Rafi nodded, and followed her to a coffee machine.
‘This is how the other half lives,’ remarked SJ apologetically.
‘Home from home, where I worked was open plan and my desk was practically on top of all the others.’ Rafi paused as he realised he had used the past tense. He sensed that that part of his life was over.
‘How about a nice biscuit or two,’ she said bending over just in front of him to open a cupboard door.
To Rafi’s surprise, he found himself wondering how such a meticulously dressed secretary could suddenly look provocative.
‘If you would like to follow me… I thought we could borrow one of the meeting rooms.’
As Rafi followed SJ, a stray thought flitted through his mind – what would she look like with her hair down and in casual clothes? Undoubtedly she’d be very beautiful. His musings were halted as they reached their destination, a small meeting room, where SJ beckoned him to sit opposite her. She gave him a radiant smile.
Rafi was suddenly aware that he was staring ‘Sorry I was miles away…’ He felt uneasy and wondered what SJ would say next.
‘The PM tells me you are a remarkable man, and that you helped avert a number of other major disasters.’ SJ paused and smiled. Her soft blue eyes locked on to his. ‘The PM asked me to look after you…’
Rafi searched for a good reply but his mind was focused on SJ’s beautiful face. ‘That’s good,’ he replied, weakly returning her smile. He wondered if SJ realised how uncomfortable he felt. He took a sip of his coffee and looked down at his bruised and swollen wrist, partly to avoid making eye contact.
‘Is it as painful as it looks?’ asked SJ sympathetically.
‘Not really, I’ve sort of got used to it now, thanks to the painkillers,’ replied Rafi. He sensed his brain was beginning to work again, and decided to take the initiative. ‘Do you like working at Number 10?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘The hours must be very long at times…’ Rafi took a mouthful of his coffee.
‘Yes, and the working weekends and late nights can wreak havoc with the social diary.’
Rafi looked down at her left hand – there was no ring. ‘Your boyfriend must be very understanding…’
Seeing that Rafi had relaxed, she smiled. ‘That’s a nice thought. If only one could find the right man. I seem to attract all the wrong ones.’ Someone just like you would suit me perfectly, she thought to herself.
He smiled and looked into her lovely blue eyes… ‘Don’t worry, your luck will turn when you least expect it.’
‘Thank you,’ replied SJ.
‘I am serious,’ added Rafi. ‘A week ago I was on my own and then through the most bizarre circumstances I met Detective Inspector Kate Adams… You have everything going for you… the right man will come in to your life.’
SJ looked carefully at Rafi. In the space of a few minutes he had turned the tables on her. He was now making her feel uncomfortable… That Kate Adams was a very fortunate woman… It would be nice to swap places with her. ‘How precisely did you meet Kate?’ asked SJ.
‘I was in the cells at Paddington Green police station and she came to interview me…
‘So you reckon I should get myself locked up… I’m not certain if I’d have a job to go come back to though!’
Rafi laughed. ‘The mind boggles… The prospect of you ending up in prison is difficult to picture. I’d opt for something far less extreme. Like Kate you are on the side of the good, so you won’t have to go looking for trouble.’
‘But it might be fun,’ said SJ with a disarming grin. ‘Perhaps when this is all over, you and Kate could give me some pointers?’ Before Rafi had a chance to reply, she looked at her watch. ‘You should be elsewhere… It’s time for you to pay COBRA a visit.’
Rafi finished his coffee. ‘I’m ready when you are.’ He hesitated, and not knowing where the thought came from, blurted out, ‘It seems to me that you and Kate are very alike… under the surface that is.’ He fell silent, suddenly feeling embarrassed to go any further with his line of thinking.
SJ felt a strange feeling come across her. So he really did like her… with a bit of planning on her part she would arrange for their paths to cross again. She stood up. ‘Come on, you really should be elsewhere.’
A few minutes later they arrived at the door to the COBRA meeting room. As Rafi walked in he sensed a new feel to the room. The urgency and horror of the day before had given way to a businesslike atmosphere. Inside the door was a face he’d got to know very well over the past few days. Jeremy greeted him warmly and they fell into conversation.
SJ smiled and glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll come and get you in seventy minutes,’ she turned and left.
Jeremy looked at Rafi. ‘Where would you like me to start in bringing you up to date?’
‘Golden Sundancer and the trawlers, please.’
‘It’s all go at sea and in the air there are two Nimrods tracking them. The Great Yarmouth trawler left port at 16.00 hours on Friday and, as you know, turned south. She entered the Straights of Dover around 22.30 yesterday and is currently heading towards the Lizard Point off Cornwall. On board is Dakka Dudayev, the Stratford bomber; a real hard case.
‘I’d say so!’
‘The trawler from Peterhead offloaded Rudnik Miromov, the Cruden Bay terrorist, onto Golden Sundancer north-west of the Pentland Firth at 5 p.m. yesterday evening. Golden Sundancer then headed at speed around the Western Isles. The Troon trawler rendezvoused with her at 03.00 south-west of Stanton Banks where she picked up Talal’s number two, Alistair Hartnell, and the recruiter of the suicide bombers, Kim Chindriani. Since then Golden Sundancer has been flying down the west coast of Ireland at a very impressive 40-46 knots. She’s currently just west of Bantry Bay. Our calculations point to the Great Yarmouth trawler, Rosemarie, and Golden Sundancer rendezvousing at 19.00 hours this evening south-west of the Isles of Scilly. From there, we believe that they’ll head for Morocco and the port of Safi.’
