Topspin (23 page)

“They’ve disappeared off the face of the planet, Jack.”

Jack transferred the phone to his other ear. “Don’t worry, Cyril, we’ll find them eventually.”

“They ain’t still in the smoke, that’s for sure. The word’s out that I’m looking for them, so they wouldn’t be able to find a rock to crawl under in this neck of the woods.”

“It’s only been a couple of days.”

“Yeah, all right, but it’s the principle of the thing. I don’t like being taken for a jerk. And as for the toe rag who pointed them in your direction, just you wait till I get my hands on the little fucker.”

Jack could hear the menace in Cyril’s tone and wouldn’t have wanted to be in the shoes of the unfortunate guy when his identity became known.

“Any idea who it was?”

“Not yet, but I’ll find out soon enough. Have you still got that outfit keeping an eye on things on your end?”

“Yeah, if Wilf and Kevin set foot on the Island, we’ll know immediately.”

“Keep in touch, mate, and stay safe.”

“You too, Cyril, and thanks.”

As soon as Jack hung up his phone, it rang again.

“They’re in Croydon,” said the same modulated voice as before.

“Croydon! What the hell are they doing there?”

“We don’t know yet. They drove there this morning.”

“And where are they now?”

“Laid up in a house in East Croydon. We’re trying to find out who lives there.” Jack knew it wouldn’t take long for his contact to obtain that information, even if the tenants weren’t listed anywhere officially. “We know the make, color, and registration number of the car they’re driving, too.”

“I’d really like to know what’s taken them to Croydon.” Jack had a nasty feeling about this one. “Like I said before, they’re unlikely to confront me directly, that isn’t their style. Even two against one aren’t the sort of odds they’d risk. They’re more likely to arrange for me to have a little accident, but they’ll want me to know they’re coming in the hope that I’ll sweat a bit first.” Jack’s tone implied there was little likelihood of that happening.

“Do you imagine that’s why they put the word out that they were looking for you but haven’t headed for the Island yet?”

Jack snorted. “That’s exactly what I think.”

“No worries. I’ll put another couple of operatives on things at your end as well, to keep an eye on your apartment and car.”

“Thanks, and while you’re on I’ve got another job for you.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to find out all you can about the freehold in respect of Porchfield Country Club here on the Island.” Jack gave him the address and could hear scratching noises as the information was written down. “There are two hundred members who hold equal shares in the leasehold interest in the tennis section and as many again involved on the golfing side. There’s a main committee that controls the whole club and separate sub-committees that run the two sections. The freehold is supposed to be owned by a Desmond Brown, but I’ve never laid eyes on the man. I don’t know if he’s still alive or if he’s sold part or all of that freehold. If he has sold, I need to know who to. Any activity on the legal aspects of the tennis section is of particular interest.”

“Got it. I’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, and one other thing, find out if any planning applications have been submitted, or informally discussed, in respect of the club land.”

“I’ll get straight on it.”

The line went dead, and Jack went back to reading his E-mail, deleting without responding to one from an old flame who was hankering after a free holiday, his mind still occupied with the constitution of the tennis club. His unease about Ed’s intentions had recently intensified. He sometimes speculated about how Ed had wangled membership in the club in the first place. Jack himself would never have got in but for a combination of his tennis ability, general popularity, and friendship with Joe, who’d nominated him for membership. He’d been fielding inquisitive questions about his past life ever since, unwittingly creating an air of mystery about himself which only increased his popularity. Angela was another one who’d obviously used the system to overcome social inequality. The chairman of the membership committee had personally backed her application. Jack chuckled, not needing to apply too much grey matter to the question of how she’d pulled that one off. Good for her!

But Ed? He was a horrible, Rackman-type landlord who, from what Jack could gather, charged maximum rents for sub-standard short lets and, reading between the lines, was in over his head financially. He was a fish out of water at the club, adding fuel to the golfers’ argument that the tennis membership was lowering the overall standard of the country club. His attempts at refinement were laughable, but he was clearly desperate to be accepted by the club’s elite and had devised some sort of private agenda through which he hoped to achieve that ambition. The very thought made Jack uncomfortable.

He was about to switch his computer off when another e-mail popped up in his in box. He frowned when he realized it was from Colin Palmer and opened it immediately, wondering what the bastard was up to now. It was a round robin regarding the proposed trip to Bisham Abbey.

“Christ, he doesn’t waste time,” Jack said aloud.

Colin had, apparently, discovered there’d been a cancellation for the coming weekend, which the club was being invited to fill at a greatly reduced price. Those interested would need to leave Thursday afternoon, returning Tuesday morning. The prices did seem to be very reasonable, and although Jack’s antenna was on full alert, he couldn’t see that the trip was anything other than a genuine attempt to improve standards.

He pressed reply and booked his place on the trip.

Chapter Eleven

A
NGELA
L
EFT
T
HE
M
EETING
with Paul feeling emotionally drained. And absolutely stunned by what he’d asked her to do. The handles of the carrier bag containing the photographs and video scorched her palm. She was tempted to dump it unopened in the first bin she came to and wash her hands of the entire seedy affair.

