Starburst (22 page)

“No! Don’t do that!” Angélique cried out, jerking up her head to glare at him with fear burning in her eyes.

Jamie held up his hands to calm her. “All right, all right, we won’t do that.” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Angélique, I haven’t got a bloody clue what’s gone on this evening, but if you’re trying to hide away from someone or something, the press will get wind of it the moment you don’t turn up for your next concert, and I’m afraid they’ll come looking for you. There’s a spare bedroom in my flat which you’re more than welcome to have for a night or two, but I can’t hide you there forever unless I know who or what I’m hiding you from.” He leaned forward on the table when Angélique Pascal made no reaction to his reasoning. “So, what do you want me to do?”

The violinist did not answer for a moment or two, but sat staring at her bandaged hand. “Listen, maybe,” she said eventually, looking up at him, “for an hour or so?”

Jamie nodded. “Okay, I’d be happy to.” He glanced round as Martha came out from behind the counter and scooped up her bag. “Let’s leave it for now,” he said quietly, giving Martha a nod.

She walked over to the entrance door and pulled it open. “Come on, then,” she said resignedly. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

C
athy Dent and Phil Kenyon were deep in conversation when they walked into the office of the Exploding Sky Company just as the clock that hung amongst the framed photographs on the far wall clicked onto nine o’clock. Both stopped talking when they realized that Roger was already there, sitting with his feet up on the desk, a mug of coffee in hand, and staring out of the rain-lashed window at the dark Cotswold landscape.

Taking it that the boss was in one of his morning moods, Phil pulled a long face at Cathy before walking over to Roger and giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “How’re things this morning, mate?” he asked jovially. “Raring to go, are we?” He dumped the files he had been carrying onto the desk and then went through to the small kitchen that led off the room to make some coffee for himself and Cathy.

Cathy pulled out the chair next to Roger and sat, pushing the button on her computer to boot it up. She looked across at her husband, who was yet to acknowledge her entry. “You all right, love?” she asked with a hint of concern.

He turned to her and smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I never heard you get up this morning.”

“I know that. I’ve been here since six o’clock.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Nothing much. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Roger shrugged his shoulders. “This and that.”

Phil came through from the kitchen carrying the two mugs of coffee. Handing one to Cathy, he pulled across a wheeled secretary’s chair from the other desk and then reached across in front of Roger for the schedule diary before sitting down. He placed his mug on the edge of the desk and opened the diary at the paper clip, moving it across to mark the page for the seventeenth of August. “Right, so it looks like we’re getting gear ready for Edinburgh today.”

Sliding his feet off the desk, Roger leaned forward and put his own mug on the desk. “We’re doing a bit more than that, Phil.”

Phil caught Cathy’s eye with a questioning frown, but she answered only with a shake of her head. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Roger picked up the pile of papers in front of him, evened them up with a hard tap on the desk and handed them to his colleague without looking at him. “Tell me what you think of that.”

Phil glanced through them quickly. “This is the firing plan for Edinburgh.”

Roger nodded.

“You’ve changed it.”

“Yeah, I have.”

“But you’ve gone and added stuff.”

“I know.”

Phil went back to the beginning of the firing plan and silently studied Roger’s alterations in detail. When he eventually turned over the final page, he blew out a long breath of frustration. “Mate, this is going to screw up all the timings.”

“No, it’s not. All the new firings will be simultaneous with those already programmed.”

Phil tossed the papers onto the desk. “But we’re completely full up on the slave units, Rog. There’s no room for this lot.”

“I’m going to increase the number of slaves from thirty-seven to forty. That should do it.”

“And complicate the whole thing to hell as well. Jeez, mate, this isn’t going to be easy to set up.”

“I know. That’s why I’m rescheduling our departure from here for the twenty-sixth of August. That’ll give us a day extra.”

Phil flipped through the pages of the diary. “That’s only in nine days’ time!”

“Yes, so we’ve got a bit of work to do, haven’t we?”

“And how! What about the crew? Are they going to be able to make it?”

“Not sure yet. Cathy can send round an e-mail to tell them about the change in plan. If not, then we’ll just start rigging without them.”