‘What’s Maryam up to?’
‘She’s carrying on as usual in Luxembourg, playing at being a real socialite. Wining and dining seem to be her middle names. The commissioner is arranging a visit to Luxembourg to tie in with the capture of the other terrorists on Monday afternoon,’ Jeremy drew breath and pointed to the screens around the room. ‘On the home front, the army’s pyrotechnics continue to be impressive: there’s still a good mix of dark smoke, explosions and flames from Cruden Bay, Aldermaston, Hartlepool and Heysham. Even though numerous announcements have been made that no radioactivity has been released and the terrorists missed their nuclear targets, the TV crews love it. I feel sorry for the local residents, but at least it’s in a good cause.’
‘How’s it progressing at Stratford?’ asked Rafi.
‘Basically, it is a huge mess and it is still taking up masses of resources. Thankfully, Operation Counterpane has got most people away from the exclusion zone relatively quickly. The genius part was getting others to look after them. It’s worked magically. The reaction of the provincial cities, and in particular the rural communities, has been beyond anyone’s expectations. Trains have been running constantly from the London terminals since Friday morning, transporting the refugees to their destinations. Fleets of coaches have poured into London from across the country, with offers of accommodation and homes for those who got on board. The major retailers have been brilliant. In some instances people have been getting on their coaches with a blanket, a duvet or just a towel or coat around them. En route to their destination, stop-offs to department stores have been arranged to fully clothe and re-equip the travellers. The Dunkirk spirit has been unbelievable. Only a small minority of those dispossessed have caused trouble; the vast, vast majority have been grateful for the help and to be evacuated,’ said Jeremy.
‘What are the radiation levels like?’ Rafi enquired, concerned.
‘The experts got their initial calculations for the exclusion zone spot on. The Royal Engineers, with the help of specialist building contractors, have completed the demarcation and the clearing of the perimeter of the exclusion zone and I understand that plans are afoot for work to start tomorrow on the foundations for the perimeter wall. There have been attempts at looting and to get items that are now, of course, radioactive out of the exclusion zone, but the army patrols have been up to the task and have clamped down firmly on such activities. There are 3,000 battlehardened troops with experience of Iraq and Afghanistan policing the perimeter – next to nothing has got out.’
Jeremy paused. ‘The scientists have put in place plans to counter the problems of the leaching of the radioactive materials into the water table. Fingers crossed they’ll get it right, or else the City of London and Docklands will be in trouble.’
Jeremy chatted at length, detailing how the exclusion zone was being cleared of people and how the location of London City Airport was a godsend. ‘It must be a nightmare for the air traffic controllers, what with all the transport plane movements. Thankfully, only one pilot got the approach wrong and nearly ended up in the water!’
Jeremy hesitated. ‘Your interrogator, Andy, phoned me earlier today.’
Rafi involuntarily tensed up.
‘Nothing untoward,’ reassured Jeremy, sensing Rafi’s unease. ‘In his investigations he came across an individual with long standing links to your family.’Jeremy passed him a piece of paper with a name and phone number on it. ‘I think you might know him?’
Rafi looked in surprise at the name: Major Charlie Staveley. Then he smiled. ‘Yes, I remember him well. He was my maths teacher at Haileybury.’
‘Andy interviewed him about the money he paid first to your grandfather and then to your father. All he would say was, “It was a long time ago… Haileybury had strong connections with the Stepney Boys Club which assisted families in the East End of London – this was my way of helping.” Andy reckons that the major was hiding something. You might like to drop by and have a chat with him one of these days.’
‘Thanks,’ said Rafi, still completely puzzled, ‘I’ll do that.’
Their conversation returned to Stratford and the terrorists.
Out of the corner of his eye Rafi saw SJ enter the room and realised that his time with Jeremy was up.
Rafi felt a delicate tap on his shoulder, turned and saw her smiling face just behind him.
‘Time to come with me.’
Rafi nodded, said his goodbyes to Jeremy and followed her up to the ground floor of Number 10 and the PM’s anteroom.
‘You must be beginning to get to know this room rather well,’ SJ commented.
‘Yes, I can recommend the service – it’s excellent,’ Rafi grinned. He seemed to have said the right thing. SJ nonchalantly preened her hair, turned with a little wiggle of her hips and left the room. A few minutes later she was back holding a tray with a cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits.
‘Thank you.’
She smiled. ‘I only try to please. The PM will be ready to see you soon.’
After only a few moments Rafi was shown by SJ into the adjoining room.
The PM got straight to the point. ‘Rafi, the head of the Civil Service has listened to your tape,’ he began and then paused. ‘He says that if I heard its contents I could not, with a clear conscience, deny knowledge of what went on, should it ever get out into the public domain. He confirms that it is political dynamite. It is clear that the Home Office and a number of its ministers took spin to an unprecedented level. Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention.’
Rafi nodded.
‘I have commissioned a report on “Media briefings and dissemination of information and data by ministers and public servants”. I have asked for proposals from the head of the Civil Service for a select committee to monitor this area. Henceforth, we have to make those who use lies, half-truths and false statistics as tools of their trade openly accountable,’ said the PM.
‘Thank you,’ replied Rafi.
‘I was saddened to learn we came within a whisker of averting the Stratford disaster, only to have people, who should have known better, get in the way. By the way, the junior minister in question has resigned his seat. I understand he’s going to try his hand at something well away from the public gaze.’
