Authors: Gabrielle Lord
July (17 page)
My mobile vibrated in my pocket.
check your blog. very interesting development.
I did as Boges suggested and logged onto my blog. When I saw the initials at the bottom of the private message I’d received, I almost fell over.
I blinked, dumbfounded.
Oriana de la Force was the client Sheldrake Rathbone had referred to in his phone
conversation
with me! She was using the services of the Ormond family solicitor! The man with the Piers Ormond will! And yet she’d admitted that
whatever
benefit the Ormond Singularity brought with it when decoded should rightly be mine. So what was in it for her? Now my mind was in a real mess.
I needed my friends.
Winter and Boges sat beside me at the table, deep concern and suspicion in both of their faces. I was relieved Boges had agreed to join us at Winter’s flat. He’d been pretty impressed with the double-key code connections Winter and I had figured out, and we were all keen to kick on and sort the DMO out.
‘What are you going to do?’ Winter asked. ‘Do you think you can trust anything Oriana de la Force says after everything that’s happened?’
I was incredulous. ‘She’s almost had me killed more times than I can count! She’s had me
kidnapped
, bugged, followed, beaten … Her thugs are the reason my great-uncle is dead!’
My mind was seething with questions. Did Oriana de la Force really think that we could be
allies
? She was offering me information I
desperately
needed—whatever was contained in the Piers Ormond will was something I absolutely had to know.
And, above all, I was astounded by her claim that she knew something about the abduction of the twin babies, fifteen years ago … fifteen years! What did that mean for me? Was I really a twin? Could I really have a long-lost brother?
So many questions, so many doubts, so many fears swirled through my mind. Things had been much simpler when Oriana de la Force was just a hostile enemy.
‘You OK?’ asked Winter.
I shook my head.
‘And what about this Rathbone guy?’ Boges’s voice penetrated my spinning thoughts. ‘Can we trust him?’
‘Sheldrake Rathbone is the Ormond family solicitor,’ I said, trying to shake my senses back into me. ‘The man holding Piers Ormond’s will. Says he believes I’m innocent.’
‘So? What are you going to do?’ Winter repeated.
‘Not sure.’
Who am I?
I asked myself. Had my whole life, my whole identity, been based on lies and
cover-ups
? This twin stuff had my mind reeling more than anything else. It was like everybody, including my own parents, was harbouring this massive, dark secret about me, and no-one wanted to fess up and explain it to me … except Oriana.
Whatever
the truth was,
I
needed to know.
‘I guess there’s no harm in just calling him,’ I said, as I pulled out my mobile and dialled Rathbone’s number. I flicked the loudspeaker function on.
‘I’ve been expecting your call,’ said Rathbone. ‘I have agreed to act as intermediary on behalf of a colleague. You know her?’
‘I know her,’ I admitted, grimly.
‘I believe she has already made it clear that she wishes to negotiate with you following an initial meeting between us to confirm you have certain items in your possession. Once I’ve
satisfied
myself that this is the case, I will be happy to provide you with information regarding the crime involving the twin babies that I think you would appreciate knowing about, as well as hand over a copy of a will that I believe is of great interest to you.’
‘Shouldn’t I have free access to that
information
without all this show and tell and exchange?’ I asked. ‘It’s a family matter—
my
family matter.’
The sound of his low, wheezy chuckle
reverberated
around Winter’s flat. It was the kind of laugh that made me picture him as a big guy that didn’t think things were funny very often. I looked at Winter and Boges, and they were both cringing.
‘Now, Cal, can you really expect me to hand over a valuable family document to someone in your situation? Someone on the run? Someone accused of murder, without anything in return?
Shouldn’t you be more concerned that I might hand you over to the police and claim the reward money the minute you show up?’ He chuckled again, deep and loud, and it bothered me. There was nothing funny about what he was saying.
‘How do I know you won’t do that?’ I demanded.
‘Look, my role in this is to act purely as an intermediary, and to provide a neutral place where I can review the objects in your keeping in a safe and satisfactory manner. I’m not interested in money—I have enough of that already,’ he scoffed. ‘And I’m certainly not
interested
in handing you in and getting involved with that side of law enforcement. I have a place in mind for our meeting—the premises of my brother’s business, Rathbone, Greaves and Diggory. This arrangement between us needs to be finalised within the next forty-eight hours, or my client will withdraw her offer. Do you understand?’