Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 24

James

I try not to be obvious about it; try to treat her completely normally, but Mitch has just had her world

turned over yet again. I see her sometimes, watching me; watching me with Charlotte.

What’s going on in her head?

She’s happy she has her daughter…

… but still walking on eggshells…

Not convinced she’s safe?

How much crap can get thrown into a single life?

Her brother… control freak… This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Klempner… psycho…

Conners… wife-beater…

And now she walks into this… her long-lost daughter shacked up with two men…

And pregnant…

Is she coping?

?

She’s stronger than she looks…

Charlotte’s mother…

In my armchair by the fire, my bad leg stretched out to bathe the ache away with the heat, I sip a finger

of brandy, losing myself in the dancing flames and the reflected amber glimmer in my glass.

Mitch… Strong enough to survive but still vulnerable…

Klempner… Ruthless… Vengeful…

Intelligent?

He headed a world-wide organisation…

No one ever accused him of stupidity…

Obsessive…

Insane?

?

Does he know right from wrong?

?

I think he does…

Was he always like that?

Or did his father make him that way?

?

He wouldn’t talk about his mother…

What happened to her?

Perhaps Mitch knows…

Should I ask her?

?

Let her settle more…

Mitch and Klempner…

Between them, they produced Charlotte…

No… Jenny…

And Jenny remade herself into Charlotte….

“Master? Are you alright?”

I jolt out of my reverie. My Jade-Eyes stands at the door, brow wrinkling. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just

thinking.”

“What about? You were lost to the world. I spoke twice, and you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh, this and that…” Her eyes narrow…

Not fooled…

“… Listen, I was thinking. Why don't you take your mother out for the afternoon? Somewhere nice.

Give her a treat….” I scrub my memory for my limited knowledge of what women do during ‘girl-time’.

“Perhaps tea and cakes at Francesca’s…”

The eyes un-narrow but wheels are turning behind the emerald eyes. She moves to sit by me on the

couch.

I slip my credit card from my jacket pocket, offer it up to her. “Buy her a present. Something pretty to

wear. Perhaps a new dress.” Charlotte looks at the card but doesn’t take it. “She can't keep living out of

a suitcase or wearing your clothes can she?”

“If you want to give her something, why don’t you do it yourself, Master?”

“Because I don’t want her to feel as if she’s living on handouts. And regardless of what she says, I don’t

think she’s gotten used to the idea of having a daughter with two husbands yet… One of them older

than she is. Still less of you being pregnant.”

Charlotte still doesn’t take the card. I push it into her hand and curl her fingers around it. “Just do it.”

Another thought occurs. “You might take Kirstie too. She could stand some cheering up and she

usually has something to say that brings a smile to everyone's faces. Why don’t you give her a call and

invite her along?”

Her smile finally blooms. “That’s a good idea, Master. It will feel a bit less staged if Kirstie’s there too.”

*****

Richard

My phone rings. Not the general office phone, but my direct line. Only a very limited number of people

have that number. I glance at the display: my old friend, Will Stanton, Police Commissioner.

I pick up the handset. “Hello, Will. Good to hear from you. What can I…?

Thirty seconds later, I’m slamming the receiver down, yelling through the office. “Francis! Get James on

the phone. Right now! And keep him on the phone. I’m calling Ross.”

I redial and am rattling down the phone to Ross; my driver, but also Elizabeth’s bodyguard.

Francis, phone in hand, eyes wide with distress, steps into my office mouthing at me as I speak. No

James. No reply…

“Get Michael then. As fast as you can. And Charlotte.”

As Francis tries to call Michael, I try again for James.

No reply. Nor for Charlotte.

Francis marches in, brandishing her handset. “I have Michael on. He’s driving.”

“Richard?” He sounds startled. “What’s the emergency? Has there been an accident? Charlotte’s not

hurt is she…”

There’s no time for good manners. “Michael. Shut up and listen…”

*****

James

Humming to myself, I spoon hot oil over hissing, spitting potatoes and parsnips, then open the oven

door to slide the dish back in. A towel around each hand I ease the dish in above the roast resting on

the bottom shelf.

Somewhere in the background, a phone rings.

Damn…

The heat is already penetrating the towels and I slap the door closed then blow on glowing fingers.

The phone is still ringing…

Mobile?

No, landline…

I step smartly through to the lounge. As I reach the phone, it subsides into silence.

They’ll ring back if it was important…

And from somewhere, my mobile goes off.

Mobile…

I swing around…

Where’d I put the damn thing?

The ringing is from beyond the door. Following the tone I track it, locate it back in the kitchen and wrap

fingers around just as it clicks off. I check the log…

Michael…

Calling to say he’d be late maybe…

And the lounge phone goes again.

Fuck…

This time I sprint through…

“James. Pick up the phone...” Michael’s voice echoes across the room, tinny from the speaker.

He sounds upset…

More than upset…

“James, pick up the fucking phone…”

Snatching up the receiver, “Michael? What on earth…?”

“James, shut up. Listen…”

*Hackles rising*

“… Klempner’s out…”

My gut curdles. “Out? What d’you mean out?”

“I mean out. Out of prison. They were moving him from where he was to another lower security

place…”

“Who the fuck came up with that as a bright idea?”

