The Hornbeam Tree (60 page)

When she was naked he moved his hands all over her, touching, yet not touching, watching her respond and playing her cruelly. Her nipples were hard and urgent, between her legs she was throbbing and alive. He touched her there and she drew in her breath. Moments later he was taking her so close to the edge that she almost fell against him. His fingers were expert and demanding, sensitive and knowing. He held her close, kissed her hard and took her from one climax straight into another. Only he had ever been able to do that to her, and only he knew how to do it again and again.

She was still breathless as he took her hand and led her upstairs, where he laid her down on the bed and undressed himself. As he lay down with her, her legs opened to take him. He didn’t hold back and as he entered her, filling her slowly, pushing himself all the way into her, she looked up into his eyes and knew that whatever else they might have to face in the future, tonight their lovemaking was going to exceed anything they’d known before.

Deborah Gough raised her eyes from the email displayed on her computer screen, to the video image of Allbringer at the top right-hand corner.

‘We have to presume they’re serious,’ he said.

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘So what do you recommend, Mr Allbringer?’ she asked.

With almost no hesitation, he said, ‘That we accept the conditions and have legal documents drawn up right away to prevent any future publication of materials either directly, or indirectly related to this subject.’

She took a moment to consider it, though it was the conclusion she’d expected him to come to. ‘I see no problem with that,’ she said, ‘provided the agreements are watertight.’ She sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers. ‘Have we managed to discover where Tom Chambers is yet?’ she asked.

‘Not that I’m aware of, but I’m told Nancy Goodman is on her way back to Washington.’

Gough’s eyes narrowed as she pondered the information that had come in regarding one of the FBI’s senior agents in London, believed by embassy investigators to be the most likely source of the leaks. ‘Even if it does turn out to be her,’ Gough said, ‘someone had to be briefing her – so who would you put top of your list, Mr Allbringer?’ As she asked the question her gaze returned to his image with all the directness of a pointing finger.

His discomfort was revealed by the smallest turn of his head. ‘At this stage I would rather not speculate,’ he responded.

Her smile was small. ‘Very wise. We will need a full inquiry. Meanwhile, I suggest we interview Nancy Goodman together on her return. Would you be agreeable to that?’

‘Naturally, though I should point out that
there
are others more expert in the field of interrogation …’

‘I’m aware of that, and they certainly won’t be prevented from doing their job. I would simply like to meet Mrs Goodman in person. I imagine you would too, unless,’ she added, ‘you’ve already met.’

This time his discomfort was more pronounced. ‘I knew Nancy some thirty-five years ago at college,’ he said. ‘We haven’t had any contact since.’

Gough smiled pleasantly. ‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about,’ she said, and sitting forward she clicked off his image before picking up the phone.

As Tom presented his US passport to a British immigration officer at Heathrow his nerves were as on edge as at any other time during these last few weeks. No matter that Elliot’s lawyers had extracted written assurances from the States that there would be no attempt to prevent his entry into the UK, he was still expecting someone to materialize any minute to escort him to a secure cell, or waiting car, possibly even to smack him face down on the ground and jam a gun to his head. However, the saturnine British official merely flicked through the passport’s tatty pages, gave him a brief once-over to match the photo, then handed it back and switched his attention to the next traveller in line.

Tom moved on. So far at least, it appeared everyone was adhering to their word – in return for Elliot’s and Tom’s signatures on a contract agreeing not to act before a second, more comprehensive document could be drawn up (to block them completely),
all
computers had been returned, wire taps removed, captives released, warrants rescinded … Basically everything Elliot had requested was being granted, and if Tom weren’t such a sceptic he might have been prepared to believe they’d won this round. In actual fact they had, because he was here, wasn’t he? In London. And between them, Katie, Michelle and Laurie had already cooked up a plan on how to circumvent the agreement. Their scheme might be crazy, but right now, as he pressed on through the baggage hall where he had nothing to claim since he was carrying it all, he was so relieved to have the weight of a warrant lifted from his shoulders that anything felt possible.

