pine end of the house on this side. If anyone was looking out at this precise moment they would be in full view.

Gulping for air she forced herself to redouble her efforts and caught Nick up at the top of the slope, just as he put his foot in a rabbit hole and took a nose dive to the ground, swearing under his breath as he clasped his shoulder.

Throwing herself down beside him, Ella muttered that they could still be seen from the house.

‘I know,’ he said and together they wriggled over the brow. To Ella’s dismay there was now only a very thin strip of grass between them and the edge of the cliff.

Oh God, she thought, hastily turning her back on the drop as the blood suddenly left her head. Lying on her front with her eyes closed and her nose pressed into some rabbit droppings, she tried to force herself to breath steadily. Tried to stop herself feeling as though she was slipping back over the precipice.

As her hands clung to the ground she felt something snap under her clutching fingers and tentatively opened her eyes to find the ground around her littered with tiny fragile white bones. Mostly they looked old, bleached by the wind and the sun, but one or two still had little pieces of what looked like grizzled fur attached to them. They looked too flimsy for a rabbit. She couldn’t imagine what kind of animal they could possibly belong to, nor why it had met its death right here on the top of the cliff.

She was just about to ask Nick when she heard him give a grunt of satisfaction and then he was talking quickly and quietly into his phone.

‘Miriam, it’s Nick. Listen. We’ve found George. And Amanda. They’re fine. They’re on their way back to meet Vicky. She’ll call you as soon as she has them safe. Where’s Hugh? No, listen to me. Miriam. For God’s sake. Miriam. Stop crying and listen. Where’s Hugh? Has he already left? We’ve got to stop him handing over the ransom ….’

If it hadn’t been so urgent and awful, and if she hadn’t been feeling so faint, Ella would have laughed at the suppressed frustration in Nick’s voice. Apparently his wonderful, beautiful Miriam wasn’t being quite as wonderful as he would have liked.

And then even as she lay there, she heard her own phone start to ring and vibrate in her pocket.

She saw Nick’s frown and scrabbled her hand into her jeans pocket. It was Graham.

‘Where are you?’ He asked sepulchrally. ‘Can you talk?’

Ella stared into the rabbit burrow in front of her. Graham’s research into Bluebird seemed a bit pointless now, but she knew he would be disappointed if she told him that. ‘Just about,’ she muttered, wondering vaguely why a rabbit would choose to make a burrow so close to the cliff edge, surely when the babies emerged they would simply plummet to their deaths. ‘What is it?’

‘I think I might be on to something,’ he said. ‘I’ve been checking through Bluebird’s application for a license and I’ve found the funding document that small companies have to produce to prove they have the capital to undertake the project. At the interview with DECC when they presented their case, a woman called Valerie Fox went along with Paul Whelan as a financial advisor. It might be a coincidence but I’m wondering if she might be the Val in Valco.’

‘And who is Valerie Fox?’ Ella asked. Beside her she could hear Nick talking to Hugh and felt some of the tension go out of her. They had done it. They had succeeded. She felt a great weight lift off her and she closed her eyes in relief.

But Graham was still talking. She pressed the phone close to her ear and tried to concentrate. ‘I’ve googled her,’ he was saying. ‘She seems to be some kind of financial whiz kid. Former investment banker with Shroeders. There’s no mention of Valco. It may be a new company she has set up recently.’

Valerie Fox. A financial whiz kid. A distant bell rang in Ella’s brain and she closed her eyes. She knew there was something she needed to remember. Something she’d nearly remembered once before. But it was still eluding her.

She swore inwardly in frustration. It was almost as though her brain was deliberately holding it back. And then just as Nick finished his call and gave her a thumbs up sign, it came to her. ‘Good God,’ she whispered. ‘It can’t be …’

‘What is it? Graham asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I need to check something. I’ll call you back.’

Quickly she turned to Nick. ‘Can you call Hugh back and ask him if the name Valerie Fox rings a bell?’

‘Why?’ he asked, but he was already pressing the redial. ‘Damn. it’s gone straight to voice mail. He must be on to the police.’ He left a message for Hugh to call him urgently then turned back to Ella. ‘Who is Valerie Fox?’

‘I’m not one hundred percent sure,’ Ella said slowly. ‘But I think she might be Robin Miller’s ex wife. I never met her but I know she was an investment banker and I’m certain her name was Valerie. If it is the same woman, Graham thinks she’s the money behind Bluebird. Valco.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘I’m not.’

‘So what are you saying?’

Ella put a hand to her head. ‘I’m saying that this Valerie Fox stands to make a mint if Bluebird strike oil.’ She turned her head to stare at Nick. ‘She must be taking some kind of sick revenge on Robin. By taking over his so-called failed project. She must be the one who has fudged the seismic data. No wonder Bluebird haven’t bothered do their own survey. She must have stolen Robin’s data …’

‘Unless Robin Miller is in on it too,’ Nick said dryly.

Ella felt her head spin, but this time not from vertigo. ‘He can’t be,’ she said. ‘He’s Hugh’s friend. He’s my friend. He’s a really nice bloke. He wouldn’t kidnap a flea.’

‘So you reckon this Valerie woman has organised the whole thing? The kidnap as well?’

‘No,’ Ella said slowly. ‘The two things must be separate after all. The kidnap and the oil. We know now that the kidnap was definitely environmentalists, so ...’

‘But we established a link…’ Nick interrupted impatiently. ‘We found the envelope with Amanda’s hair in Andrew Saville’s drawer.’ He stopped abruptly as the phone bleeped in his hand.

It was a voicemail message. They thought it was going to be Hugh. But it wasn’t. Ella was so close to him she could hear the voice at the other end.

It was the waitress from the café at Newland marina. She sounded hesitant, nervous. ‘You asked me to ring you if I saw that man in the photo again. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. After all, that Jimmy died. The police said it was an accident, but I don’t know. Anyway I just saw the blond haired man. He’s got on a boat with another man and they left the quay about ten minutes ago.’

Nick switched off the phone and groaned. ‘That’s all we need,’ he said. And at that precise moment something zinged off a nearby stone and a millisecond later a shot rang out. Before Ella had even realised what had happened, Nick shoved her hard back on the ground.

‘Shit,’ Nick swore softly as another shot rang out. ‘They must have seen us or heard us.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Try not to get shot,’ Nick said grimly. He was on his elbows, tense and alert, listening hard. ‘I’d like to reason with him, but I’m not sure this is the moment.’ He looked around carefully and nodded to an outcrop of rocks about a hundred yards back round the cliff. ‘He’s still a way away. He can’t kill us from that distance. Not with a twelve bore. When I say the word, keep your head down and run like hell for those stones.’

Chapter Forty Nine

The next ten minutes were the most frightening of Ella’s life. Not only did she have to run from a mad gunman, but she had to do it along the top of a sheer cliff, springy with tangled heather and pitted with hazardous rabbit holes. She had that same bitter taste of adrenalin in her mouth that she had had on the mountain with Paul, and she could feel her blood pumping frantically round her veins. And then the Frenchman joined in. And to Ella’s dismay he was carrying a handgun. That meant two guns against one, which by any standard was not good odds.

It wasn’t clear whether the two men realised that the hostages were missing, but it was clear that they were determined to hunt the trespassers down. The Frenchman in particular seemed unnervingly professional in his steady, relentless pursuit. This is what a fox must have felt like before the hunting ban, Ella thought, as she darted behind Nick through a small copse of gnarled trees which presumably provided fuel for John Howes fire. At one point they had even found themselves flattened against a stinking, corrugated iron cubicle some distance from the house which they belatedly realised was the only toilet on the island and which seemed to feed into a kind of boggy reed bed surrounded by spindly, young, willow trees.

