The Legacy (8 page)

Lucy and Isobel checked in and were shown to their room. It wasn't quite as nice as the hotel in Kathmandu but it was clean and tidy. It would do for a few nights before they started trekking into the Annapurna Basin.

Lucy plugged her phone in to charge and headed for the bathroom. ‘Can I shower first?' she asked Isobel.

‘Sure' replied Isobel, falling onto the bed and closing her eyes. ‘I'll have a little kip whilst you make yourself beautiful. I expect it'll take you a while!'

Lucy's phone started to beep as life returned to the battery. Isobel got up and looked at the screen. It said that Lucy had eight missed calls and four texts. Isobel knocked on the bathroom door and opened it a few inches. ‘Someone's keen to get in touch,' she said, ‘you've got loads of missed calls and texts.'

‘Thanks,' shouted Lucy from the shower, ‘I'll be out in a minute.'

Isobel closed the door and resumed her position on her bed. When Lucy came out of the bathroom five minutes later, Isobel was fast asleep. Lucy sat on her bed and picked up her phone, smiling as she looked at the screen. She assumed that the messages and missed calls were from Harry but, as she read the texts, her smile faded. They were from a family friend and they were all the same: ‘Need to speak to you urgently, love Kate.' Lucy was starting to worry. Kate was an old and very close friend of her father's. The last time she'd seen her was when she was visiting her father about six months ago. She looked at her watch. Seven pm in Nepal was half past midnight in the UK. She found Kate's number in the contacts on her phone and pressed ‘call', hoping that Kate would still be awake.

The phone rang for a few minutes before Kate's familiar voice answered. ‘Hello?' she said.

Lucy could sense the stress in her voice. ‘Hi Kate, it's Lucy,' she said.

‘Oh Lucy, I've been trying to contact you all day. I am afraid I've got some dreadful news.' Kate was clearly in tears and was struggling to speak. ‘Your father has been badly hurt. He's in hospital here in Edinburgh but it's not looking good. You need to come home, quickly.'

Lucy was shocked. Her father was the toughest person she'd ever known. Nothing ever happened to him, he didn't even get colds. ‘What happened?' she managed to ask.

‘I'm not really sure,' replied Kate. ‘I got a phone call from the police this morning to say that your Dad had been stabbed and that they needed to contact his next of kin as quickly as possible. They'd found my number on his phone because he'd phoned me yesterday to tell me he couldn't meet me last night. We were going to have a drink together but he cancelled because he had to meet someone urgently. I've been at the hospital all day but he's been unconscious.'

Kate's words were tumbling out. She was clearly struggling to hold herself together. She'd been a friend of her father's for years and her obvious distress suggested that she cared deeply for him. Lucy suspected that they were more than just good friends. Ever discrete, her father had never confirmed it but Lucy suspected that he and Kate had been lovers for a long time.

They continued talking for a few minutes before Lucy said, ‘Right, I'll get back as soon as I can. I'm in the middle of nowhere in Nepal. I'll try and catch a flight back tomorrow.' Kate said that she would go back to the hospital first thing in the morning and that she'd phone Lucy if there were any changes in her father's condition. She'd also tell the police that Lucy was on her way. They had no idea who had stabbed her father and they were keen to talk to anyone who might be able to help them. Lucy thought about this. Given she hardly ever saw her father and that she'd been in Nepal for the last few days, she doubted she would be much help.

Lucy was crying as she woke Isobel. ‘I've got to go home,' she said, ‘my Dad's been badly hurt and they don't think he's going to make it.'

‘Oh Luce, I'm so sorry,' said Isobel, holding her friend tight as Lucy explained what Kate had told her. ‘Right, I'm coming with you,' said Isobel, ‘you phone the hospital and I'll sort out the travel.'

Lucy did as she was told. Eventually she got through to a nurse who was on the team looking after her father. ‘He's been very badly injured,' said the nurse. ‘He's fit and strong but he's lost a lot of blood and there's a fair amount of internal damage. The surgeons operated on him this morning but we're not out of the woods by a long way. He still hasn't regained consciousness and my strong advice is that you try and get here as soon as you can.'

Sobbing, Lucy thanked the nurse and said that she'd phone again later. Isobel had sprung into action whilst Lucy had been talking to the hospital, speaking first to the trekking company, then to an internal airline and then to Air India. She'd managed to book two seats on a flight from Pokhara to Kathmandu early the next morning but it proved more difficult to get a flight from Kathmandu to Heathrow. The only seats available were in Club Class for a flight leaving in the evening. Isobel disliked paying the extra money but, in this case, needs must.