With that the meeting was over and Rafi was ushered into the entrance hall of Number 10 where he found Kate waiting for him.
‘Have you had a useful morning? I missed you. Your friend SJ,’ she said with a wink, ‘phoned. She asked if I could come and collect you. So here I am. There’s a car outside and if it’s OK with you, our next port of call is Wood Street.’
Rafi nodded; he was becoming accustomed to being at people’s beck and call.
‘We’re going to give John, Jeremy and the team a hand with the logistics for rounding up all those suspected of being on the terrorists’ payroll. Actually, that’s a bit of a white lie; they want me – and I rather like your company – hence the we!’ she said with a big grin. ‘I reckon I’ll get withdrawal symptoms when this is all over,’ she paused. ‘Will you come with me?’ asked Kate, slightly flummoxed by Rafi’s deadpan expression, and then added quickly, ‘don’t worry; if you don’t want to tag along I can easily drop you off at the hotel on the way.’
‘I’ll come… I’d love to. Sorry for being slow, it’s just that my thoughts were on what the PM has just told me.’
Rafi leant forward and gave Kate a kiss on the cheek. ‘Come on, we can’t keep the car waiting. Remember you promised me some TLC and I’m going to enjoy cashing it in… With interest!’
They had been in the Ops Room at Wood Street for less than five minutes when Jeremy appeared. ‘I thought I might update you. The list of highly paid non-executives on the terrorists’ payroll is quite something. Several of the names are dynamite. For example, we have identified six Members of Parliament who are implicated.’
Jeremy yawned. ‘Sorry… where was I? Yep, we’ve checked through the bank accounts of the two COBRA members caught with their snouts in the terrorists’ trough. It seems that they received their money from our old friend the Gulf Trade Bank. They’ve been very naive and stupid. Thankfully, they weren’t sophisticated enough to use an offshore account. The bribes went straight into Building Society accounts. Those who have been using offshore accounts will be harder to pin down and no doubt they will be the ones really worth catching – c’est la guerre! ’ He smiled and added, ‘John and his team have done great work; the fun bit is going to be hauling the culprits in.’
Jeremy paused. ‘The bosses at MI5 are gobsmacked by how much John and his team have turned up in such a short time. They have people working around the clock going through bank statements and corroborating the evidence. There’s a real buzz down there. One of these days I must show you around!’
‘Who do you think ran the UK end of the slush fund?’ Kate asked.
‘Maryam, we reckon, looked after the money side of things via bank accounts funded by the sheikh,’ answered Jeremy. ‘At the moment we aren’t sure who did the recruiting or the management of those on their payroll.’
‘When will the arrests take place?’ asked Rafi.
‘As soon as the terrorist leaders are in our custody,’ replied Jeremy. ‘Oh – by the way – you remember that a BlueKnite employee turned a blind eye and let the bomber in at Bishopsgate? Well, it also seems that the controller looking after the nuclear trains only joined a year ago and was also on their payroll. Last week he received ?15,000 from the Gulf Trade Bank; big coincidence or what? No wonder he took so long to get back to the control room and employed such a half-wit to work with him.’
‘Thanks for the update; now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few loose ends to tidy up.’ Kate smiled at Rafi and added, ‘Do make yourself at home!’
Rafi’s attention turned to the large screens on the walls. One showed a press conference, describing the full impact of the nuclear sabotage. It included a report on what had happened in the previous twenty-four hours and on the progress being made. All roads into the exclusion zone were now dead ends. The one-way – out only – system was being enforced rigidly at the army-controlled checkpoints.
Rafi felt a shiver go down his spine as he saw pictures, from the previous day, of masses of people corralled in one of the open air holding areas. The footage followed the process of decontamination; people being stripped of all their belongings and clothes, and taken to a purpose-built shower marquee, next to a prefabricated building. Large signs in many languages had on them: Radiation risk – NOTHING to be taken beyond here.
The TV cameras showed heart-rending footage of people arriving at the checkpoint and being forced to give up all their possessions. The pictures included those of a confused little girl being made to give up her favourite teddy – she was crying and couldn’t comprehend what was going on. The scene brought a tear to Rafi’s eye.
The report contained footage of mobile phones being handed out to each individual or family. The mobile phone companies had literally cleared their warehouses and the stocks in their shops. Free pay-as-you-go phones with credit vouchers for calls were issued to those coming out of the decontamination centres. Those with missing family members were given a phone number they could call to give information about the people they had lost. A number of local sports halls became rendezvous points for the missing people.
The TV commentator commended the Dunkirk spirit. The attitude wasn’t, ‘How much is this going to cost?’, but rather, ‘What can we do to help those who have lost everything?’ The newscaster then announced that there would be a public holiday on the Monday, as a mark of respect for the loss of life and the suffering.
Rafi watched a piece on how the National Health Service was holding up. All the hospitals within 200 miles of the disaster area were flooded with people. A number of five star hotels had been requisitioned and turned into specialist radiation treatment units. Those with radiation poisoning were being sent on to one of these new specialist hospitals, with instructions from on high that everything should be done to make them feel comfortable. Elsewhere patients were seen on trolleys and makeshift beds. Against the odds, the system was holding up.
The armed forces were stretched beyond anything anyone could ever have envisaged. By late Friday afternoon, 10,300 troops and specialist professionals had arrived to enforce the perimeter of the exclusion zone, to run the decontamination centres and to clear the exclusion zone of people. All military bases remained on full alert.