‘Cool,’ Nick murmured. ‘I imagine this produces good manure for the vegetables.’

Ella stared at him with distaste. By any standard that was taking green credentials just one step too far.

Gradually the two men closed in on them in a kind of pincer movement, directed by the Frenchman with hand signals to John Howes, and now, crouched behind a boulder on top of the sheer bit of cliff straight in front of the house, Nick finally took the gun out. But to Ella’s astonishment, he then slipped it with his phone into a plastic zip lock bag and put it back in his pocket.

‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.

‘Just in case we have to jump for it,’ he said, offering her another zip lock bag for her phone.

She stared at him incredulously. ‘Jump off the cliff? What about the rocks?’

‘I was thinking of choosing a place where there aren’t too many rocks.’ He grinned at her expression. ‘It’s a better option than getting captured or shot. And if that murderous bastard Barry Caldwell really is on the way, we need to make sure he stays here until the police arrive. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let any of them escape.’ He flexed his elbow and grimaced slightly. ‘What I really need to do is get down to the harbour so I can disable their boats.’

Even as he said it, they heard a shout from the other side of the rocks.

‘We have you trapped.’ It was the Frenchman’s voice. Cold and confident. ‘Come out with your hands up.’

Nick leopard crawled to the edge of the cliff and glanced down, then he wriggled back to Ella. ‘I’m going to stand up,’ he said. ‘If they shoot me, jump off the cliff and swim round to the cave.’

‘No way,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll stand up, and if they shoot me, you jump off the cliff.’

He looked at her steadily for a moment, then to her surprise he put the backs of his fingers to her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and for once his eyes looked serious. ‘I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this. I guess I never really thought we’d find them here.’

Then he stood up and held his hands up in front of him placatingly. ‘There’s no point in shooting us,’ he said. ‘My name is Nick Jardine. You are too late. We’ve already found my nephew George and Amanda.’

‘I want to see you both,’ the Frenchman shouted. ‘Now.’

Slowly Ella raised her hands and stood up. ‘He’s telling you the truth,’ she said. ‘Your hostages have escaped.’

She saw the two men glance at each other quickly. Then the Frenchman peeled away and ran back to the house, leaving John Howes covering them with the twelve bore. They saw him come out again with the keys and disappear round the back. A moment later they heard a shout of alarm.

‘Shucks,’ Nick murmured. ‘I forgot to mention I’d sabotaged the cellar steps.’

‘What have you done?’ John Howes shouted at them.

‘I told you. We’ve rescued the hostages,’ Nick said. ‘It’s over, John. It’s all over ...’ He stopped as the sound of a boat’s engine drifted over the water towards them.

In the distance, only just visible over the cliff edge but steadily approaching the island, was a small cabin cruiser.

‘Actually it may not be over just yet,’ Nick murmured to Ella out of the side of his mouth. ‘The moment he looks away, run for the cliff edge right behind us and jump out as far as you can. OK?’

As Ella nodded numbly, he turned back to John Howes and raised his voice again. ‘Hey, look at that, behind you. Here’s the police coming now!’

As the man turned involuntarily to look, Nick grabbed Ella’s hand and swung her towards the cliff.

Now we’re Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, she thought wildly. Jumping off the cliff to escape the sheriff. She took the first stride towards the void, then her legs froze. I can’t do this, she thought. I just can’t do it. ‘No,’ she screamed. Frantically she dragged her hand out of Nick’s grasp and flung herself on the ground just as a shot rang out behind her.

Chapter Fifty

The next thing Ella knew was the pressure of something hard and cold against the back of her head. And then the vibration of running feet, then a volley of shots being fired so close it nearly deafened her. That’s it, she thought. I’ve been shot in the head. Any minute I’ll be dead. Or maybe I’m dead already. Soon I’ll be just another sad little pile of bones on top of the cliff.

But then someone spoke. A French accent, angry and out of breath. ‘Merde. Where are they? Tell me where they or I will kill you as well.’

It took Ella a moment to realise that it was her he was talking to. And it took her another moment to realise that it wasn’t her he had been shooting at; it was Nick. As she opened her eyes and once again spat grass out of her mouth, she saw the Frenchman lean out and fire another couple of rounds straight down over the edge of the cliff. She felt a cold wash of horror sweep over her as his words sank in. Then he was crouching beside her with his still smoking pistol aimed right at her face. Grabbing her arm he jerked her over onto her back, nearly wrenching her shoulder out of its socket. Then he kicked her so hard in the side that she cried out in pain, even as her hands grasped at the grass to stop herself rolling off the cliff edge.

‘Hey,’ John Howes said. ‘What’s happening? What are you doing?’

‘I want her to answer me,’ the Frenchman said angrily, kicking her again. ‘Who are you and what have you done with our captives?’

Feeling nauseous from a sudden knife like pain in her side, Ella tried to wriggle out of the way of the next kick only to find he grabbed her hair and twisted her face up close to his. She could see the furious light in his eyes. His breath smelt sour as though he hadn’t cleaned his teeth for several days. Having seen the inadequate sanitary arrangements of the farmhouse Ella wasn’t unduly surprised. As she struggled against him she saw him wince and realised with some satisfaction that he was in pain too, perhaps from the fall down the cellar steps.

‘Talk to me,’ he snarled.

‘Then stop hurting me,’ she snapped back. She pulled herself away from him and took a slow painful breath. Abruptly he yanked her up on to her feet and shook her violently. Then he jammed his pistol into her back and told her to walk.

‘What are you doing?’ John Howes asked. ‘Where are you taking her?’

‘I’m going to lock her up while we search the island,’ the Frenchman replied. ‘They can’t be far away.’

‘No,’ Ella shouted. ‘He’s going to kill me.’ Then she screamed as he hit her round the head with his pistol.

‘Don’t hurt her,’ John Howes said. ‘I never wanted to hurt anyone.’

‘He is hurting me,’ Ella screamed at him. ‘And he’s killed Nick Jardine. For God’s sake, help me, you stupid man.’

‘It is worth a little pain, John,’ the Frenchman was urging her away now, the gun hard in her lower back. ‘Think of the cause.’

‘What stupid cause is that?’ Ella snapped at him. ‘What on earth cause is worth all this?’

‘Saving the seas,’ John said. ‘Protecting this place from pollution. That’s all we are trying to do.’

‘Then you’ve been duped,’ Ella screamed back at him desperately. ‘New drilling licenses have already been awarded ...’ But that was all she managed to say before the Frenchman hit her again. This time it felt as though her brains were going to come out of the other side of her head. The pain was intense, for a moment she was conscious of her vision blurring. Then she passed out.

Chapter Fifty One

The moment she came round, she knew she was in that hideous cellar. The dank, airless atmosphere impinged itself on her senses even before she opened her eyes. In fact opening her eyes was pointless because the place was pitch dark. Even so she could feel her pupils dilating, staring, in a desperate, futile, attempt to make sense of her surroundings. She knew she was lying on one of the filthy foam mattresses next to the wall, she could feel the rough texture of the blanket under her fingers, smell the aroma of unwashed body, and wondered if she was lying in George’s or Amanda’s bed.