Chapter 18

H
ighworth was sitting in front of a roaring fire, looking at the flames but lost in thought. He'd had supper with Caroline and then retired to his study, pouring himself a generous four fingers of whisky before collapsing into his favourite armchair. He particularly liked this room - indeed, it was one of the main reasons he'd bought the house all those years ago. It had a high ceiling, large ornate fireplace and spectacular views over the garden, though at this time of night all he could see in the windows was the flickering reflection of the fire. He'd furnished the room with care, allowing Caroline very little input into its decoration. It was masculine but elegant. Two old leather armchairs and a sofa were arranged in front of the fire which had an ornate and heavily gilded mirror over it. A club fender with a cracked leather top kept logs from falling out of the fire and onto the rug in front of the sofa. A large antique partners' desk with a green leather top was angled in one corner of the room. In the opposite corner was an old and highly polished round wooden dining table, a gift from Caroline for his fortieth birthday. It held an assortment of pictures of friends and family in various silver frames. The room could have come straight out of the property section of
Country Life
. Highworth was deep in thought. As was his custom when under pressure, he was thinking through the last few days' events, going over and over the detail in his mind until he was sure that he hadn't missed anything.

After his discussion with Knowles, he'd phoned Richards and arranged to meet him that afternoon before texting his wife, telling her not to expect him home until late. She hadn't complained. She knew that he didn't like working at weekends and she'd therefore realised that whatever was keeping him in the office must have been serious. Highworth had then phoned his head of research and told him to start digging into Sir Richard Knowles' recent investments as a matter of urgency. He'd explained that he was particularly interested in any losses that Knowles might have suffered as a consequence of Highworth's own investment strategies.

The head of research had listened intently. He wasn't particularly happy that his boss had phoned him at home on a Sunday but Knowles was one of the city's so-called ‘big beasts' and he had been intrigued. Why was Highworth suddenly so interested in him? It was well known that the two didn't get on but, at least up until now, they had tolerated each other. What had changed? Once Highworth had hung up, the researcher had started work. He'd phoned round his team, allocating tasks, and had then logged into the work IT system from his home office. He could do a fair amount by accessing the work system remotely but the really sensitive information was kept on the secure computers at work and would have to wait until Monday morning.

Richards had been his usual reserved self when they'd met. He'd listened intently as Highworth had recounted his meeting with Knowles.

‘So what are you concerned about?' Richards had asked. ‘We've been very careful. Knowles' heavies might have persuaded one or two people to talk to them but there's a world of difference between that and getting them to make a formal statement to the police. None of them would be stupid enough to do that.'

‘How safe is your assassin?' Highworth had asked. ‘The TV reports of Fairweather's death said something about a girl helping police with their enquiries. Is she a lose end?'

‘He's very safe,' Richards had replied. ‘If he left her alive it was because she didn't know anything. I suspect that if he'd killed her as well it would have been difficult to make it look like an accident and that was what you wanted.'

Highworth had taken his time replying. ‘My concern is that the only thing linking you and me to our most recent activities is the assassin. Knowles is going to play hardball. He's lost a lot of money on Tokifora and he's going to work at this 24/7 until he has something he can use against me. If he has solid evidence, which I agree is unlikely, my guess is that he'll go to the police. If he doesn't, he'll take what he has and get a tame journalist to leak it into the press as ‘unconfirmed rumours'. Either way, if he can make any of this stick, I've got problems.'

‘What exactly are you saying?' Richards had asked.

‘I'm saying that I want rid of the assassin,' Highworth had replied. ‘Knowles is a Grade A bastard and I've made him look a fool. He won't forgive that and he's going to do everything in his considerable power to try and take me down. If we get rid of the assassin, we get rid of the one solid link between us and the less acceptable activities we've been carrying out.'

Richards had smiled thinly. ‘I take it that when you say ‘less acceptable activities,' you mean the people we've killed?'

‘Yes,' Highworth had replied. ‘I agree with you that none of the people we've bullied would be stupid enough to go on record against us so I am not worried about accusations of coercion. But if Knowles' people can somehow link our activities to the assassin and if they can get him to talk, maybe as some sort of plea bargain, then I think things might start to come seriously unstuck.'