“Christ knows. But he’s escaped. They suspect an inside job. There was a hold-up on the van." His

voice cracks. “James… The guards and the driver... For some reason they left the driver alive, but one

of the guards got a bullet in the head... The other guard… James, we met him… Hartwell…”

“I remember him…”

“James… They gutted him. Slit him down the middle from chest to crotch and left him to die.”

My stomach tightening…

Charlotte…

Somewhere, far away, Michael is still speaking. “James, are they with you? Charlotte and Mitch? I tried

to call them but there’s no answer.”

It’s difficult to speak. There’s not enough air. “No, they’re not here. They're downtown. In the City.

Kirstie's with them. I sent them out for shopping and girl time.”

“Do you know where they were going?“

“I suggested Francesca’s for tea and cakes.”

"I’ll go straight there. Pick them up if I can. If you speak to any of them tell them to lie low.”

“Yes, I’ll do that… No… Better they stay in a public place. Where the crowds will see them. Michael,

don't bring them back here. It's the first place Klempner will look.”

“No, of course not. I’ll just get to them first. We can figure where we go after that.”

My mind racing… “Where's Beth? Did Richard say?”

“Don't worry about Beth. She's at thirty thousand feet somewhere. I don't know where. And neither

does anyone else. Apparently, Richard had given Ross standing orders that if there was ever news that

Klempner had escaped, he immediately pack her off to the nearest airport and get her on to the next

flight out of the country… And when that plane touches down… wherever that is, she gets on the next

one out again and stays in the air…”

He actually chuckles. “I gather Richard's going to keep her that way until this is over. I don't think Beth's

going to touch tarmac for long until Klempner’s safely behind bars again.”

His voice turns grim again. “I’ll go find Charlotte and the rest. But James… Get out of the house. The

women aren't there so there's no point putting up a fight. Just get in your car and leave. There’s no

telling who or what might turn up there.”

Or when…

In my peripheral vision, something moves…

What was that?

“James?” Michael’s voice spills from my hand, but my attention is all on the window, the failing light of

dusk and what lies beyond…

“James?”

Again… something moves… a shadow in the trees to the side of the house…

“James! Fucking answer me. Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here." I'm talking, but I'm watching too. "There’s something outside. Something moving.”

A silence then, “You expecting anyone?”

“No.”

His tone urgent, “James, get out of there. Get out of there now. Leave through the tunnel. Take the trek

through the woods and I'll meet you at the highway. If you can, head for the same spot where you met

us the last time, but if you can’t, don’t worry. Just get yourself to the highway. I’ll find you.”

“Michael… I can’t just leave… The hotel... The guests. If it’s Klempner and his men... If they’re

armed…”

And there’s nothing more sure…

“Leave it,” he snaps. “Chad's there. He knows what the score is. I’ll call him… Get him to have the

place evacuated. You get out.”

“Evacuate? You plan to tell your guests there could be a terror attack?”

He hesitates, then “... I'll get Chad to come up with something... I don’t know what. It’s not your

problem. Your problem is to get out of there.” Still, I hesitate. Michael continues, “If Klempner had you

as a hostage, Charlotte would walk right up to him and you know it.”

She would…

Jade…

I’m walking as I talk. Heading along the hall. First stop, the alarm system.

I slam the panic button installed during the renovation. After Michael and Charlotte’s last flight through

the snow two Christmases ago, we built this house as a fortress.

Everything on automatic, the house goes into lock-down. Motors whirr as metal shutters glide over

windows. High-security bolts slam across doors, the sound echoing along the hall. I keep moving,

heading for the basement.

Mobile still pressed to my ear, “You think it's Charlotte he wants?” I say. “Or Mitch?”

“If Klempner had Charlotte, Mitch would follow. If she had the balls to go after Conners to rescue him,

d’you think she’d hesitate with her own daughter? And yes, I think it’s Mitch he’s after. You think the

timing’s a coincidence? Charlotte has just found her mother and suddenly Klempner waltzes out of

custody?”

"No, I don't…” My mind spins, whirling at speed… “… but it also suggests that he's stayed in jail

because it suited him to do so. You say they think it was an inside job?”

“That’s right.”

“So, who do we trust? He's obviously got someone in the prison system. He had Corby in the police

before. Who says he doesn't have someone now?”

“Christ!” Michael’s voice jars. “That’s an unpleasant thought. So we daren’t talk to the police. The only

people we can trust... again... are each other.”

“That’s right. Michael, I never found Klempner’s spy. We don’t know where the leak is. We have to rely

on our own resources… Look, I’m about to go down to the basement. We’re going to lose the signal. I’ll

call or message you again when I’m in the walker’s shelter and the light of my phone can’t give me

away.”

“Fine.” He falls silent for a long moment. “James, be careful.”

“Always. Talk later.” I snap off the connection.

From the end of the long hallway, a slight movement. As I watch, fascinated, the handle of front door

turns; quietly, slowly, then eases back to its resting position.

Silence…

Muttering…

A bang; the sound of impact. My every nerve-ending jangles an alarm. The vein in my temple pulses a

beat then beats a steady tattoo through my skull.

The door doesn’t budge. And it won’t. Not easily. Four-inch-thick oak, backed up by high-speed steel

bars running the length through the walls.

Move…

The banging grows to crashing. As silently as I can, I make my way to the back of the house, the end of

the long central hallway and the door to the basement stairs, closing the door carefully behind me as I

slip through.

*****