The thought of them being locked in here for nearly three weeks roused her slightly, and she forced herself to sit up, holding her hands to her throbbing head. Then she felt in her pocket for her phone, but of course it wasn’t there.

She tried to think but her brain seemed sluggish, and she wondered if it was fear or pain which was slowing it down. Or perhaps both. She seemed oddly short of breath and she couldn’t remember when she had had such a splitting headache. In addition to the general pounding in her temples, one particular tendon or muscle in the side of her neck shot extra pains like shards of glass into the back of her skull when she tried to turn her head. She couldn’t lean forward comfortably either as that caused a shaft of fire to burn across her ribs where that French bastard had kicked her. Eventually, with some difficulty, she found a just about bearable position leaning back against the wall.

Supporting her head in one hand, she tried to think through the pain. Nick? He couldn’t really have died, could he? Not Nick Jardine. But could anyone survive a fall of that distance into a rocky sea followed by a salvo of bullets? It seemed unlikely. Then she remembered what he had said about diving to avoid the impact of bullets in the water. She wondered if he had had time to do that. Whether the water was even deep enough with the tide still going out. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the alternative. Not now. He will rescue me, she said to herself. Or if he doesn’t, surely the police will. Or Wallace. Or somebody. Won’t they?

She felt a wave of self pity wash over her. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Just a cold, shivering sense of despair. She had never wanted to get involved with any of this in the first place. She was just an innocent employee of Energie Mondiale. Minding her own business and getting on with her work. Making money for the company. For Hugh Jardine.

And admittedly for herself. Certainly her salary and bonuses were not to be sniffed at. But they weren’t worth this. Nothing was worth this. Nothing remotely resembling this appeared in her job description. So what the hell was she doing here? How had she been dragged into this mess?

At first she’d had no choice because Hugh forced her hand. But then, she had to admit, it had become a kind of challenge. An intellectual quest to see if she could work out what was going on.

But then the attempts on her life had made it personal. Instead of making her back off, as it should have done, for some ridiculous reason it had made her more determined. Determined in some mad heroic way to find the hostages and thwart the baddies, whoever they were.

She had once accused Graham of watching too many films. Maybe she was guilty of that too. In a perverse way she had quite enjoyed the sense of acting out a leading role in a weird kind of whodunnit. But she had never expected it to get to this. This hideous real-life reality. Where she was trapped in a filthy cellar on a godforsaken Welsh island, a hostage herself.

She glared resentfully into the darkness. It was all Nick Jardine’s fault, with his drippy, hippy lackadaisical ways. If she had known at the beginning what she knew now, she would have left him to it. But he had been so deliberately, irritatingly laid back, so lazily provoking with his talk of bird watching and saving the planet, so smugly disparaging of her attitude and capabilities, that she had been forced into trying to prove him wrong.

It was the determination, she had to admit, to show blasted Nick Jardine that she was made of sterner stuff than just expensive clothes and a trendy London lifestyle, that had made her plough on with her enquiries and which had now got her into this mess. Oh God, she thought. Please don’t let him be dead.

She suddenly realised she felt peculiarly light headed and shaky, and wondered if she was more seriously injured than she had realised. The fear suddenly became more real, a fear of not actually surviving, more than just a fear of not being found. She didn’t want to die. Nobody wanted to die, of course, but it was surprising how earnest the desire for continued life became when you thought it might be starting to slip through your fingers.

There was no point on shouting for help. In fact she doubted whether she could actually shout for anything at this precise moment anyway. She felt too weak. Too defeated.

Someone will come, she said to herself. Someone will come. It was like a mantra to keep herself going. To keep herself alive. She didn’t want to die while there was still a possibility of someone coming.

And then someone did come. She heard the key in the padlock and the squeak of the door and felt a resurgence of spirit. Of hope. She took a slow steadying breath and bunched her hands into fists to give herself strength.

The beam of a powerful torch swung down the steps and into the dark cellar and a moment later, she was blinded by the light.

‘Hello Ella.’

She couldn’t see who it was because he was still shining the torch right in her face, but she recognised that voice. And even though it was a surprise to hear it here, she was conscious of a surge of relief.

‘Robin?’ she gasped. ‘Thank God. But what on earth are you doing here?’

He didn’t answer immediately, instead he swung the torch right round the dingy cellar as though searching for something. Still half blinded, Ella tried to see him, but although she couldn’t see his expression, she saw the glint of something metallic in his spare hand and that initial sense of relief began to ebb away. Nick Jardine having a gun was one thing. He worked for CITES, he was after all some kind of legitimate law enforcer. But for Robin Miller to have a gun was quite another matter. Robin Miller was an oil executive with a desk job. He should have no need for a gun. And even if he had somehow come to rescue her, she couldn’t imagine how he would even have got hold of a gun. They were not something you could just pop into John Lewis’s for. Not in the UK at least. She felt a light sweat break out on her skin.

And then the light was back on her face and she put her hand to shield her eyes.

‘More to the point,’ he said, ‘What are you doing here? I came to rescue Amanda and George. And instead I find you.’

At once that flicker of hope surged again. But he made no move to help her up, nor did he take the glaring torch away from her face. And it was that small cruelty which finally made the penny drop.

At once all hope disappeared, to be replaced with a sense of furious, incredulous outrage as the facts started to rearrange themselves in her brain.

‘Well, you’re too late. They’ve gone,’ she said. ‘They’ll be well back on the mainland by now.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know how you managed it.’

She didn’t respond and his voice sounded tight, annoyed as he answered his own question. ‘That Seal Survey boat? But that fool John said it was impossible. Nobody got on or off. He’d watched it all the time. There were always four people on board.’

‘Yes,’ Ella agreed. ‘There always were four people on board. It’s just that for some of the time, two of them were blow-up dummies.’

The torch jerked as Robin moved abruptly. She wished she could see his expression. It was disconcerting talking to someone you couldn’t see. She hoped he was grinding his teeth. But when he spoke again he sounded calm and controlled.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Actually I can see it’s rather a nice irony. They were kidnapped by environmentalists and rescued by environmentalists.’

‘But they weren’t kidnapped by environmentalists.’ Ella said. ‘They were taken by your old Texaco friend Barry Caldwell.’

She heard his quick intake of breath. But then, to her surprise, he laughed softly. ‘Yes, you’ve been clever, Ella. But you’ve also been a bloody nuisance. I didn’t want it to come to this. I tried to warn you to keep you out of it.’

‘I think you mean you tried to have me killed to keep me out of it?’ she said. It was sinking in hard now. She could hardly believe the words she was uttering. It was as though her brain was operating on its own. One part of her had already grasped the implication of Robin’s involvement, while the other was still struggling to catch up.

‘No. I just tried to have you scared off.’

‘You just tried to have me crushed in a landslide and burned to death in my flat.’ Ella said.

‘Those things were purely meant to scare you,’ he said. ‘I told Barry not to kill you. I like you too much, Ella. I just wanted to stop you making any more enquiries. I only needed one more day. It wasn’t much to ask. But it didn’t stop, did it? Or your ‘hippy hey man’ boyfriend.’

‘Nick is not my boyfriend.’

‘No?’ Robin said. ‘That’s lucky, because I’m afraid he’s dead. His body was washed up on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.’ He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. Then he spoke again quietly. ‘And unless you do what I ask I’m afraid yours might soon be joining it.’