Quickly winding his way through the passengers with carts and wheelchairs and slow-moving children, he emerged into the arrivals lounge and almost instantly spotted Michelle waving. Molly was with her, and as he hurried forward, Michelle caught her niece’s hand to pull her to meet him. Flushed with shyness Molly tried to hold back, but he was having none of it. The instant he reached them his bags hit the floor as he swept them both into an enveloping embrace, kissing Michelle full on the mouth before pressing a long and noisy version of the same to Molly’s forehead.

‘What man could have two more beautiful women waiting to meet him?’ he asked, hugging them again. ‘How did I get to be so lucky?’ And scooping them both up he swung them round.

Loving the attention Molly laughed and blushed and her eyes shone like jewels as he kissed her again, before turning back to Michelle. ‘Everything
OK?
’ he murmured, his mouth very close to hers.

‘We’re both fine,’ she told him softly.

Somehow restraining himself from shouting with joy, he said to Molly, ‘How about you, Miss Cool Chick with the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen? I want to hear everything you’ve been up to. And no skipping over anything. All cards on the table.’

Molly’s shyness seemed magically to evaporate as she retorted, ‘Including yours. Mum said no more secrets. I’ve got to know everything from now on.’

His eyes were dancing. ‘Speaking of your gorgeously formidable mother,’ he responded, ‘where is she? I was expecting all my girls to be here.’

‘She’s at Laurie’s preparing our little party,’ Molly told him. ‘Laurie has to work, but she’s at the flat doing it – and Elliot’s outside in Laurie’s car, which isn’t as cool as the Porsche, but it’s bigger inside, so we can all get in.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ he demanded, and snatching up his luggage, he walked them both out to the short-term car park, where he presented them with several elegantly wrapped packages before dropping the rest of his bags in the boot.

As they travelled into London Tom and Elliot became engrossed in an urgent discussion of recent developments and how they were to proceed from here, while Michelle half-listened as she and Molly sat in the back unwrapping expensive perfumes, and pulling faces when Tom wasn’t looking. The one he’d chosen for Michelle caused Molly to protest under her breath, ‘Ugh, rank. It smells like Domestos.’

Michelle choked back a laugh and checked to make sure he hadn’t heard. Then, wiping her wrist on her jeans, she turned to her next enticing package. She was just pulling it from the box when, realizing what it was, she immediately pushed it back in again, though not before Molly managed to catch a glimpse of the cream-coloured lacy undies.

Gross, she was thinking, as she tore the paper off her next gift. They were a bit old for all that, but anyway, it still didn’t mean Tom wasn’t like, really cool, because he’d actually bought her … ‘A
Prada purse
! Oh my God!’ Her eyes glittered with delight as she showed Michelle. Everyone was going to be like, so WOW and jealous when she showed them, because this was absolutely genuine, no fake, then her heart sank as she remembered she didn’t have any friends to show – and she was really, really dreading going back to school on Monday, because of what everyone was going to say about how she’d run away, and about Brad. She still felt all hurt and upset about him, like as if their relationship had actually been real.
How sad was she!
Her mum and Michelle were really cool about that though, telling her stories of all the times they’d made chumps –
chumps!
– of themselves over boys, which usually turned out to be much worse than anything she’d done, and almost always ended up making her laugh.

As they reached Tower Bridge Michelle drew everyone’s attention to the hotel on the river’s north bank. ‘You and I are staying there tonight,’ she informed Tom. ‘Katie and Molly have checked in on the South Bank, actually in that impressive red-brick building in front of you, where Laurie
and
Elliot have an apartment that’s going to make you see stars, my love, both literally and metaphorically.’

Tom was grinning. ‘Can’t wait,’ he responded, and reached behind for her hand. The way he squeezed it told her he was as eager for them to be alone as she was, but the party was planned and making everyone wait while they got reacquainted was hardly appropriate, when they’d have the rest of the night to themselves.

Laurie and Katie were poised ready to crack open the champagne as soon as the door opened, which delighted Tom as much as the ‘welcome back’ banners that were draped all over the place.

‘I made that one,’ Molly declared, pointing to a particularly colourful effort that was strung across the bar.