Except that it was too late for that. She was involved, whether she liked it or not. The question was what should she do with the knowledge she now possessed? She loitered in the car park, watching the ducks on the river at the bottom of the pub garden squabbling over bread being thrown to them by two kids. When her mobile rang she knew it would be Claire. Again. She’d called three times already, but Angela left this latest call unanswered as well. She needed time to get her head around what she’d just learned before she spoke to anyone. Especially Claire.

Angela was sickened, not only by Claire’s behavior but by the totally self-centered aspect of her character that had surfaced yesterday. She’d never be able to look upon Claire in the same light ever again and was only helping her now because she couldn’t bear to think what it would do to Joe if he learned the truth.

She climbed into her car, threw the carrier bag onto the rear seat, and dialed the salon where she worked. Her fellow beautician Maria answered the phone. Angela told her she wasn’t feeling well and was taking the rest of the day off. Maria was always pulling sickies herself and would just have to cover for Angela for a change.

Without returning Claire’s calls, Angela started her engine and set out for her house. What she had to say needed to be done face to face. She was deep in thought as she waited for the lights at Coppins Bridge to change, and by the time she pulled onto the dual carriageway that would take her into Cowes she’d already decided that this was too big for her to deal with alone. They needed help, so Claire was going to have to confide in someone else. She wasn’t going to like it, but tough shit. Angela changed lanes without indicating and almost caused a collision. She waved apologetically to the irate motorist she’d cut up, her mind still on Claire’s anticipated objections. This was now about more than one woman’s struggle to keep her extramarital activities secret, so she had no choice but to swallow her pride and do as she was bloody well told.

Claire pulled her front door open before Angela could ring the bell.

“Angie, thank God you’re here! I’ve been going out of my mind.”

Angela’s resentment at Claire’s selfishness was digging deeper by the minute, and she deliberately took her time handing over the carrier bag.

“Is that everything, do you think?”

“Yes, thanks, Claire, I survived my meeting with Paul. It’s good of you to ask.”

“I’m sorry, Angie.” Claire moved forward to kiss her cheek but Angela turned her face away. “I didn’t stop thinking about you for a minute, you must know that. I know what it cost you to go to that meeting, and I really felt for you.”

Angela’s eloquent silence on the subject was obviously lost on Claire.

“What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Jack.”

Angela had phoned him on the way to Claire’s. Fortunately she’d caught him at home. He must have been able to detect the anxiety in her tone because he’d agreed that she could come round straight away. Anyone else would have asked what the panic was all about. But not Jack. That was one of the things she liked about him. She might not be able to attract him on a personal level, but he was unswervingly loyal to his friends. And right now that was what she needed more than anything else—a friend she could rely on and trust.

“Why?”

“Because this thing is too big for us. We need help, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my side in a crisis than Jack.”

Claire’s already lily-white complexion paled even more. “He won’t have to know what I’ve done, will he?” Her hands tore nervously at the carrier bag handles. “Please don’t make me do that, Angie. He’ll lose all respect for me.”

“Tough!”

“Angie, please, he’s bound to tell Joe.”

“Look, Claire, I haven’t got time to waste. I’m already losing an afternoon’s wages, thanks to you.”

“I’ll pay you, if that’s all you’re worried about.” Angela threw a withering glance Claire’s way. “Sorry, Angie, that didn’t come out right. You know I appreciate all you’ve done for me. But telling Jack…I don’t think I can—”

“This is about more than just you and your rampant libido. Try to think about others besides yourself. Come on, we’ll walk down to the front and I’ll tell you what Paul told me on the way. Then you’ll see that you have little choice but to put your faith in Jack. Besides,” she added briskly, nodding toward the carrier bag, “a pound gets you a penny those aren’t the only copies Paul has. If you’re to stand any chance of getting your hands on the originals, then you’ll need someone of Jack’s ilk in your corner.”

That got Claire’s attention. “Just a minute.”

All business now, she turned to the side of the house where an incinerator was burning. Angela watched her throw the entire carrier bag and its contents into it. It landed in a shower of sparks that flew in Claire’s direction, leaving sooty marks on her clothing. She poked the fire with a stick until she was satisfied that nothing incriminating had survived. Only then did she return to Angela and fall into step beside her.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

Jack had been surprised to hear from Angela in the middle of a working day. Conscious of the panic in her tone, he wondered what had happened to upset her and didn’t hesitate to invite her round. Until then his mind had been occupied with the information he’d just received about Ed. It would appear that Brown had recently sold his freehold interest in the club to a company called Farnborough Enterprises. It hadn’t taken much more digging by Jack’s helpful operators to discover that Farnborough Enterprises was registered in the Cayman Islands. Ed had a forty-nine percent holding in the company, with the majority share being held by one P. Aston. Jack didn’t know who Aston was, but discovering his identity wasn’t Jack’s most immediate concern. Although Ed was the minority shareholder, as a member of the club his role was obviously pivotal in advancing the company’s cause, and Jack had no difficulty in believing the whole idea had been Ed’s in the first place. Porchfield was a prime piece of real estate: several valuable acres of land, with a distant view of the Solent, in a perfect location. If he could push his scheme through then he’d be made for life.