Ella swallowed hard. She didn’t want to believe him. She desperately didn’t want to believe him. She wished she could see his face. To see if he was telling the truth. She wished he would turn off that beastly torch. Her arm was too tired to hold in front of her eyes any more. As she dropped it to the bed, she felt a constriction across her chest, as though her lungs were full of water and coughed. Nick could not be dead. Not lovely, laid back Nick Jardine. Desperately she clenched her fists and tried to steady herself, knowing Robin was watching her, watching every emotion cross her face. She was sweating now even though she felt icy cold. Gritting her teeth, she raised her head. She was damned if she would give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

She squinted against the light. ‘The game is up,’ she said weakly. ‘You’re too late. Everyone knows what you’ve been up to.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Or you and Jardine wouldn’t have come here on your own.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘But I suppose there is someone who might know. The young man in your office? Graham isn’t it?’ He saw her reaction. ‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll a problem. Barry will take care of him later today.’

Ella flinched. ‘How do you know about Graham?’

‘Claude told me you are very thick with him.’

Ella felt another shock wave pass through her. ‘Claude is in this too?’

‘Oh no,’ Robin said. ‘I keep my team very small, but Claude and Hugh have both been very helpful. Unwittingly of course.’

There was another pause. And then Ella asked. ‘So what happens now?’

Once again he laughed softly. ‘That’s more like it,’ he said and the torch moved slightly. ‘I like you, Ella. I always have. I’ve always thought you and I would make a good team. I want to offer you a job. In return for your silence. Nobody would think it odd if you came to work for me.’

‘At Bluebird Oil?’ Ella said sweetly. ‘I presume you don’t mean at PanGlobal?’

‘You have certainly done your research. But you are right, of course. Bluebird Oil is going to make a lot of money for me.’

‘And for your ex wife.’

‘Yes. For Val too. It’s money we should have had years ago from Hugh Jardine. But no, he was too mean, and now he has paid the price. Financially and emotionally.’

Ella couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. ‘All this is just about you feeling slighted by Hugh Jardine? It’s revenge?’

‘And why not? Hugh Jardine has been shafting me for years. Now I have shafted him. To the tune of six million Euros.’

‘But you haven’t,’ Ella said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He hasn’t paid the ransom,’ Ella said. ‘He knows George is safe. Nick spoke to him earlier.’

She waited for an explosion of wrath but none came. The silence was worse. She longed to know what he was thinking.

‘Even that doesn’t matter,’ Robin said at last. ‘Bluebird Oil has been awarded the drilling license, that’s all that really matters. And this time the drill ship will be in the right place. That’s the perfection of my plan.’

‘It was you who changed to coordinates?’

‘Who else could have done it?’

‘I’ve been so stupid.’

He gave a sour laugh. ‘No, you’ve been too clever. Too clever for your own good. But you can still save yourself. Come and work for me. You can set up your own trading room. With no Claude Visconte breathing down your neck. And certainly no Hugh Jardine. Hugh Jardine is a bastard. You owe him nothing. In the same way that I owe him nothing. He has used us both. If it wasn’t for people like us, he wouldn’t have any money at all. He has made his millions and failed to reward us. He’s greedy. Greedy and heartless.’

‘He’s a businessman,’ Ella said. ‘That’s what businessmen do.’ She couldn’t believe she was standing up for Hugh Jardine, but this was ridiculous. How the hell did he think rich people got rich? Ella leaned forward and gasped as a wave of pain took her breath. ‘But what you are doing is much worse. Much worse than him. People have died because of you. And how could you have put George and Amanda through this? They have lived in utter terror for three weeks.’

‘They weren’t harmed,’ Robin said irritably. ‘They were always going to be ‘rescued’.’ John Howes and the environmentalists would have been blamed. These idiots are a menace, Ella. They bleat on about saving the planet, but the world needs oil. The government is desperate for it. All the talk of conservation areas is nonsense. Who cares about a few dolphins? They can go somewhere else. Britain’s economy will collapse without oil. And now,’ his voice took on a smug, gloating, satisfied tone, ‘We’ll be able to drill with impunity. The police will be here soon to arrest John Howes. And the environmentalist movement will be discredited for good.’

Ella suddenly remembered that lecture all those weeks ago in Monaco. Roy Morris boring on about two sorts of environmentalists. The ones that oppose oil exploration at any cost and the ones you can buy off with studies of the lesser spotted porpoise. He had suggested that the only way to deal with the first lot was to discredit them.

And the awful truth was that he was right. Robin was right. The Pembrokshire environmentalists, all environmentalists, would be discredited once it came out that the hostages had been kept on John Howes’ island. John Howes was the guru of environmentalists, Vicky had said. And as far as the media were concerned he would stand for the whole lot. Greenpeace and all. Robin was no fool. He and his ex wife would know how to spin the story to their best advantage. Vicky and Red and Wallace and co wouldn’t stand a chance.

‘And what happens if I don’t come and work for you?’ Ella asked.

Robin moved the torch impatiently. ‘I imagine you will have a tragic fall from the cliff like Nick Jardine. Barry will organise it. I’m sorry, Ella. I don’t want it to end like this, but I have come too far, I’m afraid, to back off now.’

Ella knew she had to spin it out as long as possible. Surely the police would arrive at any moment. Or Wallace and David would come back. Or Nick wouldn’t be dead and would come and save her. She just had to give them time.

But before she could think of a way of staving off the inevitable, a male voice she didn’t recognise called down the steps. ‘There’s no sign of them, Robin, we should go.’

‘Ok,’ Robin called back. He turned back to her. ‘Now it really is decision time.’ When she didn’t answer he called to the man outside. ‘I need you down here, Barry.’

Ella gritted her teeth, but she didn’t move. She loved this cellar now and was damned if she was going to leave it. Especially if it meant going anywhere near a cliff.

‘We can always just shoot you here,’ Robin said pleasantly. ‘And throw you off the cliff afterwards.’

‘You won’t shoot me,’ Ella said grittily, as she heard boots coming down the steps. ‘Because if you do, the police will find my blood down here and know it’s not an accident.’

‘Fighting talk,’ Robin said. ‘But I’m afraid they’ll only blame John Howes. Now are you coming or not. You’ll be no match for Barry either way. He’s been dying to get his hands on you for weeks.’

He was right. Barry Caldwell was strong and ruthless and, despite her desperate and painful struggles, he had no trouble in manhandling her up the steps and across to the section of cliff near to the outcrop of rocks where they had been caught. By the time they got there Ella could hardly breathe for pain. She now knew that something had happened to her ribs on the left side. She could feel them grating together, and every time she tried to take a deep breath she thought she was going to pass out. In fact, part of her brain increasingly wished she could pass out. It would certainly be a blessed relief. But it would also make it too easy for them and it seemed her survival instinct was lodged in the other part of her brain, which told her that, despite the odds against her, she had to fight to the last moment. Like Jack Bauer, she thought. Never give up.

Now they were back in daylight she could see Robin Miller face to face. Somehow, behind that glaring torch in the cellar, he had taken on the guise of an ogre, a devil, a ruthless, heartless murderer, but here in the fresh air, in the thin afternoon sunlight, he looked just like Robin Miller. Pleasant features, easy going, dressed in chinos and a rather nice, high necked grey sweater. The man she had known and liked for years. The man she had drunk with and laughed with and gossiped with. The man who was now going to have her thrown off the cliff.

She almost couldn’t believe it. But only almost. There was something in his expression, something hard, cold and uncompromising that she had never noticed before.

Barry Caldwell twisted her arm painfully up her back as he urged her on to the edge of the cliff. ‘Look who’s down there,’ he hissed in her ear.

