Behind the Facade (9 page)

She leaned forwards, not sure she could really trust what she
was witnessing, thinking at first it was some form of illusion brought on by the
refraction of the sunlight on the glass and her over-stressed mind. She
squinted so as to adjust her perspective and close out some of the light but
the picture didn’t change. Her captor was now the captured, being impelled away
from the house, a gun trained on his back. The man holding the gun was large
and impressively built. He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place him.
The two figures came nearer. 

Seeing first the ruined state of her captor’s face and noticing
his limp and the blood soaking his leg, she exhaled in shock and her heart
pounded in renewed fear. Was the big man an even greater menace? Then, as Sean
walked forward and she was able to observe the man behind him more carefully,
she experienced a rush of relief. She did know him. He was one of her father’s
men. Sebastian. He must be here to rescue her!

Then a flicker of apprehension returned to sting her. She’d
never taken to this brute of a man her father employed. She had always found
him uncouth and unattractive, despite his physical good looks. When he spoke to
her, he was always polite but he’d stare at her disconcertingly and let his
eyes slide over her body. She tried to brush this thought away. What did it
matter? He obviously had his uses and had clearly demonstrated his prowess in
this situation. He must be here on her father’s instructions. He had found her
and would take her safely home. The nightmare was over.

When they reached the car, Sebastian shoved Sean face down on
the bonnet of the vehicle, pressing the gun to his head. He looked in at Kate
and a grin flashed across his face. He clearly believed he was showing off his
mastery when, if he’d had any consideration for her, thought Kate, he’d have
realized this show of brutality was the last thing she needed. She had been
right about him. She stared at Sean’s crumpled and bloodied face, as he looked
back at her accusingly. Sebastian raised his eyebrows questioningly but she
shook her head adamantly. She didn’t want him killed, what was Sebastian
thinking?

This was it, Sean thought, undone by a slip of a woman in more
ways than one. He had become convinced, on the walk back out to the car, that
Kate had somehow signalled her location and persuaded him to return to the
house because she knew this man would be here. Now he was going the same way as
Brenna and what had he accomplished?

“Sorry,
deirfiúr
bheag
,”
he murmured.

But the gunshot never came. Sebastian instead riffled through
his pockets to find the car keys. Then the world slipped rapidly away from
Sean, as he was clouted viciously over the head with the butt of the gun.

Charles Hughes sat in front of his computer station glaring at
the screen in front of him. His
spreadsheets
were
refusing to print. They appeared in the printer queue but then just seemed to
freeze there. He sighed, ran a hand through his tawny blond hair, destroying
its usually neat appearance, and walked over to the office printer for the
fifth time just to check that his print out hadn’t suddenly materialised. He
had asked and no-one else in the office seemed to be having the same problem so
it couldn’t be a server error. He went back to his desk and decided to do a
search for another printer on the network that he could try to connect to.

He found another HP
laserjet
and set
it as his default printer instead. He tried printing the
spreadsheets
again and the screen seemed to indicate that it was successful. He then checked
the location of the alternative printer he had used and was surprised to
realise that it wasn’t on his floor and therefore belonged to another company
in the building. He traced the printer he had used to the next floor. He would
have to get the technical guys to sort things out, as he was obviously linked
up to the wrong network. Nevertheless, at least his work should have printed
this time.

He walked out of the office and up the stairs to the floor
above. “Bespoke Cars – Accounts Section” stated a simple metal plaque next to
the double doors where the printer lived. He smiled. Finally he might gain
entry into this prestigious company, even if it was just the Accounts
Department! He had applied for a job with Bespoke Cars, because of his love of
top of the range convertibles, but hadn’t even been offered an interview. 

He pressed an intercom and explained what he wanted to the
person that answered. He was buzzed in and a slickly dressed, morose-looking
man examined his id tag and looked him up and down disapprovingly.

“I can’t see your stuff being here,” he grumbled. “You guys
aren’t even on the same server as us.”

“I did seem to manage to connect to your printer though,”
Charlie insisted. “Can I just check and retrieve my documents?”

The man frowned at him. “If they have printed out here, I won’t
print to it again,” Charlie assured him. “I’ll get our technical people to sort
it out, I promise.”

The employee grunted and invited Charlie to follow him to a
printer in the corner of the office. He shuffled through the documents in the
printer tray, muttering to himself.

His expression changed to one of reluctant astonishment and he
thrust some paperwork at Charlie. “Here you are. This must be yours.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking it and turning to leave.