Cathy had sat silently watching her husband during the interchange between the two men. Getting up from her chair, she went to stand behind her husband, encircling his neck with her arms and giving him a kiss on top of his thinning pate. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked.

“Yeah, love, this is it.”

Phil let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Okay, you two, what’s cooking? I’m obviously being kept in the dark about something.”

Roger held hard to his wife’s hands as he looked across at his colleague. “My swan song, old friend. I’ve decided Edinburgh’s going to be my last show.”

Phil stared at his boss, open-mouthed. “You’re joking, Rog.” He paused. “Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.” Roger unwrapped his wife’s hands from around his neck and rose stiffly to his feet. “I’ve been doing this for over twenty years now and I’m just…dog-tired of it all. This is a young man’s game, Phil. This constant shifting around the country, the intensity of the workload, it’s all getting too much for me. I just feel the time’s right to move on. I want to take it easy, spend some quality time with Cathy, and maybe do something completely different.”

“Like what?”

Roger chuckled as he stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his chinos. “I’ve always fancied the idea of breeding pigs.”

Phil threw back his head in laughter. “Mate, you cannot be serious! What the hell do you know about breeding pigs?”

“About as much as I did about putting on a fireworks display when I first started out.”

“He’s actually very knowledgeable,” Cathy interjected. “He’s been reading up on it for the past year.”

Phil shook his head in disbelief. “God, is that how long you’ve been planning all this?”

“Maybe a bit longer,” Roger replied. “It was one of the reasons I bought this place out here in the country. The thirty acres that were included in the sale are all I’m going to need.”

Phil sucked on his teeth. “My word, Rog, you don’t half take the wind out of a bloke’s sails.” Discarding the diary onto the desk, he pushed himself to his feet and scratched at the back of his head. “So, that’s it, then. The end of the Exploding Sky Company.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Roger replied, picking up a lengthy typewritten document from the desk and handing it to the tough little Australian.

“What’s this?”

“A partnership agreement.”

“Saying what?” Phil asked, glancing at the front page.

“That I keep a vested interest in the Exploding Sky Company, but hand over forty-nine per cent of the company to my new partner. The business is doing well, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to pay for his shareholding over a ten-year period on a no-interest loan basis.”

Phil’s eyes never left the page. “My name’s on this.”

“Of course it is,” Roger replied with a laugh. “I wouldn’t take anyone else on as a partner. You, Cathy and I have built up the Exploding Sky Company together, Phil, and if you’re not going to take it on, then I’d rather close the whole damned shooting match.” He flicked his head to the side. “But it’d be a pity, especially seeing we’re at the top of our profession.”

Phil stood for a moment in silence, biting on his bottom lip as he flicked through the pages of the agreement. “It’s a bit of a no-win situation for you and Cathy, ain’t it?”

“Not at all. We have a company that keeps going and we retain a controlling shareholding. We don’t lose out at all.” He eyed his colleague. “So what d’you think?”

Phil shrugged his shoulders. “What d’ya think I think! I’ll go for it, mate, without a whimper of doubt.”

Roger put out his hand and the Australian grabbed it and shook it forcefully.

“Only thing is,” Roger said, holding up a finger, “part of the payment is this.” He pointed at the new firing plan for Edinburgh. “I want to put together a display that’s going to break new ground, one that’s just going to knock ’em all dead, and I want you to make it work.”

Phil laughed. “You wanna go out with a bang, mate.”

Roger slid an arm around Cathy’s shoulders. “Quite literally, old friend, quite literally.”

W
hile Gavin Mackintosh retrieved a parking ticket from the machine on the corner of the street, Thomas Keene junior stood next to the solicitor’s Volvo, tentatively surveying his surroundings, wondering if there might be some ominous reason behind Mr. Mackintosh’s choosing to park his car in the exact location where, just over two weeks ago, T.K. had bid a hasty retreat with the stolen video camera. There seemed no interest in his presence there—cars passed noisily along London Street’s wide cobbled thoroughfare, and a few pedestrians strode unconcernedly to and fro on the pavements—but to T.K.’s distrustful eye, it was the normality of it all that posed the greatest threat.