Ella averted her gaze. ‘I can’t look,’ she gasped. ‘I get vertigo.’ But she had looked, and she had seen what he wanted her to see, and it made her feel sick. A body was draped awkwardly over the jagged rocks below, half in half out of the water. As Barry laughed, she kicked back as hard as she could with her heel, and as he swore, she kicked again.

‘You’ll be getting more than vertigo in a minute,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. She caught a flash of blond hair over her shoulder as he tightened his hold on her.

‘I don’t want to do this, Ella,’ Robin spoke urgently behind her. ‘You can still say the word. But you’ll have to be quick. We’ve got to go. We don’t want the police to find us here …’

She believed him. He really would save her if she said the word. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. In fact, she realised she probably couldn’t actually any longer say any word at all, because suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

‘Ok,’ Robin said reluctantly. ‘It’s your choice.’ And with a quick nod to Barry Caldwell, he turned away and started walking back to the house.

This is it, Ella thought. This is the moment I am going to die.

And then several things happened at once.

John Howes came running up from the jetty, brandishing his gun. He was shouting at Robin, but Ella couldn’t make out what he was saying. And then, without warning, he lifted the gun to his shoulder and fired.

At the same time, she saw the Frenchman dart out of the house.

And even as Robin screamed and fell to the ground, she felt Barry Caldwell jerk suddenly and drop his grip from her arm.

Staggering, she tried to keep her balance but failed and even as she twisted and fell to the ground, she saw Nick Jardine standing right there with a gun pressed into the side of Barry Caldwell’s blond head.

I’m losing it, she thought. I’m delirious. And then she heard more firing, more shouting, pounding feet. Then a sudden ghastly scream. She closed her eyes.

Chapter Fifty Two

‘Ella? It’s OK. It’s all over.’ Someone was shaking her.

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. Nick was leaning over her.

‘I thought you were dead,’ she said weakly. ‘I saw your body on the rocks.’

He smiled. ‘Crafty, eh? It was David Beckham. I thought you’d guess.’

As she looked up at him blankly, she saw his expression change into one of alarm. ‘Ella? What happened? Have you been shot?’

Ella tried to shake her head but it was too painful. She tried to speak but her mouth seemed to be full of liquid. She coughed painfully and spat it out. Before she could do anything else, she heard Nick shouting at someone to call the emergency services and get a rescue helicopter right now. And then she felt his fingers lightly moving around over her body and she groaned. It seemed cruelly ironic that she had fantasised about this for quite a long time and now the moment had come, she wasn’t in a fit state to enjoy it.

She wanted to cough, but it hurt too much and she hadn’t the strength anyway. And she was too cold, too icy cold. Something told her that was a bad sign.

But Nick must have healing hands, she thought, as well as his other talents, because already the pain was lessening and she felt herself relaxing at last. As he took her hand and stroked it gently, a weird green mist drifted across her vision.

‘Ella,’ he said urgently, squeezing her hand as she closed her eyes. ‘Stay with me, for God’s sake. Don’t close your eyes. Ella! I need you to stay with me …’

And then to her astonishment, as she obediently opened her eyes again, he put her hand down on the grass and pulled out his phone. How could he make a phone call now? Just when she was enjoying his touch? And then she heard him speak, and she closed her eyes again with a smile. Now it would be all right. She was sure it would be all right.

‘Dr Xian? This is Nick Jardine. I’m sorry to wake you, but I desperately need your help …’

Chapter Fifty Three

It was a muddle of bright lights, swaying motion, vibrations, dark holes and in every corner a scatter of tiny white bones. Ella couldn’t make it out. It seemed real but in another way she knew it wasn’t real, but it wasn’t quite a dream either.

Fleeting images, or perhaps fleeting concepts, or maybe even voices, drifted occasionally across her peripheral vision, slightly out of focus, just too tenuous to grasp, like briefly revealed targets in a Wii shooting game. And hovering over it all a sense of something unfinished, something needing to be done, something or someone slipping away from her. Or was it her that was slipping? Even now she could feel her fingers clutching in desperation as the world suddenly tilted and she began to slide, faster and faster towards the edge, heart hammering, and she was screaming and scrabbling to keep herself from falling off.

And then she was floating or flying, relaxed and dreamy, the world laid out below her, tiny towns and fluffy clouds, sea and islands and a soft blurry voice talking to her, touching her arm and she became dimly aware that there was an angel sitting beside her, a blonde angel saying her name.

Holy shit, she thought. I’m in heaven. But then she remembered she didn’t believe in heaven, or indeed in angels come to that, so she wasn’t unduly surprised when the angel’s features resolved themselves into a face she vaguely recognised.

‘Ella? Are you awake?’

‘Vicky?’ she had to say it twice before the word actually emerged with a real sound attached to it. She realised there was an oxygen mask over her mouth and raised her hand to remove it. To her relief she seemed to be able to breathe without it.

‘Hi. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Ella mumbled. ‘Where am I?’

‘Presceli hospital.’

Ella thought about it for a moment. She was in hospital. But she didn’t seem to be in pain, just constricted around the chest and a bit woozy. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘Don’t you remember? You were on the island. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but somehow you’d punctured your lung.’

And now belatedly she did start to remember. She felt her heart bump alarmingly as a sudden rush of panic came and just as swiftly went, leaving her with a residual sense of that missing element from her dream.

‘Nick?’ she said, cutting into Vicky’s words. ‘Where’s Nick? Is he OK?’

‘He’s fine,’ Vicky said calmly. ‘He’s taken George back to Monaco.’ She made a face, ‘You’d have thought they might have come and met the poor little chap in London, wouldn’t you? But that’s the Jardines for you. Apparently Miriam was too overcome to fly.’

Ella was struggling to keep track of things. She put the mask on again and breathed in the soothing oxygen. She was in a ward of six beds. Opposite her was an old lady in a pink nightdress with a tube going into her neck.

‘How long have I been here?’ Ella asked after a moment.

‘Since the day before yesterday,’ Vicky said. She stood up. ‘Look, they told me not to stay too long. But Nick told me about the fire in your flat and I wanted you to know that if you want to use the cottage to convalesce, you’re very welcome.’

Ella wanted to thank her but her voice had choked up. She had forgotten about her flat. And now here was Vicky, who she barely knew, offering her somewhere to stay.

‘Perhaps you really are an angel,’ she murmured. She saw Vicky’s surprise and smiled apologetically. ‘You looked like an angel sitting there.’

‘I’m no angel,’ Vicky said. ‘But you’re one of us now. So the offer’s there if you want it. Oh and I brought you the papers in case you wanted to read all about it.’

When she had gone Ella closed her eyes again. I’m one of them, she thought. And felt a flicker of warmth run through her as she imagined convalescing in that cottage in the company of Nick Jardine. But Nick Jardine was in Monaco and Vicky hadn’t said whether he was coming back.

A nurse came then, took her pulse and adjusted the machines at the side of her bed. Then she took her temperature, checked the dressing on her chest and asked if she wanted a drink. It was agony to move, but she was desperately thirsty so she had to make the effort.

‘Am I going to be OK?’ Ella asked between painful sips of water. ‘Is a punctured lung serious?’

‘The lung should heal quickly,’ the nurse said. ‘Your ribs might take a time though. And you’ve got some serious bruising.’

‘But I’ll be OK? Eventually?’

The nurse smiled placidly as she fitted the oxygen mask back on. ‘You’ll be fine. You should try to eat something and then sleep.’

