‘No. Just forget it,’ replied Summer. ‘Don’t mention anything to Adam.’ She turned to look at Erin, her eyes pleading, wondering if she had any idea of her relationship with Adam. ‘Please Erin, don’t say anything at all.’
Karin was determined to look particularly sexy tonight. As she walked into her bedroom, she thought of Adam across town, having dinner with Claudia Falcon, and frowned. Despite her pep talk with Lysette Parker in Paris, Karin was still convinced that Claudia was a threat. She was attractive, powerful and Adam needed her; it was a potent combination.
Well, we’ll see who’s got what it takes tonight
, thought Karin, letting her white bathrobe slip off her shoulders onto the floor.
Karin was due to join Adam and Claudia for drinks at Boujis in Chelsea and she was going to look dynamite. She picked up the deep-lilac silk dress lying on the bed and smiled to herself as she pulled it on, feeling the thin fabric skim over her naked body. She had decided against wearing underwear. Her breasts were round and firm enough not to need a bra and she loved letting Adam find out halfway through the evening that she was
sans
panties.
She glanced at her gold Cartier watch on the dresser; it was almost 9 p.m. Damn, she was late. Outside it was darkening quickly, the sky the darkest lavender streaked with spaghetti-thin lines of gold. Slipping on her shoes
and grabbing a jacket from her wardrobe, she turned off the light. Remembering she hadn’t closed the curtains, she turned back towards the window – and suddenly saw movement. She snapped back away from the window and peered round the curtain, making sure she stayed out of view. She gasped: there was a man sitting on the low wall at the end of her courtyard garden. She recognized him instantly – it was the boy she had seen hanging around her house, the one who had unnerved her with his intense stare. And now he was here, staring up at her window, his face pale, eerie and ghoulish in the dusk.
Karin found herself squeezing her hands into tight fists. She told herself sharply it was not fear, but she was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of vulnerability. How long had he been there? Minutes? Hours? Was he there every day? Nausea swept up her throat as she realized her curtains had been open, lights blazing as she had undressed. She stepped away from the window and pulled her mobile out of her bag, quickly dialling 999.
‘Operator, there’s an intruder on the premises,’ she hissed.
‘Is he in your house, madam?’ asked the voice at the other end of the line.
‘What? No, he’s in the garden,’ snapped Karin.
‘Are you in immediate danger, madam?’
‘Of course I am!’ said Karin, her voice rising. ‘There’s a pervert rapist stalking me and he’s sitting on the wall looking at me naked.’
‘The man is naked?’
‘NO!’ cried Karin. ‘I mean he was looking at me when I was changing.’
‘We’ll see if there’s a patrol car in the area. In the meantime, we would advise you do not leave the house.’
‘But I’m meeting my boyfriend at Boujis, I have to go!’
‘We really would advise you wait until the officers arrive.’
Karin sighed. ‘Oh, very well, but I shall expect a lift to the club afterwards.’
Adam put an arm protectively round Karin’s shoulder. ‘You’ll be okay, honey,’ he said, burying his nose in her hair.
She shrugged defiantly. ‘It’s fine, I’m just a bit shaken up, that’s all.’
She had telephoned him straight after ringing the police and she had been delighted that he had left his dinner with Claudia Falcon at once.
Adam turned to face her and she could see both admiration and concern. She felt a little flutter of excitement in her stomach. There was nothing like a little bit of jeopardy to test a person’s feelings. ‘We’ll get the security on your place tightened up,’ said Adam seriously, putting his strong hands on her shoulders. ‘I can get CCTV installed tomorrow. Fingerprint entry pads on every door. Everything.’
She took his hands and gripped them. She hated to show any weakness and she was not going to start now. ‘It’s okay, honey, really. I don’t want to become some paranoid freak. What do you always say about those rich guys that travel around in bulletproof cars? You become more of a target, don’t you? No, it’s sweet, but really I’m okay. He’s just a kid.’
A middle-aged policeman came across to speak to them, introducing himself as Sergeant Danners. ‘Do you want to go through what you saw, Miss Cavendish?’
‘I caught a pervert spying at me from the garden. He was probably there ages.’
She gave Sergeant Danners a description of the youth and accepted the cup of tea that Adam had made for her.
‘Is this the first time it’s happened?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve noticed him several times before, just hanging around.’
‘Hanging around?’ said Danners.
Karin shuddered. ‘He doesn’t actually do anything, but I think he’s following me.’
‘Did you report any of these previous incidents?’