Richards had considered this for several minutes before replying. He was an unemotional man but, whilst he had no reservations about the morality of killing the assassin, he was concerned about the time it would take him to find a replacement that he could trust. Highworth wasn't his only client and there were one or two jobs that other clients had suggested might need to be completed within the next six months or so. As Richards had explained to Highworth on several previous occasions, finding someone who is prepared to kill for a few thousand pounds is relatively straightforward but finding someone as skilled and reliable as the assassin is remarkably difficult. Richards eventually replied. ‘OK. If you are sure it needs to be done, then I'll do it.'

‘It needs to be soon,' Highworth had said. ‘Before Knowles' team start to dig anything else up.'

‘No problem,' Richards had replied. ‘If he's in the country, the problem will be resolved within the next forty-eight hours.'

They had then discussed the price, agreeing a figure of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Highworth had expected the figure to be higher. Richards would be doing the job himself and this would expose him to a fair degree of personal risk. Highworth had therefore been happy to agree the figure without too much discussion.

Highworth took a long drink of his whisky and went through his conversation with Richards one more time to see whether he could spot any lose ends. He was still bothered about the girl that the police said had been at Fairweather's house when he was killed. This was one reason he wanted the assassin dead. If the girl had seen something and she was somehow able to lead the police to the assassin, then the whole thing could start to unravel. Satisfied that, at least for the moment, there was nothing more he could do, he got up, drained his whisky, switched off the lights and headed upstairs to the bedroom to find his wife. He hoped she was still awake. He needed something to take his mind off his meeting with Knowles and his wife would know exactly how to do this. He smiled at the prospect, undoing his tie as he climbed the stairs.

Chapter 19

H
arry woke up early. He'd opened his bedroom window the previous evening because of the heat and he could hear someone in the street below shouting directions to the driver of a lorry who was clearly having trouble reversing. He couldn't quite hear what they were saying but they were clearly getting increasingly agitated. A loud bang a few minutes later explained why. He'd always liked early mornings. When he was at school in Shrewsbury, he'd had to get up at six o'clock to go rowing before breakfast. Whilst his friends would complain about the early start, he enjoyed the walk down to the boathouse, listening to the sounds of the city starting to come alive. He remembered the sounds as if it were yesterday: toilets flushing, kettles boiling and dogs barking as they were put out to relieve themselves. He smiled at the memory, swinging his legs out of bed and padding naked to the bathroom.

He looked in the mirror. Though he hadn't shaved for a few days, he thought that he looked better than he had done in a while. The bags under his eyes were starting to go and the dry patches on his skin were disappearing. His last contract in Somalia had taken its toll, both mentally and physically, but he suspected that the reason he was starting to look so much better was that he was beginning to get over his ex. The thought of her prompted him to turn his hips so he could see his left buttock in the mirror. The face of a silver fish stared back at him. He smiled again. They'd managed to get two last minute tickets to a Chilli Peppers concert at Wembley. It had been an amazing experience, made all the more memorable as it was the band's last gig on a world tour that had lasted more than a year. They were high on its success and had played with a passion and precision that even Camilla, not their greatest fan, had found remarkable. Still humming the songs they'd heard, they headed into London to meet up with friends. Six hours of hard drinking later, he and Camilla had dared each other to get a tattoo. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way of proving their enduring love for each other. She went for a brilliant blue kingfisher, the signature symbol she was starting to use on her paintings, and then persuaded him to have a fish. He was sure there was some symbolism in the choice but it escaped him at the time and, unable to think of anything better, he agreed. He looked at the fish. He'd grown to like it and, though his relationship with Camilla was fast becoming ancient history, he thought he'd probably keep it. Camilla had certainly liked it; ever since he'd had it done, she'd called him ‘fish' as a sort of intimate nickname.

He relieved himself then padded back into the bedroom, pulling on running shorts and an old airborne forces t-shirt. He laced up his trainers and checked the e-mail on his laptop. Still nothing from Lucy. He'd hoped to hear from her last night. She'd suggested she would send him a note when she'd had the chance to discuss the schedule with the trekking agency and, in particular, the guide who would be leading them into the mountains. He wished he'd given her his phone number rather than his e-mail address but he knew that the phone network was patchy at best and e-mail was by far the most reliable way of getting messages to each other. His concern was that he knew she'd be leaving Pokhara early this morning and if she didn't get the opportunity to send a message before she started up into the hills, she wouldn't get another chance until she returned from the climb and was back in the town. He was surprised how badly he wanted to hear from her. ‘Maybe there'll be something by the time I get back,' he said to himself as he left the house and started to jog out towards the airport.