The RSPCA worked with the armed forces and Territorial Army’s veterinary teams to deal humanely with those animals found in the exclusion zone. It was a gruesome and demanding task. The RSPCA gained permission to run their own decontamination units for mildly contaminated pets, where the owners could be identified.
Rafi was enthralled when the bulletin turned to the problems associated with the leaching of the radioactive materials into the water table. In particular, the River Lea and its canal were near to the wrecked train. An ingenious solution had come from a company based just south of Newcastle, which made a polymer for – amongst other things – nappies. It rapidly turned liquids into jelly like substance which would remain stable for over a month. They had dispatched eight lorry loads with a police escort and arrived in London late on Friday afternoon. Their cargo was applied to the water flowing in and around the exclusion zone. The main problem related to the River Lea. A decision had been taken to divert the Lea into the King George reservoir just to the north of the exclusion zone and from there the water was being pumped straight into the mains as, unfortunately, the large Coppermills water treatment plant, a mile to the south, through which the water normally passed, was now out of action.
According to the reporter, decisions were being taken on how the River Lea could be redirected on a permanent basis. He listed the few solutions which were being considered – including diverting it into the River Roding – and concluded that drinking water shortages would be a feature for months to come. However, the good news was that the critical problems were being resolved and there were high hopes that radioactive materials would not leach out of the exclusion zone.
Rafi spotted Colonel Turner and his team looking at a screen showing a large chart. Curious, he went over to investigate. The screen showed the precise location of Golden Sundancer. She was still heading south.
It was late evening. Tiredness was rapidly overcoming Rafi -he felt ready to drop. The pressures and excesses of the last week had caught up with him again. He’d lost track of where Kate was, so he left a message for her and cadged a lift back to the hotel. Once there he grabbed a cold drink, had a quick shower and climbed into bed. Sleep came quickly.
Rafi awoke on Sunday morning to find it was almost 9.30 a.m. Kate was already up and dressed.
‘Hi there, sleepyhead; your timing is perfect. I’ve ordered breakfast and the hire car is waiting for us downstairs.’
They enjoyed their breakfast, and by 10.15 a.m. were on their way.
Rafi took his trilby and cashmere scarf and a couple of the Sunday newspapers with him.
The Home Counties curfew that had been imposed on Friday morning had been lifted at midnight on Saturday. The roads were unduly busy as the exclusion zone had severed the roads towards East Anglia.
Their destination was the Suffolk/Essex border, where Kate’s family lived. They talked about her family and about her early years. It became obvious that she’d had a very happy childhood living in Kenya, where her parents had been farmers.
‘Then the carefree days ended,’ Kate recalled with sadness in her voice. ‘When I was twelve my grandfather died. We returned to England so that my father could sort out his affairs. The death duties were far larger than my father had expected and a decision had to be taken… Sell up in England to meet the huge tax bill and return to Kenya, or sell up in Kenya and live in the family home in Suffolk. My father chose the latter and following that decision everything changed. My schooling went from a relaxed private school to a large state school. My friends in Kenya loved outdoor activities: riding and hunting for creepy crawlies. Everything was tame in England. The weather was awful for five months of the year and people spent so much time indoors.’
‘Was it that bad?’
‘I had nothing in common with my new peer group at school,’ she said. ‘I was teased for my strange accent. My parents had promised that I would go to a good private school but it was not to be. My brother, Marcus, and I were sent to the local comprehensive school. It was only meant to be for the first year while my father sorted out the family’s finances. However, it soon became apparent that money was very tight due to the size of the Estate Duty tax bill and the large running costs of the house.’
Kate paused. ‘Marcus is fifteen months younger than me. He contracted diphtheria as a child and was on death’s door for over a week. He pulled through, but the illness had made him partially deaf. In Kenya he grew up as if poor hearing was a minor hindrance. He was well catered for at his school and had the full attention of his own nanny to work with him at home. Sadly, in England things were totally different. Marcus didn’t fit into the education system, which lacked the flexibility to cater for his special needs.’
‘I remember,’ continued Kate, ‘my parents discussing our education. Basically, they felt that I needed to stay at the same school as Marcus, as he relied on me to protect him from bullies. So I stayed there for my A levels,’ she sighed. ‘I spent my gap year helping my father, working for the family business. It was then that my relationship with my parents crumbled. They had expected me to go off to university to read business studies or agricultural economics and to then return to the family business. I didn’t do that do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I had other ideas. I wanted to go into the police. I had a massive row with my parents, left home and enrolled at a police training college. At last, I had found something I really enjoyed doing. I shouldn’t brag, but I sailed through with flying colours. Whilst I was a young constable I studied part-time at the Open University Business School and five years later graduated with a BSc in Business Studies and Accounting. It was hard work, but in my heart I guessed that one day I’d want to go back to Suffolk and work alongside my brother, helping the family business, so I chose a degree I could use when I returned home.’
Kate paused. ‘Sadly, things went from bad to worse with my parents. While I was at the police college I became friendly with Maurice. My parents did not approve of him as my boyfriend. I refused to back down and after a stormy weekend at home they disowned me.
‘That must have been hard.’
‘It was, and then my love life went to pieces. I was working long hours. Maurice wanted us to socialise and party more and in the end we went our separate ways. Kate smiled. ‘I focused on my work and studies and moved from the Met to the City of London police force.’
‘My relationship with my parents by that stage was nothing more than an exchange of Christmas and birthday cards.’
They had reached the Suffolk border. ‘Are we getting close?’Rafi asked.
