The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET. Scott Mariani
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She looked at him defiantly. ‘I don’t need you any more. I panicked, that’s all. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ve got things under control now.’
‘Your reception committee? I noticed.’
‘If you’ve gone out of your way to get here, I’ll make it worth your while.’ Her handbag was lying on an armchair. She walked over to it, took out her purse and started counting banknotes.
‘I don’t want your money, Leigh. I want to know what’s going on.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You’re putting on a circus?’
She put the purse down. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Why else would you hire a bunch of clowns?’
‘They’re for protection.’
‘They couldn’t protect you from a gang of Quakers.’
‘I had to hire someone. You weren’t there. Just like the other time.’
‘I’m here now,’ he said. ‘I’ve come all this way-at least tell me what’s going on.’
She sighed, relenting. ‘All right. I’m sorry. I’m tired and I’m scared. I need a drink. Want one?’
Ben laid his brown leather jacket on the back of a settee. ‘That sounds like a good start,’ he said. ‘I could do with a decent Scotch, after that crap they gave me on the flight.’
‘You still like your whisky.’ Leigh opened an oriental drinks cabinet and took out a green bottle. He thought he could see a slight tremor in her hand. ‘Single malt?’ she asked. She filled her own glass as full as his. He couldn’t recall that she drank. But then, she’d been a girl of nineteen in those days. So much time had passed. He realized he hardly knew her any more.
She took an agitated sip of the whisky, pulled a disgusted face and gave a little splutter. ‘I’m in trouble. Something happened to me.’
‘Sit down and tell me everything,’ he said.
They sat facing one another in comfortable armchairs either side of a coffee table with an ornate etched glass top. His glass was already empty. He reached for the bottle and poured another double measure.
Leigh brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She swivelled her whisky glass on the tabletop as she spoke. ‘I’ve been in London for six weeks for work,’ she said. ‘Doing Tosca at the Royal Opera. I rent a little flat not far from the Opera House. It was the morning after the last show. I was planning to hang around for a while. I’d been doing some shopping in Covent Garden. I was walking back towards the flat. It’s in a quiet street where there’s often nobody about. I could sense that someone was watching me. You know, that feeling that you’re not alone?’
‘Go on.’
‘They were in a car, a big dark-coloured car. I don’t remember what type. Just following me along at walking pace. At first I thought it was photographers, or some kind of kerb crawler. I was trying to ignore them, walking faster. Then the car swerved up onto the pavement in front of me, cut me off. I tried to go round the other way, but they got out and blocked me.’
‘Can you describe them?’
She nodded. ‘There were three, the driver plus two more. Well-dressed, dark suits. They looked like businessmen. One of them told me to get into the car. When I tried to run, he grabbed me.’
‘How did you manage to get away?’
She smiled darkly. ‘One thing about living in Monte Carlo-some people say it’s a bit of a police state, but at least it’s safe for women to walk the streets. Anywhere else I go, Europe or the USA, I always carry a can of Mace.’
He blinked. ‘You had Mace?’
She shook her head. ‘In free Britain? You must be kidding. I carry a little can of hairspray. While he was hanging on to my arm, I sprayed him in the eyes with it.’
‘Crude, but effective.’
She sighed, leaning her head on her hands, the thick black hair hiding her face. ‘I never thought I’d have to use it,’ she said quietly. ‘It was terrible. I keep seeing it, over and over in my mind. He let go, screaming and rubbing his eyes. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. I ran like crazy. They came after me. I’m a fast runner but they would have caught me if it hadn’t been for the cab that just happened to come by. I told the cabbie drive, just drive. I haven’t been back to the flat since.’ She looked at him with worry in her eyes. ‘So what do you think?’
‘I think that your friends outside aren’t going to help you with this.’
‘It was a kidnap attempt, wasn’t it?’
‘Sounds like it,’ he agreed. ‘People in your position are a target. You’re high profile, you’re wealthy. Unless, of course, someone is out to do you some harm. Do you have any particular enemies?’
Leigh pursed her lips. ‘Not that I can think of. Why would I? I’m just a singer.’
‘A pretty well-known singer, though. Have you ever thought anyone was stalking you, ever received any strange phone calls, emails, letters?’
She shrugged. ‘I get fans trying to contact me through Pam, my PA. People sometimes recognize me and want an autograph for a CD cover, things like that. But never anything you’d call strange or threatening.’
‘When you got away from your attackers and took the cab, did you come straight here?’
‘I’m not that stupid. I thought they might get the number of the cab and trace me.’
He nodded. ‘So nobody knows you’re here apart from the hotel staff?’
‘Just the police.’
‘They’re never much use in these cases.’
‘Well, they took a statement from me and said they’d look into it.’
‘I don’t suppose you got the number of the car?’
‘Ben, it happened so fast…’
‘That’s all right. It was probably either a false plate or a stolen car anyway.’ He paused, measuring his words for what he wanted to say next. ‘Leigh, I have to ask…it’s been a long time since…’
‘Since you ditched me and vanished?’
He ignored that. ‘I meant, we haven’t been in touch for a long time. Did you ever marry?’
‘Strange question, Ben. I’m not sure I—’
‘It might be important.’
She hesitated before replying. ‘It was a long time after you,’ she said.
‘Who is he?’
‘He’s a composer, writes film scores. His name’s Chris. Chris Anderson.’
‘You’re still together?’
‘It only lasted about two years,’ she said. ‘It just didn’t work out. We still meet occasionally, as friends.’ She frowned. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘Kidnapping is just a business like any other, Leigh. It’s not personal. It’s all about money, and if there’s no family or spouse to pay for your safe return, there’s no motive. It’s the ultimate emotional blackmail. It only works if there’s a third party who’s scared enough of losing someone they love.’ He took a swig of Scotch, draining the glass almost to the bottom. ‘There’s only one exception to that rule, and that’s if the victim has K&R insurance.’
‘K&R?’
‘Kidnap and ransom.’
‘I didn’t even know you could take out insurance against that.’
‘So