But the food they brought her was inedible. Instead of eating it she reached over painfully for the newspapers Vicky had left on her side table.

The story had made front page of the tabloids:

Kidnap hostages are rescued in dramatic shoot out on remote Welsh Island.

American Oil tycoon, Hugh Jardine’s son, George, and his nanny, Amanda Saville, were rescued from Wickholm Island in the Irish Sea yesterday by local environmentalists. The two victims had been drugged and brought by boat from Monaco and held hostage on the small island for nearly three weeks. One of the kidnappers fell to his death from the cliff in his attempt to avoid capture, two others are in police custody. Local environmentalist John Howes, the owner of the island, was injured as he tried to prevent the kidnappers escaping. His role in the affair is unclear.

Border police are reported to have stopped a woman also thought to be part of the kidnap gang as she tried to re-enter the UK from France by car. The ransom, an undisclosed amount thought to be several millions, was ready to be handed over but was not paid, as the daring rescue happened just in time.

In a statement from his summer home near Monte Carlo, Hugh Jardine expressed his thanks to all involved in the rescue. He said he was looking forward to being reunited with his son. The kidnap had been a terrible ordeal for the whole family. His wife was too emotional to comment.

The father of the boy’s nanny, Andrew Saville, a civil servant, was unavailable for comment, but colleagues spoke of his courage over the last few weeks in coming to work every day and steadily doing his job. Apparently sworn to silence by the kidnappers on his daughter’s life, he had given no sign to anybody of what stress he had been under.

The story was accompanied by a photo of Wallace and David standing bashfully beside the Seal Survey boat. Ella smiled to herself. Good publicity for them. Someone had certainly moved quickly to get a suitable story to the press. A story that veered quite a long way from the exact truth. A story that had the stamp of Nick Jardine about it.

There was one particular aspect that intrigued her and it was one of the first questions she asked Wallace when he came to see her half an hour later, clutching a straggly bunch of wild flowers.

She had been asleep again and in the meantime someone had done something to the tube in the back of her hand, it stung sharply now when she moved her arm to take off the mask. Or maybe, she thought nervously, the pain killers are wearing off.

‘I picked these from the hedgerow,’ Wallace said. ‘I was sure you would prefer them to the ones flown in from abroad.’

Ella smiled in polite thanks as she wondered why on earth he would think that she might prefer these straggly specimens to a nice clean bunch of irises for example, but then realised it was the carbon footprint of foreign flowers he assumed she wouldn’t like. These eco warriors, she thought,they are mad as brushes.

‘Which kidnapper fell off the cliff?’ she asked as Wallace arranged his limbs carefully in the uncomfortable looking upright chair by her bed.

‘It was the guy you saw at Neyland,’ Wallace said. ‘The blond man. Barry Caldwell.’

Ella blinked. The last time she had seen Barry Caldwell, Nick had been holding a gun to his head.

Wallace’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a couple of times before he went on. ‘I didn’t see exactly what happened,’ he said. ‘It was pretty chaotic. Nick was yelling at me to get an air ambulance and David was grappling with the Frenchman, trying to get the gun off him after he had shot at John Howes. And the other man, Robin, seemed to be gasping his last. I think the Barry Caldwell chap must have slipped. All I know is that the police found his body on the rocks.’

‘And what does Nick say about it?’

‘I haven’t seen Nick since then. He came with you in the helicopter to the hospital, then he collected George and Amanda from Vicky and took them back to London.

‘But he’s coming back, isn’t he?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Wallace looked uneasy. ‘As far as I know he’s still in Monaco. But he was talking about having to go back to work.

Work? Ella felt her earlier daydream of a romantic interlude in Vicky’s cottage evaporate abruptly. Work presumably meant Singapore.

‘He told me to tell you that he had spoken to your boyfriend,’ Wallace said tentatively.

‘My boyfriend? Oh my God.’ Ella clutched her head. ‘Paul. He’s still here? In this hospital?’ She seemed to have lost all track of time but she still felt a moment’s intense panic at the thought of Nick meeting Paul. It was just the thing she had been trying to avoid right from the beginning. But why, she thought, after Wallace had gone. Why did it matter?

But it did matter, and she could tell from Paul’s expression when a nurse wheeled him in to see later that morning that it mattered to him too. He was on a kind of bed trolley with a metal cage over one leg and the other in plaster. Ella could see the old lady opposite looking across with interest.

‘Good God,’ Ella said to Paul, making a stab at humour. ‘Look at the two of us.’

But Paul did not look particularly amused at their predicament.

‘I met your Nick Jardine,’ he said.

‘He is not my Nick Jardine,’ Ella said.

‘Whatever.’ Paul shrugged. ‘He told me everything. About the kidnapping, the oil thing. Robin Miller and your escapade on the island. Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on?’

Ella raised her hands in a painful and despairing gesture. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I was sworn to secrecy. There wasn’t anything I could do.’

‘You could have said no,’ Paul said grittily. ‘You could have refused to get involved.’

‘George Jardine is nine years old. I had to help if I could.’

‘I don’t see why they needed you. Hugh’s ‘hippy’ brother seems perfectly competent.’

He does now, Ella thought sourly. He didn’t then, when he had just arrived from Singapore with a bullet wound in his shoulder. ‘I was able to help on the oil side, help work out what was really going on.’

‘Some help. Look where it got us.’

She gave an awkward grimace. ‘Paul, look, I’m really sorry. I had no idea they would come after me.’

He raised his eyebrows incredulously. ‘Even though you were being stalked by some potential murderer?’

Ella bit her lip. So Nick really had told him everything. ‘I didn’t think the blasted man would bother follow me to Wales,’ she said. But it sounded lame even to her ears.

‘Of course he’d follow you to Wales,’ Paul said angrily. ‘That’s where the hostages were.’

‘We didn’t know that then.’

‘Oh, didn’t we?’ he snapped sarcastically. He indicated the papers lying on her bed. ‘And how come the environmentalists have got all the credit? How did that happen? According to Nick, you and he rescued the hostages. And you’re not an environmentalist.’

‘I’m sympathetic to their cause,’ Ella said stiffly.

‘You’re joking?’

‘I’m not.’

‘So this is what happens when you spend all your time with Nick Jardine?’

‘Oh, for Goodness sake,’ Ella started irritably. ‘Listen to me. Let me explain.’

‘No,’ Paul said grimly. ‘You listen to me. You could hardly have made it clearer. You don’t trust me.’

‘I do trust you,’ Ella said.

He looked away up the ward. ‘I don’t want to go out with someone who doesn’t trust me.’

‘Paul,’ she stopped and started again. ‘I feel really bad about all this.’

‘Not as bad as I feel,’ he said bitterly indicating his broken legs with a wave of his one good hand.

‘Well, I’m injured too,’ she said defensively. ‘One of the kidnappers kicked me so hard, he broke my ribs and punctured my lung.’

For an incredulous second she thought Paul was going to say it served her right, but he didn’t go quite that far. He just waved at the nurse who had brought him in and who was now chatting to a colleague at the nursing station at the end of the ward. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But I’m sure your wonderful Nick Jardine will kiss it better for you.’

‘He’s not my Nick Jardine,’ Ella said wearily reaching for her oxygen mask.

‘No?’ Paul nodded to the nurse and she started to manoeuvre his bed round. ‘He seemed pretty impressed with you.’

‘Did he?’ Ella longed to ask exactly what Nick had said about her, but it clearly wasn’t appropriate, and she bit back the eager question. ‘I really am sorry about everything, Paul,’ she said.

