The original copy was in the Amber Room. It was the very same copy that Richard consigned to an album which he placed in the bottom drawer of one of the filing cabinets in the vault. When Carl retrieved Capritzo’s dead body that horrible, horrible night, the album and the photograph were found beside him.
‘Was that the last image he saw before he was rendered unconscious and his oxygen starved brain went into hyper-drive, manufacturing horrific nightmares from which he would not, could not waken?’
Carl tried to push the memory from his mind but … He could have saved him, could have opened the vault in time but he didn’t because he wanted Capritzo to die and so did Sarah. Carl had tampered with the fail-safe locking mechanism to make it look like an accident but the truth was that Sarah had closed the door, locked it then walked away and so too in a sense had Carl which made him an accessory after the fact: an accomplice to cold blooded murder. He didn’t care because earlier that evening he had pushed Capritzo’s bodyguard Maharsh backwards, sending him hurtling down the marble staircase to his death. No one helped him. It was all his own work and he was proud of it.
Why did she do it? Because Capritzo was determined to wipe out the Develin line.
‘Why? Did you hate your father so much that you would actively seek to destroy his grandchildren? Was that the reason or was there something else?’
Carl watched helpless as the second photograph appeared. It was of Sarquazi and his infant son Marcus. Sarquazi was spoon-feeding the child warm tea, heavily sweetened and milky. It was a loving, tender moment caught forever in time. Carl looked away as Jean ran the tip of her index finger across the glass.
‘She loved them both you know and she misses them so much.’ She turned away as the tears formed. ‘I’ll put them in her car now so she knows I’ve haven’t forgotten.’
Her car – Richard’s Daimler, lined up with the rest ready to take them to Dublin where Sarquazi’s ship waited to transport them to Morocco. Sarah would be leaving Cavendish Hall in just a few short hours with all of her children; perhaps never to return. It was a truth Carl Emery found insupportable.
*****
From the corner of his eye Carl caught sight of a shiny black Mercedes coupé as it turned off the main road and onto the driveway leading into Cavendish Hall. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He strained to see who it might be but the darkened windows gave nothing away beyond giving the vehicle a sinister look which alarmed him. ‘Jean,’ he called out, ‘get Kathy and the baby and go into the house - now.’
He backed away as the car ground to a halt and the driver’s door flew open. ‘How you doin’ boyo?’ Jack Mulphy shouted as he leapt from the vehicle.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Carl shouted back.
‘Ah, thanks for the gracious welcome you asshole.’
They embraced warmly. Carl and Jack were childhood friends. When Carl lost his family in a tenement fire where he was eight years old, they lost touch with each other for over forty years. Two years ago Carl was able to track Jack down. He was a U.S. Marshall in Arizona but, as it turned out by chance, he was thinking of early retirement and returning to Ireland. And so he did as Head of Security at Cavendish Hall. Divorced, with no children Jack was ready and able to take on anything and that included a young wife introduced to him by Yusuf Sarquazi.
Jack liked Sarquazi almost as much as Carl hated him possibly because, despite the fact that Sarquazi had forced Sarah into marriage, she had fallen in love “with that black-eyed son of a bitch”; a situation Carl found intolerable. The worst part was that he made life difficult if not downright miserable for Sarquazi from the moment he arrived at Cavendish Hall with Sarah and his infant son until he died the very next day.
Jack would never forget the image of Sarah clutching Sarquazi’s body while screaming at Carl to stay away. She was hysterical with grief.
‘Do you know what I want you to do Mr. Emery? I want you to dig his grave, that’s what I want you to do; beside his mother. Beside his mother, do you hear me?’
Carl tried everything he could to make amends but no matter what he did he knew that she would never forgive him nor would she ever forget. ‘I’m not your little girl Mr. Emery, and I never have been.’
When Sarah arrived at Cavendish Hall in early January, 1980 Carl assumed that, like a young girl named Sabrina, she too was being paid handsomely for her services. His assumption was grossly incorrect; his assessment of the situation totally in error.
Sarah, if only I had known the truth then …
Then what Carl Emery? How could you have stopped him? You said yourself that he was fucking crazy.
Richard Develin had ordered Sarah’s abduction. How they managed to get her on board his private jet without being seen was a mystery. Undoubtedly she was drugged. By the time she arrived at Cavendish Hall she was fully conscious and spitting mad. Carl’s initial encounter with her was short but not very sweet.
‘Your name isn’t Igor by any chance, is it?’
‘No miss, Carl Emery.’
‘Well Carl, give my compliments to Mr. Develin and tell him for me that he can go straight to hell. Do you think you can remember all that?’
He moved so fast that Sarah had no opportunity to defend herself as he took hold of her right arm in a savage grip then proceeded to half drag; half carry her up the remaining steps and along the corridor to the left. Suddenly he stopped before a set of double doors and released her.
‘I suggest, Miss Churchill, that you deliver the message yourself.’
Sarah’s first encounter with Richard Develin was equally stormy. She should have been terrified of him but, as everyone would soon discover there was nothing ordinary or predictable about Sarah Winthrope Churchill.
Richard Develin was forty-nine years old, six feet tall with pale skin and jet black hair drawn straight back and lightly oiled. But it was his eyes that were the most arresting feature. They were pale blue and predatory. Richard Develin was not someone you would want to trifle with as Sarah would soon discover but then again, either was Sarah.
He should have been honest with her. He should have opened up a little but that would have been out of character and not part of the plan. Truth was he wasn’t interested in a relationship. What Richard Develin wanted from Sarah was simple and straightforward. He was dying of a rare form of leukemia called Multiple Myeloma and he needed an heir. Sarah was going to provide him with one whether she wanted to or not. Although he was prepared to make things as easy as possible for her he was also running out of time. They first met on Wednesday evening; she was in his bed Monday night. That was the beginning of an extraordinary relationship which culminated in the birth of William Churchill Develin nine months later. As unlikely as it seemed at the beginning, Richard and Sarah fell in love and, although he never actually said so to her, it was evident nevertheless.
On Christmas Eve she gave him the greatest gift possible; the knowledge that she was pregnant again. That was when he asked her to marry him but he died of a massive heart attack before the ceremony could take place.
*****
She ran her finger tips across his face and then she kissed him, but his lips were already cold.
Carl gently pulled her away. ‘Sarah, let Father Donovan perform the Last Rites.’
She stood dazed, supported by Doctor Bryan and Carl. Halfway through, she fainted.
Carl lifted her into his arms and held her close as he watched through his tears as Father Donovan anointed