‘I need you to take a lot more care than you do now.’
‘All right, I will,’ Alex said.
‘What will you do?’
‘Take more care,’ Alex said jauntily, raising his eyebrows.
‘As in?’
‘Why don’t you just tell me what you want me to do, Dad, like you always do?’
‘I’d like you to employ a bodyguard.’ The clock ticked, and the leather chair creaked as he leant forward. ‘I know you’d hate it. I know it’s not your …’ he paused ‘… style. But it’s not for ever. I’ve never asked you to change your way of life, have I?’ Alex acknowledged that. ‘Even though I do think it’s about time you started thinking about laying down foundations for the future.’
Alex nodded. ‘Yes, I know you do, Dad. And actually,’ he said, ‘I was going to wait and tell you this in a few months’ time, but I may as well tell you now. Today I signed on the dotted line for my range of organic freeze-dried soups to go into Waitrose. For a not insubstantial amount of money.’
David let out a crack of laughter. ‘Bloody well done, Alex. Congratulations. I know how much that means to you.’ He got up from his chair and came round the desk to give his son a handshake and a clap on the back. ‘Do you want a celebratory drink?’
‘No, thanks. A little early for me. But now you come to mention it, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.’
David picked up the phone. ‘Belinda, a cup of tea for Alex, please, and a glass of champagne for me. Thanks.’ The sun was shining between the slats in the blinds and he walked over to alter the angle. ‘To get back to the security issue, what do you want to do? Obviously, since it’s entirely my, er, fault, if you like, that the situation has arisen, I’m willing to put it through the company.’ He raised a hand to Alex’s instant objection. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word “willing”. It should go through the company, since otherwise I could be facing all sorts of problems if you were to get kidnapped. Including raising the ten quid needed to free you.’
Alex smiled wryly. ‘I don’t know, Dad. It just seems a little over the top. You’ve done deals before where dodgy people have been involved.’
‘That’s the point. I’m not doing a deal with these “dodgy people”, as you describe them. I want them off the island.’
‘I still don’t understand why they won’t go and find another island. Yours can’t be the only one, surely.’
‘It’s the most useful. Not many others are virtually uninhabited. Point is, I’ve taken advice, and the advice is, we need professional protection.’
‘Is it worth the deal?’ Alex wrinkled his nose.
‘It most assuredly is. And before you ask, I’m doing as much as I can to make it ecologically aware. Solar panels on the roof, et cetera. However, it’s going to be a five- or six-star hotel, and I refuse to have the sort of ecological bathrooms where you throw earth into the lavatory and occasionally lob in a hundredweight of worms. So don’t even ask it of me.’
‘How long would we have to have these bodyguards?’ Alex asked, emphasising the final word.
‘Until the hotel is finished and at least in its first working year.’
‘Which would be about how long?’
‘Three years, to be on the safe side.’
‘Three years?’ Alex was aghast. ‘Three years of having someone—’
‘Or two,’ interjected David.
‘Of having someone,’ Alex reiterated, ‘following me around everywhere. For God’s sake, Dad. Talk about overkill.’
‘Alex, you are my heir. And they know that. Please don’t make me have to have you followed.’
Belinda knocked and came in with a pot of tea and a crystal glass of champagne. ‘It’s ethically sourced organic Assam tea,’ she said to Alex, who was now pacing the room. ‘Shall I pour?’
‘No, thanks, let it mash. How are the kids?’
‘Great,’ said Belinda, her bosom almost visibly swelling with pride. ‘One’s taking GCSEs, the other’s trying to decide whether to go in the army or do plumbing. I’d prefer him not to go into the army, what with Afghanistan and everything, but he’s got friends who love it.’
‘Yes, I can see that plumbing would be the marginally less dangerous option. Although I tell you what, there are some people whose pipes I would not like to riddle,’ he said, with a grimace.
‘Anything else I can get you?’ asked the housekeeper, addressing David.
‘A new van for my son, if you could. It’s making the front of the house look scruffy.’
Belinda looked affectionately at Alex and left the room.
‘I think she’s got the hots for you, Dad,’ Alex said, pouring the tea through the strainer into the bone china cup.
‘Hardly surprising,’ was David’s riposte. He was well used to his son’s ribbing. Belinda looked like a friendly dumpling. ‘Anyway. What’s it to be?’ he asked.
‘Let’s compromise. I’ll allow you to employ one minder. But can I have a right of veto? I don’t want one who looks like a bloody great big gorilla with balloons under his arms. And if he’s got to be around me all the time, I’d like him to have a reasonable personality.’
‘Or her,’ added David.
‘Or her,’ said Alex, perking up. ‘You know, that would actually be quite cool. Halle Berry in Die Another Day. Angelina Jolie in that shit film Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. Nice. Hey, I’m coming round to this idea.’
‘I think the likelihood of that is going to be about zero. But if you’d prefer a woman, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll send them round to the van, shall I?’
‘Ha-ha. The house will be finished in a week or so. Send them there or the flat in London. Is there going to be a code? Three short knocks, followed by a long one, a finger of banana slid through the letterbox and a cough?’
‘I can see this is going to be an endless source of amusement. I’ll let you have a list and you can make your own arrangements.’
Alex drove back to his house in the pretty village of Shillingford and had a quick chat with the decorators before going to London and getting ready for his dinner date. He chose a pair of Alexander McQueen trousers and a Paul Smith shirt. He slipped on a pair of tan boots he’d had made for him, and tied his dreadlocks back. He had shaved that morning and was sporting a rakish five o’clock shadow. With a cursory glance in the mirror, he left with a confident air.
There was a distinct lack of confidence going on with Miranda. She was having a crisis. Every item of clothing she tried on looked atrocious. She had decided that her body looked like an old potato. Her hair was a mess. She could only see wrinkles and could have sworn her skin was starting to ruche in places.
She was almost tempted to phone Alex and tell him she’d got flu. Or the plague. Boils. Frogs. Anything. She looked at her watch. How could it be that she was running out of time? She’d been getting ready since three.
The mobile rang. Lucy again. She pressed reject call. A text pinged. Alex, saying he was on his way and was really looking forward to dinner. He’d also given her the postcode in case she didn’t know where it was. As if. His text spurred her on. She decided to follow the tenets she had lived by since she was a teenager. One: if in doubt, get them out. Two: high heels good, higher heels better.
The woman who hailed the taxi on the main road in Notting Hill looked flushed but beautiful. She had tied her hair back loosely with a clip, and was wearing slim black trousers, towering stilettos, a stunning