He gave her a thin smile. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry I had to do this just now. But they’re taking me back to Dorset today and I wanted to sort things out before I went.’

So that was it, she thought. She had been sorted out. She put the mask over her mouth and closed her eyes.

A doctor appeared shortly after that and pulled the curtains round her bed so he could inspect her wounds. She had apparently suffered something called a pneumothorax, a punctured lung, she had three broken ribs and a couple of twisted vertebrae in her neck.

‘Luckily for you someone at the scene was able to administer effective first aid,’ the doctor said. ‘He covered the puncture wound with plastic to help you breathe.’

Good old Dr Xian, Ella thought with a sudden smile of recollection. And surely she could take a little hope from the unusual tone of anxiety she had heard in Nick’s voice when he had made that call.

‘How long will it all take to heal?’ Ella asked.

The doctor shook his head. ‘Difficult to say yet. But all being well you should be back on your feet in about three weeks.’

The police followed hot on the doctor’s heel’s. They also pulled the curtains round the bed, as though no-one on the other side would be able to hear what they were saying. She was getting tired now and had to mumble her way through the story with the aid of oxygen. They were particularly interested in the injuries caused her by the Frenchman’s boot.

‘Grievous bodily harm,’ the policeman said, stressing each syllable with grim satisfaction in his lilting Welsh accent. ‘He’ll pay for that.’

At the end of the interview, Ella asked about Robin Miller. She felt so weird about him. A mixture of hurt and disbelief. It seemed incredible that someone she had known for so long could turn on her like that. She wondered idly how Hugh Jardine had taken the news of his friend’s utter betrayal.

‘He was injured but he’ll live,’ the policeman said. ‘But he’ll be living inside for the foreseeable future.’

‘And what about the blond haired man, Barry Caldwell?’ Ella asked, casually nodding to the paper. ‘I gather he fell off the cliff?’

‘Yes indeed,’ the policeman said. ‘He was dead as a dodo when we eventually got to him. Not a pretty sight at all. It’s not clear if he fell or if he jumped.’

Or if he was pushed, Ella thought silently.

After they had gone she lay and thought over what the doctor had said. Three weeks. Then presumably she would be back in the trading room as though nothing had happened. It was an odd thought. But three weeks. It seemed an eternity. She had never been off work for so long. She could work from home of course, or she could have done if she had still had a home. With the iPhone and a lap top she could pretty much work from anywhere. Except Vicky’s cottage, of course, where there was no signal and certainly no broadband.

In the past, in her former life, the thought of being so totally out of touch would have appalled her. Even on holiday she kept in touch with the markets every day. But oddly, now, she felt no urge to know what was going on in the world. The only important thing was to keep that blessed pain relief feeding into the back of her hand.

When a call came through to the nurses’ station late that evening, Ella saw the nurse glance across, and knew it was going to be for her. She wondered who it was going to be. Nick? Or Hugh, perhaps. She would have thought someone from the Jardine family would eventually get off their arse and contact her to thank her for rescuing George. And for saving Hugh six million Euros. It wouldn’t have killed Miriam to at least call to find out how she was.

The nurse looked quite flustered as she brought the phone to Ella’s bed. Ella took the receiver expectantly and was disappointed to find it was only Claude on the other end.

‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘I hear you are the heroine of the hour. How are you? Hugh told me you were badly injured.’

‘Did he,’ Ella said. ‘Nice of him to be so concerned.’

‘We are all concerned,’ Claude said. ‘What are we going to do without you?’

‘I don’t know. But you’ll have to manage,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve saved the bloody man millions of Euros and I’m damned if you’re going to hound me to come back to work.’

‘Ella, Ella,’ Claude purred seductively. ‘Don’t be like this. I just need to know how long I must cover you.’

‘How the hell should I know,’ Ella snapped. ‘I’m lying in hospital in bloody agony with a punctured lung, broken ribs and tubes coming out of my hand and all you want to know is how long you’ll need to cover me. You’ll have to cover me until I’m well enough to come back. If I come back.’

There was a long silence. Then Claude said. ‘Did you just say what I thought you said?’

Ella closed her eyes. If I come back. So she had said it. For a second, then, she had hoped it had just been a thought.

‘Yes, I said it,’ she said.

‘You don’t want to come back? Why? Don’t tell me you have been offered another job?’

‘Another job?’ she said incredulously. ‘Thanks to you I’ve been running around like a blue arsed fly the last few weeks trying to finding Hugh Jardine’s child. I narrowly escaped death in a landslide. I’ve been backwards and forwards to Monaco like a yoyo. Just in the last couple of days I’ve had my flat burned out and I’ve been beaten up and locked in a cellar. And all the time you and Hugh have been on my back telling me to keep my trading results up. When, in among all that, do you think I could possibly have found the time to find another job?’

Actually, she thought wryly, she had in fact been offered another job. By Robin Miller. Just now that seemed a cruel irony.

‘OK, so these weeks have been a little busy for you,’ Claude said with masterful understatement. ‘But now it is finished. And we can return to normal, no?’

‘No,’ Ella said. ‘I’m fed up with it. Fed up with you and Hugh bloody Jardine. If I’d had one word of genuine sympathy, or one word of thanks, from either of you, I might have felt differently. But you are both selfish, heartless, ungrateful bastards and I’m damned if I’m going to bust my guts to make any more money for either of you.’

She heard Claude’s exhaled breath and knew he was smoking. ‘Please Ella,’ he said. ‘Don’t be like this. You have a great future with us.’

‘I’ll have a great future without you, too,’ she said and put the phone down.

Her pulse was racing and she was having trouble breathing. Oh my God, she thought, as she pulled on the oxygen mask. What have I done? Now I’ve lost my job as well as my home and my boyfriend.

Chapter Fifty Four

The following morning she got flowers from the office Get well soon, with love from all at Energie Mondiale. They had obviously been ordered before she spoke to Claude.

There was a separate get well card from Graham too. He’d found one with a jumping dolphin on the front. Hi Ella, can’t wait to hear what really happened. Wish I had been there. See you soon, cheers. Graham. ps Say hi to Nick.

She also, to her surprise, got flowers from Amanda Saville.

Dear Ella, Thank you so much, the accompanying note read. According to Nick, you deserve all the credit. I hope you’ll be feeling better soon, love Mandy.

What a nice gesture, Ella thought. What a nice girl. Even after all she has been through, she is able to think of me. Although she couldn’t help noticing that it obviously hadn’t taken Amanda very long to get on familiar terms with Nick Jardine either.

After rejecting a completely disgusting lunch, she fell asleep and had the dream again, the slipping, falling dream. And once again when she woke, Vicky was there.

‘On the island,’ Ella struggled to pull off her mask. ‘There were all these little bones on top of the cliff.

‘Manx Sheerwaters,’ Vicky said at once. ‘They use old rabbit burrows to nest in. They are wonderful flyers but absolutely hopeless on land. The Great black-backed gulls pick the poor things off like a Smorgasbord when they come in at night to find their burrows.’ She smiled at Ella’s expression. ‘I know. Nature is a gruesome thing sometimes. But it’s an amazing sight when the Sheerwaters come in. You must come down here in May or June and we’ll go over to Skokholm. You can see them in the beam of the lighthouse there. And you’d like the puffins too. They’re really cute.’

‘I’d like that,’ Ella said. My God, she thought. What am I saying? That I want to go bird watching? She was glad Nick Jardine wasn’t there to hear her.