‘No. But I wish I had. I think I know who he is as well. I was driving by a house on Pelham Grove, just around the corner from here, about a week ago, and I saw him coming out of the big white house at the end of the street. I think he lives there.’
Adam stood to face the man. ‘So what’s going to happen now? You caught him red-handed, didn’t you – surely it’s an open-and-shut case? We know where he lives …’ ‘Stalking, voyeurism, lewd conduct in an open space,’ said Karin, shivering. ‘I give you full authority to press charges on any count you want.’
Danners smiled politely. Working in this part of London where wealth and self-importance went hand in hand, he was used to dealing with victims who felt they knew more about police procedure and criminal law than he did.
‘Well, this is possibly an offence under the Protection from Harassment Act,’ he said gently. ‘Obviously we need to identify who this man is. For us to start any sort of procedure against him, he needs to have done it at least twice.’
‘Of course he has! Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve just told you?’
‘Once identified, we can get a harassment order against him. However, there does seem to be a lack of tangible evidence that constitutes “harassment”. Letters, emails, CCTV footage.’
Karin rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘So he’s going to get off scotfree is what you’re telling me?’ cried Karin, her voice full of disbelief.
Danners shook his head patiently. ‘No, Mrs Cavendish, that’s not what I’m saying. We could start off with a police
warning. That sometimes deters people, although not always. If the harassment then continues, it heightens our chances of a successful prosecution.’
Adam put a hand on Karin’s knee and turned to the policeman. ‘Officer, if both the police and the Crown Prosecution Service fail to have this man properly and fully prosecuted, I am prepared to go to the highest level to make it happen.’
Sergeant Danners allowed himself a small smile. He had little doubt this imposing businessman would actually be able to do what he said, but he stood his ground nevertheless.
‘I assure you, there will be a full investigation,’ he said evenly. ‘First of all we’ll go and check out this house on Pelham Grove, and in the meantime I can give you the number of a local support group aimed at people who have had similar experiences.’
Karin snorted. ‘Whatever.’
Sargeant Danners moved away and Karin curled her body into Adam’s. ‘I’ve heard about people like this. Erotomaniacs; they become fixated with someone, fantasize that they are in a relationship with them. They can spend
years
stalking them.’
Adam squeezed her arm and kissed the top of her head. ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen, honey.’
‘Will you stay?’ she asked softly, looking up into his eyes. ‘Or are you going back to your dinner with Claudia?’
‘I’m staying right here,’ he whispered.
She squeezed his fingers and smiled, but deep down she was frightened.
Sharif Kahlid was a man whose glory days were long behind him. At sixty-seven, his once handsome face was lined and the dark eyes which had sparkled in his youth had dulled and seemed to have shrunk back into his thin face. His small apartment, in a purpose-built block at the back of London’s Edgware Road was full of mementos from three decades of glamorous travel around the world: African carvings, a gold Buddha on the mantelpiece, a silk wall-hanging from the Forbidden City in Beijing. Now merely gathering dust, they were the only physical reminder of a glittering jet-setting lifestyle that had come to an abrupt end the second his employer had died. Sharif’s employer had been Adnan Hashemi, the well-known arms dealer. As Adnan’s private secretary for almost thirty years, Sharif had led a life of vicarious luxury; taking private jets from Gstaad to Palm Beach, Beirut to Antibes at the beck and call of his wealthy, powerful boss. But that life had ended four years ago with Hashemi’s heart attack and Sharif was still finding it hard to adjust to a humbler existence. His only luxury now was cooking for himself; buying a small amount of halal meat from the many Lebanese shops around Edgware
Road, adding okra and star fruit and serving the curries to himself on vast white platters, pretending he was at a banquet in Marrakech, or a yacht party in St Tropez.
Sometimes, when he’d had just enough arak, he could almost believe it was true. But, in the cold light of day, Sharif knew he was a has been, a spent force, the last sparkle of glamour tarnished away years ago. Until the day Molly Sinclair knocked on his door.
‘Forgive me for not being able to entertain properly,’ said Sharif, pouring a mint tea in a small amber glass and handing it to Molly. ‘Your visit has taken me a little by surprise.’
Molly took the glass from the little man and smiled. Yes, she was sure he was going to be just the man for the job.