‘The best of the lot,’ he told her, as Katie put a glass into his hand and glowed with pleasure as he embraced her.

Toasts were made and several bawdy comments followed, mostly from Katie to Molly’s dismay, though she was never far from her mother’s side, which was how she’d been since Tuesday, even sleeping in Katie’s bed each night and hovering around the bathroom while Katie was attending to business. Clearly she was afraid Katie might just vaporize, or get flushed away, if she didn’t keep an eye on her, though thankfully she’d tanked off to the airport to meet Tom happily enough, giving Katie a welcome breather for a couple of hours.

Katie had wondered if Elliot hadn’t been equally as ready for some space, for it hadn’t escaped her notice that Laurie appeared almost as glued to him
as
Molly did to her. However, watching them now, she decided it could be he who was doing the sticking, because the minute he’d put some less groan-worthy music on – ‘Yellow Ribbon’ was her idea, she had to admit, but only as a cheesy joke, not as serious entertainment – he was back at Laurie’s side and sliding an arm round her as she leaned against him.

Feeling pleased that they finally seemed to be finding the way back to each other, Katie readily accepted more champagne from the bottle Tom was offering, and even agreed to let Molly have a drop more too. Why not? It wasn’t often they had this much fun, or even got out of Membury Hempton, and besides, it wasn’t as if Molly had school in the morning, or she any work.

After returning the bottle to the ice bucket Tom produced more gifts from his holdall, this time for Laurie and Katie, which surprised and embarrassed Laurie, though she could hardly have been more thrilled with the perfume, since L’Eau d’Issey was her favourite, which meant he’d probably consulted Elliot before making the decision. For her part Katie gushed with delight at the elegant Gucci handbag with silver chain handles and G-logo clasp, then promptly sprayed herself all over with the same perfume he’d bought Michelle, before realizing just how bad it was.

Giggling, Molly and Michelle turned away and pretended to survey the scrumptious-looking food, while Elliot refilled everyone’s glass and Katie smiled blandly on, hoping she didn’t really smell like a toilet.

‘So, the killer contract turns out to be a weapon of
only
partial destruction,’ Tom declared, when they all finally settled down on to the sofas and armchairs.

‘Our lawyers are still going over it,’ Laurie told him, ‘but as far as publication is concerned it’s looking watertight. There’s just the one tiny airhole we’ve already discussed where TV production is concerned, so, provided they don’t spot and plug it between now and when we sign the final agreement – which we can always stall anyway – we can start shooting as soon as you’re ready.’

Tom raised an arm for Michelle to settle in more comfortably beside him. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said, ‘you’re going to make a programme about everything that’s happened since I was first approached by Josh Shine right up to now?’

‘Everything,’ she confirmed, ‘with the main emphasis obviously being on the P2OG and suspect plot. So instead of writing it, you’re going to be telling it.’

In truth it had taken Tom a while to get his head round this change of direction, for he’d never been a big fan of broadcast journalism, mainly because it rarely allowed enough time to present all the facts, and even if it did, no sooner was the information there on the screen than it was gone. And this certainly wasn’t a sound-bite situation. However, faced with a legal contract that was allowing no way forward for print, he’d been persuaded in several phone calls from Michelle to set his ego and prejudice aside, so he was now more or less ready to accept that broadcast might have its merits.

‘But we still have to look at our main objective
here
,’ he pointed out, ‘which is to get the neo-conservatives out of the international policy-making picture. That means we have to break the story in the US, and believe me, persuading any of the networks, or the cable companies because most of them are owned by Republican backers too, to air a programme like that is going to be even more difficult than to get it in the press. Hell, you don’t need me to tell you how many British-made programmes have been blocked over there since we went into Afghanistan.’

‘That doesn’t have to stop us making ours,’ Laurie told him. ‘And it’s important that it shows here in Britain, because this country is every bit as affected by US pre-emption policy as Iraq or Pakistan, since we’re being dragged into it too. We need to take a look at what the American international agenda actually is, because most people don’t know about the 21 Project. They need to understand who’s really taking the decisions in Washington, and how we, in the UK, are being exploited to achieve political gain.’