‘Yes, not long now,’ replied Kate, who noticed that Rafi was deep in thought. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine thanks, I was just thinking about family and friends. I was wondering if on our way back into London we could drop in and see an old teacher friend of mine, Major Charlie Staveley. Would you mind doing that? He lives just outside Hertford, in Great Amwell.’
‘Good plan – why don’t you give him a ring now?’ suggested Kate.
His phone call successfully completed, Rafi saw National Trust signs to Leverthorne Hall and Leverthorne Vineyard, which they seemed to be following. Alongside the roadside was a tall brick wall. A large splayed back entrance, with impressive black wrought iron gates came into view. To Rafi’s surprise they drove through the gates up a tree-lined driveway. Leverthorne Hall was nowhere to be seen.
‘Would you like to see where I grew up?’ enquired Kate with an impish grin, as they turned a corner. In the distance was a large Georgian mansion which could be described as impressive by anyone’s standards.
‘Not bad eh?’ said Kate. ‘Marcus and his family live in the west wing. My parents have the coach house and stable block. My brother has let most of the main house to the National Trust on a peppercorn rent. Says it makes life much simpler and lets him get on with the running of the estate and its businesses as a proper commercial venture.’
Rafi looked at Kate. ‘So, all along, things like the suite at the Savoy were second nature to you!’
‘If only! As far back as I can remember, living here was a continuous round of penny-pinching. Just try to imagine: two acres of roof, rising damp, old wiring and cranky central heating… To name but a few of the house’s redeeming features – they all cost a fortune.’
Kate glanced at Rafi; there was sadness in her eyes. ‘This is going to be difficult. I have not seen, let alone spoken, to my parents for many years. In the beginning I tried, but they would not answer my calls. I have kept in touch with Marcus. It was especially difficult when he found a girlfriend and wanted to get married, but my parents refused to let him have the reception here if I attended. In the end, he and Susannah decided not to get married. That, as far as my parents were concerned, was the final straw. The last time I went home was with Maurice. This time it’s with you in tow. Please don’t be surprised if this is a very short and fiery family reunion.’
‘Apart from Saara, I don’t have the luxury of having a family,’ commented Rafi. ‘It’s got to be worth a shot at patching things up between you and your parents. It’s just a shame that all the good work you’ve been doing has to be kept quiet until the terrorists are caught.’
‘A blaze of publicity might have been useful,’ mused Kate, ‘but this way we’ll see if there’s any real affection left for me.’
The car stopped.
‘Whatever happens, you’ve still added one extra person to your life: me.’
Kate turned her head and looked at Rafi. He could see the beginnings of tears welling up in her gorgeous eyes. She leant over and kissed him.
‘Right, let the charm offensive begin.’ Rafi groaned as he eased himself out of the car seat. His bruised lower back had not liked the prolonged car journey.
Kate smiled. ‘Be your normal self. They get us warts and all.’ She gave his hand a squeeze and headed for the open front door. Rafi followed, with his trilby tilted over his eyes and the scarf round his neck and lower face.
He marvelled as he stepped inside. The entrance hall could have contained his flat. They approached the National Trust booth where a kindly woman greeted Kate with a big smile.
‘Hello, Mrs Hindmarsh – isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you straight away.’
‘Don’t worry dear – it’s been over ten years. How lovely to see you again.’
‘How’s…’ Kate hesitated, ‘Danny?’
‘On excellent form, thank you. I have three grandchildren. He works in Sudbury now, in an office opposite the church. He would be pleased to see you, so do drop by if you can.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hindmarsh, I’ll do that next time I’m up here. Today is a bit of a fleeting visit.’
Mrs Hindmarsh nodded in a knowing manner and they proceeded on their way.
They walked into a cavernous central hall. It was devoid of furniture. Its stone floor had small squares of black stone inlay to give it a criss-cross pattern. The main feature in the central hall was the grand sweeping staircase. There was a pair of large double doors to the left which led through to an impressively furnished drawing room. In front of Rafi the open double doors framed a view through what looked like a music room and on to the largest set of French windows he could ever recall seeing, with a vista down to a lake and a gazebo. To the right of the hall was a grand dining room.
‘How many could you seat?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I think we had about sixty in there for my twenty-first,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘Come on, enough of the sightseeing; let’s find Marcus.’
Kate took hold of his hand and led Rafi off to the right of the dining room, past a winding, back staircase, past a billiards room, down a long passage and past the kitchens. They climbed up a second set of back stairs and there in front of them was a normallooking front door.
‘Welcome to my brother’s flat,’ said Kate with a broad smile. She rang the doorbell.
They were greeted by a beaming Marcus. ‘Great to see you, Kate. And if I remember correctly from your phone call, this must be Rafi?’
‘Yes,’ said Kate.
‘Susannah will be with us shortly; she’s sorting out the final touches to lunch. Let’s find Mother and Father. I have told them that you’ve a boyfriend with you, but not that it’s Rafi! I didn’t want to mess things up, so I thought it might be simpler for you to explain how your boyfriend has gone from being a terrorist to a good guy.’
They walked down a small corridor, the walls covered in pictures of Africa. Marcus looked at Kate. ‘Happy memories!’
‘Yes,’ came the reply, ‘The best.’
