Dark Service Page 2

  The operator hit a series of keys on his keyboard that activated people in the vicinity as well as in an office block not far from where he was. With the aid of intelligence and surveillance techniques, a full profile of the person would be available very shortly so they could find their ‘entry point,’ the part that would lure the target into their trap. His clients paid handsomely for what they provided, and he took his work very seriously. A small army of people from all walks of life were available at any given time. If they needed a pretty waitress to hover, they had one. If they needed a scruffy tramp to observe, they had one. If they needed an investment banker to talk bullshit, they had one. Every angle was covered for every eventuality.

  And that was because each of his clients required something rather particular.

  Chapter Five

  Terrance Dubonnet watched as the woman in his sights made her way through passport control and onwards with the rest of her journey home. She’d acted perfectly, been perfect in every way, actually, and while he lusted after that special something she possessed, he could be patient a while longer. He cut a dashing figure as he moved forward in a casual, relaxed manner, his statuesque body drawing glances from intrigued women of all ages. At seventy, he was in good shape physically, and he wore his expensive clothes like an iconic movie star working the red carpet on Oscar night. He oozed confidence and style. His black patent shoes peeked out from pressed fine wool trousers as his long legs extended gracefully forward. Up ahead, the cognac shade of her glorious hair was only just visible in the distance, and he placated himself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be too long before he saw her again. His phone interrupted his thoughts and buzzed with a message.

  Activated. You have 23 of your 24 hours left. Be available. Further details to follow.

  His smile stayed on his tanned face for a couple of minutes longer as he walked, cherishing the time to come later. Terrance clicked delete, though there really was no need; the message would have disappeared after he’d read it anyway. But he liked to be doubly sure. The organization he used checked every last detail for his protection, as well as their own. If anyone found his phone, there would be no evidence of their agreement existing, nothing to trace back – to anywhere. Clearing passport control, he headed off to collect his luggage and out to his waiting car and driver. He too loved New York, but it was always good to be home.

  “Good morning, sir. Pleasant flight?”

  “Good morning, Patrick. And yes – great, thanks. How’s the traffic this morning? Same as usual?” His right eyebrow rose in anticipation of good news.

  “Yes, sir. More like a car park. Is it ever anything else?” Patrick smiled as Terrance slid inside and made himself comfortable on the back seat. He picked up the morning paper that had been left for him; there was a fresh silver flask of hot coffee in the holder. Patrick had been his driver for more than 10 years and they had an easy, relaxed relationship. Everything about Terrance could be considered relaxed. Stylish, extravagant even, but relaxed overall. Like his car, which was a Bentley. But not the old-man type of Bentley. Terrance had a Flying Spur V8 – silver-grey, of course. And with a top speed of nearly 183 mph, it certainly wasn’t an old man’s car. Not that he’d ever needed the “zero-to-sixty MPH in 4.9 seconds.” It was the luxury, style and comfort of the car that he loved. And he loved beautiful things.

  The journey back to his home wouldn’t take long. Englefield Green was only a handful of miles from the airport, but congestion often made the trip much longer than it needed to be. If the M25 was crawling, it didn’t matter how big your engine was: you crawled along with everyone else.

  As Terrance settled in, he looked at his wristwatch and noted the time. He’d started things in motion and had only 22.5 hours remaining, but he knew things were being taken care of on his behalf. He’d be messaged again soon with the next set of details, but until that time, he’d rest. He closed his eyes, laid his head back in his reclining seat, and let the smooth vibration of the car rock him for forty winks.

  The sound of the driver’s door closing woke him. Shuffling himself upright, he ran his bronzed fingers through his short hair as he readjusted to where he was.

  “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t sure whether to wake you or not, but I seem to have anyway. We’re home.”

  “Lovely. Thank you, Patrick. I may need you again later today. I’m waiting on a call so I’ll buzz you when I’m ready.”

  “Very good, sir.” Patrick helped Terrance out of the car and began to unload the boot. “I believe Mrs. John has baked you a cake – your favourite, coffee and walnut. I expect she’ll be glad to have someone to fuss over again now you’re home.”

  Terrance smiled despite himself as he walked towards the front door. The door opened before he had got there himself and a small squeal of delight greeted him. In the doorway stood an older woman, about his own age, he’d often estimated, although he’d never confirmed this. Mrs. John, much like Patrick, had been part of his employ for a good number of years.

  “Mrs. John!” he said to her, beaming. “Lovely to be home. I believe you’ve baked a cake?”

  She caught his delighted smile and encouraged him inside before closing the door behind her. “Oh, it was meant to be a surprise! Wait until I see Patrick,” she grumbled teasingly. “I have tea ready if you’d like?”

  “Thank you, yes, though I’ll take it in my room. Even flying First Class makes you feel like you need a proper shower when you get home, and that’s precisely what I need to do. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  “Good idea. In that case, you go on ahead and I’ll bring it up shortly.”