Sticking the ticket onto the windscreen of the car, Gavin shut the door and glanced across at T.K., witnessing the obvious unease in the boy’s manner, but taking it solely as an attack of nerves at the thought of the imminent meeting. Gavin walked over to him and gave him a light, reassuring slap on the back. “Come on, then. Let’s go meet the man.”

They crossed the street and climbed the three wide stone steps that led up to one of the many entrance doors in the row of smooth-stoned, tall-windowed Georgian buildings. Running his finger down the list of names on the polished brass panel, Gavin pressed one of the buttons and stood back, whistling gently to himself.

“This is the residence of Mr. James Stratton,” a woman’s voice crackled from the speaker, affecting a smart upper-class accent quite unconvincingly. “How can I be of assistance?”

Gavin chuckled to himself and pressed the button. “Is Jamie there, please?”

“I ’aven’t seen him this morning,” the voice replied, now in a strong Yorkshire accent. “’E’s probably still in his bed.”

“I see. Well, my name is Gavin Mackintosh and I’m Jamie’s solicitor, and I do need to see him quite urgently, so I would be most grateful if you could let me in.”

“Okay then, hang on a mo’.” There followed an amplified crash and a distant expletive at the other end of the line, and after a few seconds the voice said, “Oops, sorry ’bout that. I dropped the receiver.” A long pause then ensued. “I don’t suppose you ’ave the faintest idea ’ow this wretched thing is supposed to work?”

“I think there’s a button on top of the phone you have to press.”

Immediately there was a long buzzing sound and Gavin pushed open the heavy entrance door. With T.K. following at his heels, he made his way up the three flights of well-worn stone stairs to Jamie’s flat, where a small plump woman with short streaked hair was waiting to greet them at the door.

“Good morning,” Gavin said, holding out a hand to the woman. “You must be one of Jamie’s new tenants. I’m Gavin Mackintosh.”

“Rene Brownlow,” the woman replied, taking his hand and giving it one strong brief shake. “Pleased to meet ye.”

Gavin revealed his young companion, who was lurking behind him. “And this young man is Thomas Keene junior.”

Rene nodded a short, querying greeting at the boy before stepping back into the flat. “Well, you’d better both come in, then.” She shut the door with a bang when Gavin and T.K. had entered. “As I said on that phone thing, I ’aven’t seen Jamie this morning. D’you want me to knock on his bedroom door?”

“Not necessarily straightaway,” Gavin replied, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t happen to know Jamie’s other tenant, would you?”

Rene shook her head. “No, not really. We’ve passed once or twice in the corridor, but we haven’t got as far as a formal introduction yet.”

Gavin sucked on his teeth. “Well, not to worry. Would you have any idea if he’s here or not?”

“Aye, I know that for a fact.” She pointed to a door at the end of the corridor. “I saw ’im go into the sitting room about ten minutes ago.”

“Right,” Gavin replied with a slow nod as he eyed the door, “but you can’t help me with his name?”

“I’m afraid I ’aven’t a clue.” There followed a brief moment before enlightenment shone on Rene’s face. “’Ang on a mo’ though. I’m pretty sure Jamie’s written it down on the wall chart in the kitchen.” She walked past them into the first room on the left. “Aye, ’ere it is,” her muffled voice called out from behind the door, “Leonard ’Artson.” She reappeared back in the hall seconds later. “Did ye get that? Leonard ’Artson’s ’is name.”

Gavin smiled broadly at her. “Thank you.” He pointed at the sitting room door. “What I’m going to do then is just pop in there to see Mr. Hartson with Thomas, and hopefully by the time we finish, Jamie might have surfaced from his bedroom.”

Rene shrugged. “Fine by me. Do you want a cup of coffee or summat to take in with ye? I’ve just put the kettle on.”

Gavin shook his head. “That’s very kind, but I think we’ll give it a miss. Thomas and I have something pretty important we need to discuss with Mr. Hartson.”