They came to a cosy sitting room with an open log fire brightening the cold February day. On the other side of the room was a large sofa and, parked in the middle of it, were two elderly people, who stood up slowly. They weren’t doddery but time had started to take its toll. They looked apprehensive. Kate walked forward and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, followed by a hug. She turned to her father, stretched out to shake his hand, had second thoughts and gave him a peck on the cheek and a hug. Rafi sensed that her parents were surprised by Kate’s attempt at reconciliation. They sat down. Not a word had been spoken. Marcus did the introductions.
‘Mr Rafi Khan, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our parents: Major Sir Percy Gant-Adams and Lady Yvonne Gant-Adams.’
‘You will no doubt have seen his picture in the papers recently,’ added Kate quickly. ‘He’s been working undercover for us. The full story will come out next week. We’ve only known one another for a week but I can assure you he’s a real catch and my first boyfriend in ages.’ And with that she planted a caring kiss on Rafi’s cheek.
Wow, that was brave, Rafi thought. Talk about light the blue touchpaper and stand well back! Kate’s parents looked on awkwardly. But the tension eased as Susannah walked in carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and some orange juice. She exclaimed in delight when she saw Kate. The tray was put down next to Marcus, who uncorked the bottle with a pleasing pop, charged the glasses and passed them around.
The major lifted his glass, looked at the bubbles and took a sniff of the bouquet. Then he stopped, looked at his daughter and said, ‘Please forgive me for not standing up again, but I would like to propose a toast.’ He raised his glass in the direction of Marcus and Susannah.
‘First I should like to toast our hosts without whom this reunion would not have happened – thank you both.’ The glasses were raised and an appreciative sip was taken by all. The major turned his gaze to Kate.
‘The second toast is to Kate, my long-lost daughter. Your mother and I look forward to you telling us what you’ve been up to. Marcus tells me that you’ve been heading up a team involved with the Bishopsgate bombing?’
‘Yes, Daddy – and a bit more besides.’ The conversation stopped in its tracks. It was as if Kate’s career was of little interest to her father.
Rafi felt annoyed, but tried not to show it. He looked carefully at the major. In his youth he must have been a dashing and well-built man, and his wife must once, he guessed, have been a slightly willowier version of Kate. She had the same auburn hair and warm brown eyes.
Susannah looked at her watch. ‘Lunch will be in ten minutes. Please excuse me while I put the vegetables on.’
There was a silence. Rafi waited for someone to break the ice. Kate’s mother beat him to it. ‘Tell me Kate,’ she said in a frail voice, ‘I have been reading the papers. I am confused. How precisely did you manage in the space of a week to turn a terrorist suspect into a boyfriend?’
‘It’s a long story. Rafi was set up. I was sent to see if he had information that could help us prevent more terrorist attacks. That was last Monday. Since then Rafi and I have been working flat out unravelling the terrorist conspiracy.’
‘I see, dear,’ came her mother’s uncertain reply.
Marcus got up and recharged the glasses.
‘Don’t you drink?’ asked the major.
‘No, sir,’ replied Rafi. The major looked at him and hesitated before saying, ‘Do please call me Percy; it will make things less formal.’
Rafi sensed that uttering those few words had broken the ice.
‘Thank you, sir.’
The major continued. ‘Where do you come from?’
‘It’s not a very interesting story,’ Rafi replied, hoping to avoid the subject, but he was encouraged to continue.
Rafi took a mouthful of the orange juice and then began. ‘My father owned a bakery in the East End of London. I was educated at Haileybury and then studied for my Bachelors and Masters degrees in London.’
The major nodded, hoping for more.
‘Up to a week ago, I was a senior fund manager in the City of London. The rest, as they say, is history.’
Kate skilfully switched the conversation to Leverthorne Hall and its vineyards. It transpired that Marcus had studied through the Open University Business School and had specialised on the marketing and product development side of Business Studies.
In the words of his mother, Marcus had turned the estate around. ‘There is now a small rural business park with a growing number of successful cottage industries and he has found an excellent farm manager to run the 3,500-acre farm.’
‘How big is 3,500 acres?’ Rafi enquired.
Kate looked at Rafi as if acres to square miles was a ratio he should have known, and replied, ‘Five and a half square miles.’
‘Oh, really!’ exclaimed Rafi. There was laughter. He sensed that the tide had turned.
‘Lunch is ready,’ echoed through from the dining room, where Rafi soon found himself sitting next to Lady Yvonne, and opposite the major and Kate.
Given the circumstances, lunch was a relatively jolly affair. There were a few hesitant pauses in the conversation, but the sheer joy of Kate and her brother being back together again, under the roof of the family home, was plain for all to see. They sat next to each other and chatted away at ten to the dozen.
After lunch, the small talk continued over coffee and Rafi found himself the centre of the conversation. It seemed her parents found it simpler to talk to him rather than to Kate, lest they unintentionally reopened hidden wounds.
Rafi’s background, his education, hobbies, work and involvement in uncovering the terrorist plots were all discussed.
Kate looked across at her parents. ‘Did I tell you that I have also met Rafi’s sister, Saara? When I saw the two of them together, it reminded me how much fun we had when we were living in Kenya… all the grief of the last decade seemed irrelevant; I just wish we could be that happy again,’ she paused and fell silent.
Her parents, who were sitting comfortably on the sofa, seemed overcome by emotions. The major looked at Kate and then his wife. ‘Kate, I agree; we did have a good time in Kenya. I am sorry that moving here caused such friction and hardship. Yes, we should strive to find that happiness again.’
‘But with a few more coats and jumpers,’ added Marcus with a laugh.