  Terrance made his way up the sweeping staircase from the main entrance lobby towards his room. The house was far too big for him now, but it had been in his family for such a long time it didn’t seem right to sell it and move on. But what would he use seven bedrooms for, really? The staff had their own cottages on the property, so at night, when everyone had gone home, there was only him. The smooth feel of the wooden banister reminded him of sliding down it as a child, though Nanny had threatened to tell if he did it too often. His parents had been absent during great chunks of his life growing up, so he’d been grateful for a nanny who’d allowed him to have fun while still being in charge. His younger sister Petra had then come along, and most of the focus had shifted onto her as he grew into a young teenager, though Nanny’s influence had carried on. Reaching the top of the landing, he passed a door that had once led to Nanny’s room when she’d lived in the house. He paused outside it. The room was empty now, and there was that unlived-in feeling about it, like most of the rooms in the house, though Nanny’s old bed and some sparse pieces of furniture were still there.

  And some of his memories.

  His hand rested on the doorknob for a moment as he debated whether to enter or not. No, he’d save it for later.

  Chapter Six

  A knock at the door caught his attention. From his en suite, he heard the faint clatter of china being laid out on the table in his bedroom and the humming that always accompanied his housekeeper as she busied herself. She never whistled – that would have been too distracting – but she did hum. He found it quite relaxing, almost therapeutic, and he welcomed her presence in the house when he was in residence. The place was too damn quiet otherwise. He slipped into his paisley robe and headed back into his room smelling of fresh deodorant and shampoo.

  “Thank you for bringing it up here. I just needed to shower before I did anything else.”

  “You’re welcome. Was it a successful trip?” He watched as she poured tea into his cup and placed a sugar lump into it and then set the little silver tongs back in the bowl. Why did he still have sugar lumps, he wondered? Wasn’t it a tad old-fashioned? And did it even matter? Still, he wondered.

  “Yes, it was. Though I do think I’m getting a little long in the tooth for so much travelling. I get tired quicker these days, I’ve noticed. And even First Class can’t help with jet lag a
nd time differences.” Terrance sat in his favourite old leather chair, picked up his cup and saucer, and took a sip.

  “Ah, that tastes good. You always have made a decent pot of tea,” he said, satisfied. “The Americans just don’t quite know how to get tea just right. Better sticking to coffee.” He took another mouthful and sat back. Mrs. John offered him a slice of coffee and walnut on a little plate.

  “Freshly baked this morning, if you’d like a piece?”

  “Indeed, thank you,” he said, and took the plate. Powdered icing sugar stuck to his upper lip as he took a bite, and coffee-coloured crumbs dropped to his plate. Mrs. John hovered as he ate, not sure if he wanted conversation or for her to leave.

  “I may not be in for dinner tonight, so don’t make anything special. Perhaps leave something in the fridge that I can heat up in case my plans fall through.”

  “Of course. Going somewhere nice?”

  “Not too sure of my plans as yet. I may be going into London; we’ll see.”

  Terrance finished the last of his cake and watched as Mrs. John topped his teacup up. With nothing left for her to do, she carried on. “I’ll leave you in peace then, Mr. Dubonnet. You know where I am if you need anything,” she said, and headed for the door, a faint hum going with her.

  She’d have been a fine-looking young woman in her day, he thought as he watched her walk across the room. Tall and slender for her own years, she’d been a widow for nearly twenty of them, and he’d been tempted at times to state his interest. He never had. Yes, he got lonely rattling around the big house on his own, particularly at night, but she’d never shown any interest in him so he’d left it at that. But then he was her employer, so would she have anyway? And besides, he’d found his own unique and special interest had satisfied him over the years – just another reason he’d never sell the house he’d grown up in.

  His thoughts turned to his old Nanny Prue. He thought of her often, like now. She’d been the catalyst for what he desired, he was sure. Where else had it stemmed from? Prue’s room was right next door to his own, and without actually moving in there, he was as close as he could be to her memory. The hundreds of nights she’d spent in his room reading him a story, her light perfume lingering once she’d left his side. . . Her face had been so pretty, even to a small boy, her skin so soft. As he’d aged, become a young teenager, he’d received less of her attention as she’d focused on his younger sister, who had been a surprise to the whole family. Petra had needed Nanny full time, since his mother had no interest in looking after her herself, and so he’d seen very little of her. He’d missed her visits back then and somewhat resented Petra for stealing their time together, so he’d taken his interests out on the girls at school when he could. That hadn’t been easy and had ultimately gotten him expelled from school for a period of time.

  As he’d grown into an adult, his interest had become progressively easier to deal with, though he’d kept it a secret. Now? Well, he’d found the perfect way. If you knew where to look, you could find just about anything you desired, sexual or otherwise. And the service he used was a huge part of his life now, allowing him both freedom and the excitement his prizes afforded him.

  A familiar stirring warmed his body as he remembered the red-haired woman on the flight that morning. He’d been able to watch her from the privacy of his seat without too much difficulty while she’d slept, and knowing she was being monitored for his needs right at that moment excited him. Soon, he’d have what he’d paid for, what she owed him in return. He drank back the last of his tea as his phone buzzed with the message he’d been waiting for. His pulse spiked as he read its contents.

  The next part of the plan was now finalized.