Ever since the detox weekend, when Denise had drunkenly confessed that she had been Adnan Hashemi’s mistress, Molly had become obsessed with knowing the rest of the story. Yes, Denise had told Molly that she had introduced Donna Delemere to several of Adnan’s friends, but Molly had spent long enough on the international party circuit to know what
friendship
meant between young, pretty blondes and ageing arms dealers. The question was whether that friendship involved the exchange of money. Determined to find out, she had tracked down Hashemi’s private secretary, Sharif, having heard he was down on his luck and knowing that he might be willing to talk, if the price was right.
‘It’s been a long time, Sharif,’ smiled Molly. She hardly knew Sharif – their paths had crossed briefly at various nightclubs in the 1980s – but she knew a man like Sharif Kahlid would respond to flirtation and familiarity.
‘Indeed,’ he replied. His accent was clipped and precise; the product of an English public school education. ‘Although I am interested to know how you found me. I suspect our social diaries are rather different now. There is little need for me to travel in the circles I once did.’
‘Oh come, come,’ laughed Molly, ‘don’t be so modest. You were a player, Sharif. An important man. People like you don’t disappear without somebody knowing where you are.’ She touched his arm and his lip curled upwards.
He sat back in his worn leather chair, crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. ‘So, how can I help you, Molly?’ said Sharif. ‘I assume there is a purpose to this social call?’
Molly was glad to cut to the chase, feeling uncomfortable in this small flat stuffed full of weird ethnic trinkets. ‘Did you know a woman called Donna Jones about ten years ago?’
‘Perhaps. I was in the line of work where I met many, many beautiful women,’ he responded, raking his eyes appreciatively over Molly.
Molly reached into her handbag and produced a photograph of Donna and Evie from the christening. ‘The hair would have been blonde when you knew her,’ she said, handing him the picture.
He pursed his lips and cocked his head. ‘Possibly I recognize her,’ he said slowly, handing back the photograph. ‘What do you want to know?’
There was a defensive edge to his voice and his face was set in a challenging, defiant expression. Sharif had clearly done much more for his employer than booking hotel rooms. Wanting to make this as easy as possible, Molly picked up a leather folder from her feet and unzipped it slowly, opening enough for Kahlid to see it was full of twenty-pound notes.
‘A donation to the cause of your choice,’ she said, watching Kahlid’s eyes widen.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he said finally.
‘I’m acting for a friend,’ said Molly flatly. ‘A friend who needs to know about Donna’s past.’
‘Yes, I heard Donna married very well.’
‘She did. And that is why my friend wants no surprises about her.’
Sharif got up silently and went into the small kitchen to fill the kettle and put it on to boil, which he did with the elegance of a colonial butler.
‘Adnan was a very rich, powerful man who loved the company of women,’ said Sharif, returning to his seat. ‘When he was staying in London, where he would often entertain other important, rich men, they would want fun after they had concluded business. Donna Jones was one of a dozen girls who provided entertainment, not only to Adnan’s friends but to Adnan himself.’
‘Entertainment? You mean sex,’ said Molly matter of factly.
‘Indeed,’ replied Kahlid with a cautious smile. ‘Mostly with just one girl, sometimes two or three girls at one time. Donna was one of the more shy girls, but she was very popular, very charming and very adventurous.’
‘And was there payment involved?’
Kahlid let out a low, gravelly laugh. ‘You are clearly uninitiated in the ways of this world.’
‘Was there payment involved?’ repeated Molly.
He nodded. ‘Payment kept things simple.’
If knowledge is power, then Molly felt its electric charge rush around her body. For years she had been made to feel inadequate by Donna’s marriage and her charmed new life. But that choking knot of envy was now easing, melting away as Molly realized that Donna’s destiny was now in her hands.
‘How did you meet Donna?’ asked Molly, trying not to show her excitement. ‘Through Denise Duncan?’
Sharif nodded. ‘Denise was the sometime lover of Adnan, yes, and she introduced Donna to our circle. The first time I met Donna was at a party we threw in Mayfair. There were many, many important men there and Donna was picked out by one of the highest spenders. That first time,
I don’t think Donna expected to be paid for her, ahem, companionship,’ he smiled. ‘But I think she was pleasantly surprised when she was.’
‘The first time? So Donna entertained more than once?’ ventured Molly.
‘Of course,’ replied Sharif. ‘She became one of Mr Hashemi’s favourite girls. Sometimes she was his travel companion. You know, she would stay with him as he spent a week in St Tropez or Hong Kong perhaps. That would be a fifty-thousand-dollar date,’ he laughed. ‘I assume my employer found it value for money. Anyway, over the course of around two years Donna would have received –’ he steepled his fingers in front of his lips as he did the mental calculation ‘– in the region of two hundred thousand pounds, and that was just from Mr Hashemi – there were many others. Mr Hashemi also helped pay her bills and bought her gifts like handbags. I remember she liked Chanel.’