“Hey!”

Charlie pivoted back. “Don’t think you can come up here again,”
the fellow warned, his thin lips pursed into non-existence in his saturnine
face. “Make sure you get it sorted OK? If anything else
prints
out that isn’t
ours, it’s going in the shredder!”

Charlie raised his hands in a gesture of acquiescence and then
left, shaking his head.

When he got back to his desk, he looked through the documents to
check that he had everything. At the back of the pile was a sheet of
information he didn’t recognise. After all that griping, the stupid man had
given him one of
their
documents! He glanced down at it and was
interested to see that it was an invoice for an expensive sports car. He read
through the specifications, resting his hand on his cheek in dreamy
contemplation. What he wouldn’t do to own such an incredible vehicle!

As he looked down the list, something jarred but he couldn’t
quite grasp what it was at first. He read through the details again. When he
realised what he had seen, he suddenly sat back in his chair, a puzzled look on
his boyish face. A Porsche Cayman S did not have a folding roof and yet this
invoice clearly stated “convertible.”

He assumed it was some kind of mistake. No matter how good these
people were at personalizing cars, surely they couldn’t change a structural
part of the car like that? In any event, if the buyer wanted a convertible car,
all he had to do was buy a Porsche
Boxster
or similar
instead? Charlie knew it was none of his business but it niggled at him. He
decided it must be an administrative error of some sort. He had no wish to
return to their office to point this out to them in person and doubted he would
be permitted entry a second time anyway. Nevertheless, he had no qualms about
ratting on the prick he had dealt with in their office. He therefore decided to
drop them a quick email explaining how he had obtained the invoice and pointing
out the error.

Charlie checked his inbox before shutting down his computer for
the day at 4pm. He shrugged. Bespoke Cars hadn’t replied to his email. He got
the invoice out again to have a look at it. His eyes fell on the delivery date
stated at the bottom. It was yesterday! His gaze moved to the delivery address.
The house had a name rather than a number, which suggested that it was an
upmarket property, but the area postcode indicated that it was local.

He rubbed a hand across his mouth thoughtfully. It wouldn’t be
too far out of his way to make a detour on his way home. The car could be
parked on a driveway and, as it had been a clear day and the clocks hadn’t gone
back yet, it should still be light enough to see. If the car was out of sight
and he felt audacious enough, perhaps he could even impose on the homeowner to
let him view it? He might be more than happy to show off his new purchase?
Decision made, he stuffed the invoice in his back pocket and left the office, his
step a little bouncy and his skin prickling with anticipatory nerves.

 “You have reached your
destination”, Charlie’s
SatNav
declared as he pulled
up opposite some rather imposing wrought iron gates. All he could see was a
glimpse of a driveway through the gates and then his view was obscured by a
high stone wall that must extend around the house and grounds. He could see
some kind of intercom set into one of the pillars that supported the gates.
This was going to be more difficult than he had envisaged. If the owner was as
security conscious as it first appeared, he wasn’t going to let some complete
stranger come and nosy around his new car.

He dug the invoice out of his bag and
looked again at it thoughtfully. Should he pose as a representative of Bespoke
Cars? He wrestled briefly with his conscience and then decided to go for it. He
had come this far now and what harm would it do? The man could always just turn
him away.

He got out of his car and walked confidently
over to the intercom; he wanted to look purposeful in case there was also a
camera on the gate. He hesitated briefly but then pressed the buzzer. He was
committed now. Nothing happened at first and he peered between the bars on the
gate, finally catching sight of a large, mansion style house at the end of the
long, stony driveway.

There was a sudden gust of wind that
shook the trees on either side of the approach, the branches rattling together
like loose bones. Red autumn leaves rushed down to lie like dark drops of blood
on the wet ground. Charlie shivered and turned up the collar of his jacket. He
was about to head back to his car and he jumped in surprise when a loud voice
suddenly emanated from the speaker.

“What do you want?” it demanded belligerently.

He started to respond, his voice at
first deserting him and forcing him to cough. He then began again in a more
assertive tone.

“Hello, Mr
Williamson,” he said in greeting, having noted the name from the invoice.
“I understand that you have taken delivery of a luxury vehicle
recently and I am just following up as part of Bespoke Cars’ customer care
service.”

There was a long pause and then the
man queried suspiciously, “I don’t remember this being mentioned when the sale
was finalised. What is it that you want exactly?”