Coffee had long been finished. There was a brief lull in the conversation. Kate looked at her watch, time had flown by, it was coming up to 3.30 p.m. She explained that they had a second visit to make on their way back to London, as a teacherfriend of Rafi’s had invited them for afternoon tea.
They said their goodbyes and promised to be back soon.
Back in the car, Kate looked radiant. ‘Thank you for being so patient and courteous through all the interrogations.’
Rafi looked into her warm eyes. ‘My pleasure. It was fun, and I am hugely relieved it all worked out.’
‘Yes; after a shaky start – I can’t believe how well it went,’ said Kate.
They had an uneventful journey and in what seemed like no time at all they were pulling into Gypsy Lane. They stopped in front of a red brick house. Great Amwell was only a couple of miles from Haileybury College.
The major’s front garden was well-kept. They walked up to the front door, rang the bell and stood there, holding hands.
A stooping silver-haired man answered the door. Rafi instantly recognised him – he had aged well, but was looking a little unsteady on his pins.
They were greeted by a jovial, ‘Come on in, come on in, it must be cold standing out there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rafi and went on to introduce Kate.
They entered the modest-sized home and headed for the sitting room, where they were greeted by a roaring open fire.
Charlie beckoned Rafi to sit on the sofa next to the fire.
‘Your timing is excellent – the kettle has just boiled. Let me look at you first though, young Rafi, it’s been too long since I last laid eyes on you.’ He stood there gazing at him. ‘Thank you for your phone call. It’s a shame that you got caught up in this terrorist mess. I wondered whether you might make contact after I’d had that visit from MI5.’ He paused, as if uncertain what to say next. ‘Why don’t you have a look at some photos whilst Kate and I put the kettle on?’
Charlie picked up an old leather-bound photo album from the sideboard and handed it to Rafi, then disappeared with Kate into the kitchen.
Rafi opened it. It contained pictures of the major’s life. There were a couple of photos of him in his early school days at Haileybury: one of him playing cricket, which rekindled memories of Rafi standing in almost the same spot, bowling right arm off breaks. The chapel and the large central courtyard looked just the same.
He moved on a few pages to see a very handsome, young man dressed in army uniform with a dark brown moustache and closely cropped wavy brown hair. The sparse text under the photos showed that he’d been posted to Palestine and had initially served under Allenby, before being posted to India.
He turned the page and there was a picture of a beautiful Indian woman in a nurse’s uniform standing in front of a large hospital. This was followed by a series of casual snaps of him and her taken during their outings. Rafi looked carefully at the photos; 1945-46 seemed to have been a very special and happy time for them. Then there was a sun-bleached photo showing the nurse and her family, all dressed up in their finest; looking very splendid in palatial surroundings. In the centre was the person he assumed to be the head of the family; he looked intimidating. A couple of photos of a kindly looking servant carrying a tray laden with glasses, cups and saucers followed.
‘What?’ Rafi exclaimed. He recognised the servant. He was his grandpa, Mansur Khan. His gaze fell upon the nurse in the picture. It couldn’t be! He couldn’t believe it – it was Lateefa, his grandmother, in her early twenties. He was confused. Why was Charlie holding hands with his grandmother in many of the pictures? The last photo showed them standing formally next to each other. There was a look of sadness in their faces.
Rafi turned the page. It contained a short press cutting on the death of Mansur. This was followed by another cutting which showed the mangled car in which his parents had died a few months later. The next page was blank; there were no more pictures, except for the penultimate page, on which there was a photo of Charlie standing next to a young lad, with his arm around his shoulder, a beaming smile across his face. Rafi remembered the occasion. It was taken in the summer near the end of his third year at Haileybury. He had taken four or five wickets in an inter-house cricket match. Charlie, who had been watching, insisted that a photo be taken for posterity. Rafi hadn’t seen the photo until now. He sat deep in thought, and was interrupted by the clattering of a trolley on which the afternoon tea had been placed. Charlie and Kate sat down and passed around the tea.
Charlie looked carefully at Rafi’s face. ‘I was distraught,’ he said. ‘I really wanted to marry your grandmother. Sadly for both of us, it wasn’t to be. In those days, family honour ranked above individual feelings and sensibilities.’
‘Pardon?’ asked Rafi.
‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ said Charlie. ‘I met Lateefa, your grandmother, in India just before its partitioning with Pakistan. We fell in love and then calamity struck: she told me that our relationship had to end, but she would not tell me why. I didn’t find out until later that she was carrying my child and had been disowned by her family. Had it not been for your grandfather, Mansur, a servant in her household, it would have been a disaster. He sought me out and explained why Lateefa had broken off our relationship.’
Rafi could see the beginning of tears in Charlie’s eyes.
‘I had been transferred to the Green Howards and was being posted to Sudan. I had so wanted to go back and see Lateefa, but there just wasn’t time. And to have become a deserter from the army would only have made things worse. When I told Mansur that I had to go, I had expected him to be angry with me. Instead he smiled and asked if he could help. It transpired that he had been in love with Lateefa since his childhood.’
Charlie looked sadly at Rafi. ‘The partitioning caused largescale and violent cross-border migration of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs. It was this upheaval and Lateefa being without family support that prompted Mansur to find me. I was impressed – he had it all planned. He asked me to arrange passes for Lateefa and him to get to England. Mansur then found Lateefa and they emigrated there. I helped them with what little money I could.’
‘So my father was your son?’ Rafi exclaimed, finally understanding what Charlie was trying to tell him.
‘Yes.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me before now?’
‘I promised your parents that I would not interfere,’ said Charlie.