Rene stood and watched as Jamie’s solicitor, shadowed by the strange young man, walked down the hall and knocked on the door of the sitting room. When it was answered, he pushed it open and peered around the side. “Mr. Hartson?” she heard him ask, “I hope I’m not disturbing you. Might I come in for a moment?”

Half an hour later, seated at the kitchen table, Rene looked up from the aged copy of
Hello
she had been leafing through to see Jamie enter the room dressed in nothing but a bath towel tucked in around his waist. Seemingly oblivious to Rene’s presence, he made his way over to the sideboard as if working on automatic pilot and switched on the kettle. Rene smiled as she cradled her cup of tea in her hands. “Ye shouldn’t go walking round the place like that, Jamie, when ye’ve got impressionable ladies as your ’ouse guests.”

Turning with a start, Jamie folded his arms across his chest as if attempting to cover his semi-nakedness and peered at Rene through bleary eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had a bit of a late night. I’m not really with it yet.”

“Out on the booze, were ye?”

“I wish,” he replied, turning to take a mug from the cupboard above the sink. He spooned in a large heap of instant coffee and filled it to the brim with boiling water, and then, walking across to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh of exhaustion, as if the very action had drained the last remaining cell of energy from his being. “I had to take someone to the hospital.”

Rene’s humored expression turned to one of concern. “Nothing too serious, I ’ope.”

“Not really. Three stitches in a cut hand,” Jamie replied, leaning forward on the table and rubbing at the gritty tiredness in his eyes. “But that turned out to be only half the story.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jamie smiled at her. “Well, I would, but…it’s all a bit secretive, really.”

Rene nodded understandingly. “Okay, but let me know if there’s anything I can do to ’elp.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks.” He glanced at his watch and pushed himself up from the table. “Listen, I’ve just got to make a phone call.”

At that point, a door slamming shut at the far end of the corridor jogged Rene’s memory. “Damn, I almost forgot to tell ye. Yer solicitor called in about ’alf an ’our ago, along with some dozy-looking young lad. They’re in the sitting room right now with that gentleman who’s staying ’ere.”

Jamie frowned quizzically at Rene. “Gavin Mackintosh?”

“Aye, that’s yer man.”

“He’s here in the flat?”

“That’s right,” a voice said from behind him, and Jamie turned to see the solicitor’s portly frame standing in the kitchen doorway.

Jamie gave his head a quick disbelieving shake. “How weird is that? I was just about to call you. What on
earth
are you doing here?”

“Just a bit of worthwhile networking. I’ve managed to find someone to give your Mr. Hartson a hand.”

“What?” Jamie asked, still baffled by Gavin’s presence in the flat. “Who?”

Gavin came into the kitchen and flumped himself down on the sagging sofa that was pushed hard against the wall next to the fridge. “A young man called Thomas Keene. I doubt you’d know him, Jamie.” He let out a short laugh. “Not quite in the university scene, this one.”

“And what did Mr. Hartson think?”

“He reckons Thomas will suit his needs extremely well, and all I can say is I hope to hell he’s right.” Gavin crossed his legs and stretched his hands along the back of the sofa. “Mind you, I was pretty amazed just how well the lad managed the interview. I doubt he’s ever undergone one like that before in his life.”

“So what’s he been doing up until now?”

Gavin wagged a finger at Jamie. “Ah, that’s between myself, Thomas and Mr. Hartson for the time being. Let’s just say we’re in a probationary period.”

Rene laughed. “I think I understand where ye’re coming from. I’ve known a lot of lads like that in my time.” She got up from her chair. “’Ow’s about I make ye a nice cup of tea or coffee now, then, Mr. Mackintosh?”

“I think a black coffee would go down a treat, Rene. Thank you.” Gavin turned to Jamie. “So what were you going to call me about?”

Jamie scratched a hand at the back of his neck and glanced furtively in Rene’s direction. “Well, it’s a bit…delicate.”

“Don’t worry,” Rene said, having caught the look, “I can take a hint. I’ll make myself scarce.” She made up the mug of coffee and handed it to Gavin. “I’ve got to come up with some more funnies for my show tonight, any road.”