“I’m just checking that everything is
to your satisfaction, Sir. I won’t take up much of your time,” Charlie replied.

“Can’t this kind of thing be done over
the phone?” Mr Williamson asked. 

“Yes, Sir,” Charlie accepted, “but we
prefer to offer a more personal service. I’m sorry if it is unexpected. I was
in the area and was asked to drop by.”

“I’m not sure about this. I was
promised that this sale would remain very private. You turning up on my
doorstep
is
not exactly what I would call discreet.”

“I assure you Sir, that client
confidentiality has been in no way compromised,” Charlie declared, now starting
to regret his decision to investigate the car. This joker seemed to be very
uptight and he hadn’t thought it would be quite so difficult to gain access.
He’d now embroiled himself in a pretence that could prove hard to maintain.
What if this guy ended up calling the police?

However, Charlie had never run away
from a challenge in his life and, though all his instincts were screaming at
him to get out of there, his curiosity was highly aroused. If he didn’t follow
this through he would be left forever wondering about the car and castigating
himself for being such a coward.

“I am not happy about this. Not happy
about this at all,” Mr Williamson said, profound annoyance seething behind his
words. There was a very long pause. Charlie almost turned away, deciding that
he wasn’t going to be granted admission anyway.

“I suppose you’d better come up to the
house,” he heard the man finally concede. A high-pitched beep sounded and the
gates gradually began to open. Charlie expected them to creak but they glided
open with an almost eerie smoothness.

“I still need to know what you want.
This is highly irregular and I am sure there is something else you’re not
telling me.”

Charlie returned to his car and drove
through the open gates, shrugging off the chill that shuddered briefly through
him as he watched them shut behind him. Even in the dimming light, as he approached
the house, he could see how beautifully well-built and ornate it was. His
optimism returned. A man with taste like this surely couldn’t be that horrible?
He spotted the sizeable garage over to one side and his mood lifted even more.

He parked near the entrance and walked
up the steps to the porch, even more amazed by the sheer wealth that exuded
from this house, as his gaze took in all the elaborate details of the external
design. An unconcealed camera swung towards him as he approached the front door
and his nervousness returned, its glowing red eye pinning him with its
malevolent glare. He couldn't prevent himself from starting a little when the
heavy front door opened noiselessly and a large, fleshy man stood there, eyeing
him with obvious displeasure.

“I can't say you are welcome,” he
grumbled. “As you can see,” he said, tightening the belt on the maroon velvet
dressing gown he wore, “I wasn't expecting visitors.”

He opened the door wider and grunted,
“Follow me.”

Charlie obeyed, a little disconcerted,
especially as the guy didn't appear to be wearing anything underneath his robe.
The man's backside wobbled revoltingly, even beneath the thick garment and
flabby legs, riddled with ugly raised purple veins both drew and repelled his
gaze. They entered a large living area and Charlie's expression changed from
one of disgust to one of wonder. This single room was bigger than his entire
house and was tastefully decorated with myriads of sparkling lights that
beautifully highlighted the fascinating sculptures and large paintings
positioned around the room.
                                                                     

Mr.
Williamson gestured for him to sit on a large black sofa that
was set in front of an exquisitely carved dark oak table. Charlie remained
standing, sharply aware of his intrusion in this house and now anxious to just
see the car and get out of there. “I am sorry to impose on you like this. I
won't sit down, as I don't want to take up any more of your time than is
necessary. May I see the car?”

The man appeared to frown, but it was hard to tell
as his face had been surgically altered, the skin unnaturally taut, as though a
skin-coloured balloon had been stretched unwillingly over the frame beneath.
“Why do you need to see the car?” he answered irritably. “I thought you were
simply here to check on my satisfaction with her?”

Charlie hesitated, now wondering whether to come
clean and admit to his deception in the hope that the man would take pity on
him. However, one look into
Mr.
Williamson's
  muddy
blood-shot eyes, forced him to quickly discard
that idea; he'd seen wild dogs with more empathy in their gaze.

“Yes,” Charlie agreed. “I am here to make sure you
are completely satisfied. I am also here to check that the car is exactly as you
ordered and all the specifications are correct.”

Mr.
Williamson was definitely not reassured by Charlie's words. He scowled, putting
a hand to his mouth, his eyes scouring Charlie's face, as if he could gauge the
true meaning behind his words by the intensity of his gaze alone.

“Why do you need to check her? That kind of thing
should have been done before she was passed over to me.”