‘Hold on a minute!’ said Rafi. ‘Did you have anything to do with my going to Haileybury and Saara going to a private day school?’
Charlie nodded. ‘After decommissioning I went back to my studies, became a teacher and then accepted a job at Haileybury. Several years later, I had been visiting a school in Stepney with which Haileybury had long-standing links and, as good fortune would have it, on the way home I stopped off at a local bakery in the East End of London. I unexpectedly met Mansur again. He looked much older, but I recognised him instantly.’
Charlie poignantly related how he had returned the following weekend and had met Mansur and Lateefa. ‘I had a tear-filled reunion with your grandparents. We talked about Jansher, their only son and decided that the past should remain in the past – it wouldn’t have been fair on them for me to come back into their lives. I asked if I could help them with their finances. They were too proud to accept any help. In the end, they allowed me to help with the education of any grandchildren that they might have.’
Rafi smiled. ‘That explains why I went from a deprived state school to a smart private boarding school!’ He was overcome by emotion.
Charlie sat quietly waiting for Rafi’s response.
‘Wow,’ replied Rafi. ‘So as of today the number of my close family relatives has doubled… Let me give you a hug.’ Rafi embraced him warmly and then sat back down. ‘I always knew Mansur as grandpa. Could I call you grandfather?’
Beaming, Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice.
‘Saara will be delighted; I can’t wait to tell her face to face.’
‘Unexpectedly, Mansur wrote to me once or twice a year keeping me up to date as to what your father, Jansher, was doing. It was just like him to be so thoughtful,’ said Charlie.
The conversation drifted back to when Charlie had first met Lateefa, Rafi’s grandmother. ‘She came from an immensely powerful and wealthy family. They commanded respect for tens if not hundreds of miles around,’ said Charlie. He went on to describe the close-knit community in India before independence, the partitioning and painful birth of Pakistan. Charlie talked about the British Army families – the nannies and the family helpers – and about his relationship with Lateefa – ‘it should have progressed to marriage,’ Charlie’s voice faltered. ‘It broke my heart to lose her.’
‘Did you meet my mother, Ameena?’ asked Rafi.
Charlie hesitated. ‘No… I’m sad to say, I did not…’
‘Why the hesitation?’ enquired Rafi. ‘Is there something I don’t know…? Please tell me, if there is…’
‘OK, then…, your grandpa was approached by your family in Pakistan who sought an arranged marriage between your father and Ameena, a distant cousin. It transpired that the eldest son of the head of the family had fallen for Ameena, but his parents wanted him to marry the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Mansur reluctantly agreed to Ameena coming to stay for a couple of months, as a guest, but on the condition that your father was not to know about any suggestion of an arranged marriage.’
Charlie paused. ‘Your parents enjoyed one another’s company and fortunately it didn’t take long for them to fall in love. They got married seven months later in a small ceremony.’
‘Thank you,’ Rafi thought for a moment. ‘Could you tell me about my family in Pakistan?’
‘Your cousins are very powerful people. Their fiefdom stretches over an area of thousands of square miles. Perhaps you should pay them a visit one day,’ suggested Charlie.
It was approaching 8 o’clock.
‘I’m afraid we should be going soon,’ said Rafi. ‘We’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
‘Would you like to stay for a quick bite of supper?’ asked Charlie hopefully.
Rafi was about to decline the offer when Kate interjected, ‘That sounds like a lovely idea.’
The conversation switched to Kate, her family reunion and her teaming up with Rafi to track down the terrorists.
Rafi talked about Saara and he promised to visit with her. After lengthy and fond goodbyes, they finally left at 10 o’clock.
The journey back into London was slow but straightforward and they arrived at the packed hotel just after midnight.
Rafi opened the door to their room and found a white envelope lying on the carpet. It contained two messages: one from Kate’s boss and one from Saara.
Kate picked up the phone and spoke to David. It was a short call. ‘We’ll be picked up from the front of the hotel at 07.30. He wants me at work early.’
She passed the phone to Rafi who dialled his sister’s number. There was a delay before the phone was answered. He guessed he’d woken her up.
They spoke briefly and she updated him on the meetings she and Aidan’s economics team had had with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and representatives of the Bank of England.
‘They’re playing their cards very close to their chests. Heaven only knows what the Chancellor is going to do and say tomorrow. At least it’s a bank holiday and the markets will have to wait until Tuesday morning to digest things,’ said Saara. ‘I’m going back to Birmingham tomorrow evening. I’ve missed a couple of deadlines and don’t want to let my colleagues down… And I’m missing Steve.’
‘How are you getting home?’
‘Coach of course,’ came the reply. ‘I got the ticket booked for me earlier today by a helpful man at Number 11. I can’t wait to get back to normality. Let’s talk soon when things are calmer. Please give my love and a hug to Kate. Tell her Steve and I look forward to seeing you both in Birmingham. Bye.’ He put the phone down. He felt guilty, as he had not told Saara about their grandfather. He wanted to tell her face to face, but was it fair to keep the news from her?
Kate meanwhile had slipped into the bathroom. She washed quickly. Back in the bedroom she undressed and slipped under the luxurious duvet. Her thoughts turned to Rafi. She hoped he would not be long…
Rafi finished his drink, turned the sitting room light out and went to see where Kate had got to. The bedroom lights were on, but she was fast asleep. Moments later he slipped into bed and turned off the light. He lay there thinking back over the day. Unexpectedly, it had been a very good day.