And then even as she had the thought, there he was. Strolling up the ward. He was dressed in jeans and that cool cargo jacket with a canvas bag over his shoulder. And all the nurses were watching him.

So, as it happened, was the old lady in the pink nightdress, but perhaps for different reasons.

‘Oh,’ Ella said. ‘It’s you.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It’s me.’

‘I’ll leave you guys to it,’ Vicky said dryly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘I thought you’d gone back to Singapore,’ Ella said.

‘I’m going tomorrow.’

Ella hoped she had managed to conceal the jolt of disappointment. ‘The endangered animals need you?’

‘They do.’

I need you, she wanted to shout at him. Don’t you realise that? You and your ghastly family got me into this mess and now you’re just going to abandon me to my fate? But something in his expression stopped her. He looked pale and there were dark smudges under his eyes. And at least he had bothered to come back to Wales to say goodbye.

‘Are you OK? You’re not going to faint are you?’ Ella said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. She could feel his hip resting against her leg and wondered vaguely why he had chosen to sit there. Everyone else had taken the chair. She moved her leg over slightly to accommodate him.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I guess I’m just tired.’

She forced a quizzical smile. ‘Too much activity?’

‘No,’ he said with a hint of his old smile. ‘Actually, not enough.’ Then he ran his hands over his face and glanced away up the ward. ‘Just too much running around trying to sort things out.’

Ella blinked. Had he meant what she thought he meant?

But before she could clarify, he turned back to her. ‘It’s being announced Monday that the government have withdrawn the Irish Sea blocks.’

‘Seriously?’ Ella tried to ignore the fact that his right hand was now resting casually on her calf. ‘How did you manage that? Don’t tell me you bribed Andrew Saville? What did you do? Hold Amanda hostage?’

He smiled. ‘No, I bribed the Department of Energy. I suggested that they might want to consider withdrawing blocks rather than have everyone know about them overriding the environmental recommendations. So, no mention to the press of Andrew Saville’s part in the proceedings, providing the blocks are withdrawn.’

‘I bet Vicky and co are pleased.’

‘Sure.’

‘So the dolphins are safe? And the seals? And the Manx Sheerwaters?’

‘And the puffins,’ he said dryly. ‘For now. Until the UK really does start running out of oil.’ His eyes dared her to argue, but for once she didn’t want to.

‘How come Barry Caldwell fell off the cliff?’ she asked instead.

He moved slightly and now she could feel the warmth of his thigh against her knee through the thin sheet. ‘I guess he slipped.’

‘But you had him with your gun.’

‘He got away from me.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t believe you. I’m glad though. He deserved it. He was all set to throw me off. And it would have been hard to prove all the things he had done. According to the policeman he might only have got a couple of years.’

He inclined his head with a faint smile.

There was a slight pause. Ella suddenly felt awkward. Self conscious. She also felt hideously unattractive lying there with flat hair and no mascara. ‘Thank you for saving me,’ she said.

‘It was my pleasure.’

‘You left it pretty late.’

He grinned then. ‘It took me a while to get back up on to the island. The Frenchman was patrolling the cliff. I realised my only chance was to make them think I was dead. Artistic, huh?’

‘Very,’ Ella said sourly. ‘I really thought it was you.’

He held up his hands. ‘I know and I’m sorry. Truly. I’m sorry about everything. I should never have gotten you into it. But I’m also grateful for everything you did. And I’ve got to tell you, Hugh and Miriam are too.’

‘Oh really? I would never have guessed,’ Ella said sarcastically.

He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘They asked me to give you this.’

She looked at him, then opened it. There was a cheque inside made out to her from Hugh Jardine. When Ella saw the amount, she gasped.

‘It’s by way of a thank you,’ Nick said.

She looked at the cheque again and then pushed it away. ‘But I can’t possibly.’

‘Hey. If it hadn’t been for you he’d have handed over six million Euros on Thursday.’

‘I know. But Nick, listen. I can’t take his money.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve resigned.’

It was his turn to look surprised. ‘You gave your notice?’

‘Well, in a manner of speaking. I actually told Claude Visconte to stick my job up Hugh’s arse, or words to that effect.’

A spark of amusement lit Nick’s eyes. ‘Why?’

She was intending to say all the things she had said to Claude, that they had been exploiting her, using her, that they were heartless bastards. But to her surprise different words came out of her mouth. ‘I’ve been working my guts out for the last ten years. Now this has happened I’m thinking maybe it’s time to take a break. Do some thinking. Reassess. I can always go back to it later on.’

‘Or maybe you’ll choose to do something else?’

‘I have a nasty feeling that trading is the only thing I’m any good at.’

‘I know for sure that’s not true,’ Nick said.

‘What?’ she gave him a challenging look. ‘Are you going to offer me a job at CITES?’

‘No.’

‘Oh,’ she was taken aback by his abrupt response. ‘Why not? Don’t you think I’d be any good?’

‘I think you’d be very good. But I don’t like mixing work and pleasure.’

As the words hung in the air, Ella felt her pulse rate increase. And she suddenly felt in urgent need of her oxygen. Pulling the mask down over her mouth, she took three slow breaths. Then, mustering her courage, she asked. ‘Just what sort of pleasure did you have in mind?’

He flexed his shoulders. ‘I was thinking in terms of a little island I know just of the Malay coast. A secluded cabin on the beach.’ He gave her an innocent look. ‘It’s just the place for doing some thinking. Warm turquoise sea, coconut milk, palm trees, fresh lobster. Oh, and that reminds me …’

He’s nervous, Ella thought as he leaned forward and reached down into his bag. He thinks I might say no. I can’t believe it. Nick Jardine is actually scared I might say no.

But when he straightened up again he was smiling that old lazy complacent smile. He was also holding an expensive looking pack of Sushi and a bottle of Moet. ‘If the last few weeks have taught me anything,’ he said. ‘It’s that you’re not going to like hospital food.’

Author’s note:

Thank you for buying and reading this book. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have time to post a review I would be very grateful. Or if you would prefer to contact me through my website or Twitter, I would love to hear from you.

I was motivated to write Slick Deals after going out on a dolphin survey in Cardigan Bay near where I live. We passed an oil exploration vessel and I realised how much I didn’t want the beautiful coast of Wales to be spoilt by the oil industry. At the moment there is no drilling here in Cardigan Bay as it is categorised as a ‘sensitive area’ due to the abundant wildlife, but when economic times get hard environmental concerns often go out of the window.

I am grateful to to Rodrigo Teixeira de Abreu and William Hill for their help with oil issues, to The Environmental Network of Pembrokeshire (TENP) and the Sea Trust, and to Natalie Lloyd Evans and Megan Power for their comments on the manuscript. I hope they will all accept my apologies for the liberties I have taken with their suggestions.

Although the story is rooted in reality, or a potential reality, all the characters and events are fictional and in most cases I have changed the names of the places they visit.

If you would like to know more about this beautiful part of the world or about my other books, please visit my website.

Helen Carey

www.helencareybooks.co.uk

www.twitter.com/helencareybooks

Other books by Helen Carey:

Lavender Road

first in the Lavender Road series

Some Sunny Day

second in the Lavender Road series

On a Wing and a Prayer

third in the Lavender Road series

The Art of Loving

a contemporary romance

To contact Helen Carey, to find out more about her and her books, or to be placed on a mailing list to receive updates about new releases, please visit her website:

www.helencareybooks.co.uk