‘How do you know?’
Sharif laughed again. ‘I know, Miss Sinclair, because I arranged for the handbags to be bought. And I gave her money.’
Molly could hardly believe her ears. She had expected a few indiscretions, but nothing on this scale.
‘There were other men apart from Adnan, you say?’
Sharif nodded. ‘Yes, there were other clients I was aware of. Men of similar status and wealth as Adnan. Girls were always introduced by word of mouth, a very discreet process. Donna had a very good reputation.’
Molly put her hands together on her lap and leant forward. ‘Would you be prepared to sign an affidavit swearing to this?’
‘Is that really necessary?’ Kahlid asked, surprised. ‘Adnan had nothing to hide – his lifestyle was well documented. But some of the girls we used to use … Some are high
profile now, respectable. They would prefer to keep this quiet.’
Molly wondered who else was paid by Adnan Hashemi for sex? She’d heard many rumours that certain actresses, models and society wives had been escorts in their past.
‘I assumed, of course, that a man of your standing would continue to be loyal to Adnan,’ she smiled, reaching into her handbag and bringing out another handful of twenty-pound notes. ‘But would I also be correct in saying that, now he has passed away, your loyalties may have shifted slightly – to yourself, perhaps?’
‘Very true,’ shrugged Sharif, his eyes glistening once more.
‘Well, I suppose we should talk further about the level of my donation to your chosen charity,’ said Molly, beginning to count the notes out slowly.
‘Oh, I think you’ll find me a reasonable man,’ said Sharif. ‘Very reasonable indeed.’
‘So? What have you discovered?’ asked Alex Delemere briskly. Molly and Alex were sitting in a corner booth in a fish restaurant in Pimlico. Usually he would put his hand over hers as they dined, but today Alex had a steely look reserved for the boardroom not the bedroom. This was business not pleasure.
‘Everything I suspected is true,’ said Molly, taking a sip of mineral water. ‘Donna was a high-class call-girl, commanding five thousand pounds a night. Her clients were mainly Arabs, including the Saudi arms dealer Adnan Hashemi.’
Lord Delemere looked at Molly for a long moment, absorbing this information with an impassive face. ‘No wonder it’s not come out before,’ he said finally. ‘I doubt she runs into any arms dealers among Daniel’s group of friends.’
‘She’s been smart,’ said Molly matter of factly. She idly wondered what Donna had done right. After all, her friend
Denise, the one-time madam and longtime lover of Hashemi, was now relegated to being the wife of a Surrey businessman. Donna, the younger, more naïve friend meanwhile makes a fortune, then marries into aristocracy. She must have had a few tricks up her sleeve, thought Molly.
‘It’s disgusting,’ said Alex, ‘I must tell Daniel immediately.’
‘Now don’t be so hasty,’ said Molly, touching his sleeve. ‘I have been giving this some thought and we both know Daniel is no fool. He knows you don’t like Donna, so telling him she was a call girl would just look vindictive. He won’t believe you and you run the risk of him siding with his wife instead of you. No, the information has to come from a third party.’
‘Who were you thinking? You?’
Molly laughed. She had no intention of looking like a troublemaker either. That certainly wouldn’t suit her long-term plan.
‘No, darling. Of course not. I was thinking of a newspaper.’
‘You want a grubby tabloid to expose it?’ said Alex incredulously. A waiter approached him with the wine list and he waved him away. ‘This is my family’s reputation you’re talking about,’ he hissed.
‘Precisely,’ said Molly coolly. ‘Your son’s wife used to be a prostitute and it will come out sooner or later. The wise thing to do is to expose her now, while you can control the situation. You know every newspaper proprietor in the country. The story can be spun to vilify Donna as a money-grabbing fortune-hunter with Daniel as the victim. His reputation might take a blow in the short term, but he will recover quickly with good PR.’
She folded her hands. ‘The priority is to get Donna out of Daniel’s life, Alex. Remember, the longer you leave it,
the lengthier the marriage, the bigger the divorce settlement.’
At the mention of the money involved, Alex looked anxious, rubbing his forehead.
‘Yes, I think you’re right, we must act,’ he said, looking at Molly shrewdly. ‘You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?’
‘Of course I have,’ she smiled, waving the sommelier back over. ‘Now you just leave everything to me.’