Jamie leaned his bottom against the work surface and folded his arms. “Yeah, how’s it all going? Did the newspaper review help?”

“A bit. I’m playing to about half capacity now, but it’s still a struggle.” She smiled at the two men. “But that’s my problem, in’t it? I’ll let you get on with yer own.”

As she closed the door behind her, Gavin looked questioningly at his young client. “What problem are we about to discuss now, Jamie?”

Walking back to the table, Jamie pulled out a chair, spun it around to face Gavin and sat down. “Well,” he started, and then, with a brief shake of his head, he leaned forward on his knees. “Gavin, you are
not
going to believe who I’ve got sleeping in the free bedroom.”

“Tell me.”

“Are you ready for this?”

“I’m all ears, Jamie,” Gavin replied, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

“Angélique Pascal.”

Gavin almost choked on his coffee. He hurriedly set his mug down and took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

“I think you’re having your leg pulled, lad,” Gavin laughed, wiping his mouth.

“It’s no joke, Gavin.”

Gavin stared at Jamie open-mouthed. “Are you really being
serious,
Jamie?”

“Yeah, course I am.”

“In that case…” Gavin shook his head, momentarily lost for words, “…what in the name of goodness is she doing here?” He cast a calculating eye over Jamie’s state of undress. “You haven’t, erm, become…involved with—”

“No, of course not,” Jamie remonstrated. “It’s nothing like that. I met her in a café last night, and me and this other girl ended up taking her to hospital, and then afterwards…”

“You had to take her to
hospital?
Why?”

“She’d cut her hand quite badly.”

“Her hand?” Gavin’s eyes suddenly clouded over with consummate concern and he shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, Jamie, she can’t have cut her hand. Not
her
hand.”

Jamie bit at his bottom lip. “Yeah, I know what you mean. That’s why
she
was so terrified to go to the hospital. She really thought she was going to be told she’d never be able to play the violin again. However, as it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. The doctor said no tendons had been touched and that the swelling in her fingers would soon go, so I reckon she won’t be out of action for too long…probably won’t do anything else at the festival this year, though.”

“You
reckon, Jamie? I’d be more interested in hearing the doctor’s considered opinion.”

Jamie paused for a moment, caught in the solicitor’s steely glare. “Actually, Gavin, we never mentioned to the doctor that Angélique was a violinist. In fact, I did something that’s probably against the law. I gave her a false name when we registered her at the hospital.”

“You did
what?
”

“Listen, she insisted on it. I couldn’t go against that. She said she didn’t want anyone to know who she was, because she was frightened the press would find out about her injury, and…she didn’t want her whereabouts to be known, either.”

Gavin tried to unscramble the baffling rationale behind the violinist’s presence in the flat.

“Jamie…Jamie,” he stuttered, holding up his hands as if trying to steady his thought process. “I’m completely in the dark as to what is going on, so could you please just start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened last night?”

“Okay, but it could take some time. I was up until five o’clock this morning listening to the whole saga.”

Gavin nodded. “Right,” he said, pushing himself up from the sofa. “I think I’d better cancel all my appointments for this morning.” He thumped at the pockets of his suit jacket. “Hell, I must have left my mobile in the car. Can I use your telephone?”

Jamie pointed at the door. “It’s out there on the sideboard.”

When Gavin had left the kitchen, Jamie got up and went to make himself his customary second black coffee of the morning. As he poured water into the mug, he heard a single knock on the door and turned to see Leonard Hartson standing outside in the hall with a tall, straggly-haired youth peering over his shoulder.

“I thought I’d let you know I have found myself an assistant,” Leonard said, “due to the kind endeavours of your solicitor. I just wanted to thank you for putting the word around so promptly.”

“Glad it all worked out, Mr. Hartson,” Jamie replied, carrying his coffee over to the door and leaning a shoulder on the doorpost. “Hope all goes well for you. Are you going to start filming today?”

“No, not yet. My immediate plan is to give young Thomas here a crash course on all the equipment.” The cameraman turned and smiled up at the youth. “It’ll be a steep learning curve, but I am counting on my new assistant to be a very fast learner.”