  All he had to do was turn up at the appointed time and location and he’d be in his version of heaven. He pressed delete and the carefully choreographed arrangements disappeared without a trace.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’d love to! Can you give me an hour?”

  “I’ll meet you there then. And Taylor?”

  “Yes, Mum?”

  “It’s good to have you back on this side of the Atlantic for a while.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you shortly. And I’ll tell you all about New York if you want to hear about it.”

  “Of course I do, darling. See you soon.”

  Taylor beamed at the now silent phone in her hand. She’d planned on going over to see her mum and dad the following day, but as it turned out they’d had some business in town and wouldn’t be that far away. With a small chain of shoe shops on the market, Leonard and Judy Palmer had been meeting with various accountants and lawyers over the last couple of months, one of whom had brought them into Croydon. Close to retirement age, they’d decided to sell up, spend some of their hard-earned cash and travel, then probably buy a small hotel somewhere further down south on the coast. A romantic notion, Taylor thought but never said; many people wanted to retire and run a bed and breakfast.

  It made perfect sense for them all to have a late lunch together and catch up. It had been three months since her last visit back home to Croydon, and it had only been a short one, as she’d been on her way through to Europe; there hadn’t been much time to spend with either her parents or her friends. Her passion for art allowed her to travel extensively with work, which she loved; she was sorry that her job in New York had finally come to an end. Now she wasn’t sure quite what she might do with the next part of her life, although with the money she’d saved she was in no hurry to decide. Thoughts of travel conjured up the recent memory of being upgraded to First Class. Was that only yesterday? Still clutching the phone in her hand, she smiled broadly. “What will Mum say about that when I tell her?” she said to herself.

  With only an hour until she was due to see her parents, she quickly changed into something a bit more feminine than normal, pushed a brush through her hair and then tied it up in a loose knot. She dabbed on some blusher and lipstick and she was all set. Her skin glowed with a light bronzing from the summer sun and weekends spent reading in Central Park, stretched out on the grass. But now at the end of summer, the sun’s power was diminishing and cooler mornings and evenings were nudging their way in. The change of seasons excited Taylor – the wrapping up and putting away of one, the unfolding and rejuvenating of another in its place. A bit like changing your wardrobe over and packing away the old season in a box for storage until the following year, she thought. Packed away would be cotton shorts and skirts, and in their place would come light woollens and long-sleeved shirts. It wouldn’t be long until the oak trees in the park near her flat would be dropping their fat leaves, the golden and brown Christmas-tree shapes covering the pavements. Pulling on a light cardigan, she closed the door behind her and headed outside to hail a taxi on to the restaurant for lunch. And her parents.

  Chapter Eight

  “You look lovely, darling! Welcome home.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” Taylor said, hugging her mother tightly. “And how’s Dad?” she said, turning and embracing him. She stayed tight in his arms for a moment or two longer as they squeezed each other tenderly. Always a daddy’s girl.

  “Much better for seeing you,” he whispered in her ear with affection. Eventually they both pulled back and her father looked her up and down.

  “You look lovely, Taylor, and so happy. And a tan really suits you.” He backed up a step to take her in again. “You do look stunning. But then I am biased towards my girl.” Anyone looking on would see how proud he was of his beautiful daughter.

  “And how are you really, Dad?”

  “Ah, well, we’re both getting old and tired, but nothing to grumble about. We have our health on our side still, which is the main thing. And hopefully a buyer for the stores. But first let me ask you – any gentleman friends taken your eye yet?”

  “Oh, Dad! No!”

  “Don’t embarrass her, Leonard. She’s only just got here. Give her a chance.”

  Laughing, Taylor answered anyway. “There’s
plenty of time for all that, Dad. I’m only twenty-six,” she said. “And it’s a good job I haven’t got a man friend now I’ve come back home. I don’t have broken hearts to worry about. I don’t think I could deal with being lovesick as well as starting a new career on this side of the world at the same time.”

  “And quite right too,” her mother said, giving her husband a sideways glance in warning. “No rush. Your dad just wants to be a granddad, I think.”

  “It’s usually the grandmother who pushes for that, isn’t it?” Taylor said, laughing. “Talk about role reversal with you two.”

  “Well, I’m not pushing, Taylor. You go at your own pace. But let’s sit down and you can fill us both in on your adventures as a single woman. And I’m hungry, so let’s get a table and order.”

  The hostess escorted them to their waiting table and they each picked up a menu.

  “Let’s have a bottle of bubbles,” Leonard said, “in celebration of you being home. And hopefully a sale finally.” Turning to the waitress, he ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and three champagne flutes. Judy raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows but immediately relented.

  “Well, I’m in the mood for a proper celebration. It’s so good to see you, Taylor. You do look well on whatever you’ve been up to, I must say.”

  A moment later, a bottle with its distinctive orange label appeared and popped warmly as the cork was set free. The pretty waitress filled three flutes and said she’d be back soon to take their lunch orders.

  Raising his flute, Leonard said, “Now I’m going to propose a toast. Welcome home, Taylor, and to the smooth sale of the business.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Judy chimed in.

  Taylor saw her opportunity. “This brings back very recent memories, actually – sipping champagne, I mean.”