The Prodigal Son Read online

  Twenty minutes after arrival at the apartment, Rob and Justine stood on the balcony, she sipping New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and Rob enjoying his Malbec Gran Reserva. They stood quietly, watching the Thames and traffic crossing Vauxhall Bridge, such as it was on a Sunday night.

  Justine appeared to be in another world.

  “Is all this moving too quickly for you?” Rob finally asked.

  “No. What makes you ask that?” She eyed him closely. “Are you having second thoughts? …Please tell me you’re not.”

  “I’m not … just wondered if you were. You’ve been very quiet since this afternoon.”

  Justine took Rob’s glass and placed it alongside hers on the glass-topped table beside them. Hooking her hands behind his neck, she stared into his eyes. “I love you so much. You’re the loveliest, most sensitive man I’ve ever met and I feel safe with you. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. You risked your life that awful night to save me from God knows what, and you did it without thinking twice. I know what you did in the past, and when we talk about killing people and blowing things up … it kind of freaks me out.” She smiled. “I also know that if it wasn’t for your past, I might have been raped and killed by these guys. When you talked about it this afternoon in the car, I understood more about your motivations. It’s just taking me a bit of time to get my head round that side of you. I’ll get there … but am I having second thoughts?” She shook her head emphatically. “Absolutely not … and yes, we are moving our relationship along quite quickly. But it just feels like the right thing to do.”

  Justine became aware that she’d been running her thumb up and down his scar. “What happened to the man who did that to you?”

  “He died about 30 seconds after he stuck the same knife into my leg. He really didn’t like me,” Rob answered wryly.

  She frowned. “That’s what I struggle with … the flippant way you talk about death.”

  “I survived the knife wounds, just. Surviving mentally was—is—more difficult. The closer to death you get, the harder it is to recover mentally, so you get flippant, make jokes. It’s that or go mad.”

  “It’s not that I don’t love you, but help me understand,” Justine said quietly and picked up the glasses, and stepped into the apartment. “I think you need an early night Mr MacLaine.”

  He followed her into the master bedroom.

  31

  The next morning, Rob went to meet a client with Joe and one of their senior security personnel for a scheduled quarterly review meeting. He left Justine working on the Achravie project and making arrangements for the proposed estate visit with the architect.

  The architect agreed to accompany her on Wednesday and Thursday. She then phoned Rob’s mother to ask if she might like to join them. Justine got a very excited and resounding “yes”, as Rob had predicted.

  As opposed to braving the rigours of a rush-hour Winchester-to-Waterloo commuter train on the Wednesday morning, they arranged to have Elizabeth come up to London on the Tuesday evening and stay with them at the apartment. If agreeable, Rob could drive them to Chiswick, where they’d meet up with Pete Hall. Justine had already spoken with Sir Andrew Savage about the use of his otherwise temporarily redundant helicopter and advised Rob accordingly.

  Rob and Justine picked up his mother from Waterloo station on the Tuesday evening as agreed. The three of them enjoyed a Thai dinner in the apartment with the sliding glass doors open; the sounds of the river and bridge drifted in with a pleasant, warm breeze.

  Rob called Fraser, now back at work on the estate, and told him of his purchase on Angus’ shares, making him sole owner of Achravie. Delighted, Fraser listened to Rob’s plans for the future.

  “Given I won’t be there often, I’m going to need a good, reliable estate manager, someone I can trust. I hope you’re up for the challenge.”

  “I’m jist the ghillie Robbie, I’ve no got the business experience to run an estate like Achravie.”

  “I just need you to run the land side of things. I’ll get someone to manage the business side, and the house, on a day-to-day basis … a kind of general manager if you like … as opposed to an estate manager. You know that estate like the back of your hand and, to be fair, you’ve been pretty much running that side since my father died from what I can see. All I’m proposing is a little more decision-making and a change of job title, and a bit more money to boot,” Rob explained casually.

  “Aye, I suppose I could manage that all right, if that’s whit ye want,” Fraser replied reluctantly.

  “Good, because the last thing I need is someone poaching you and you disappearing on me.” Rob laughed.

  “I’ll see off any poachers, young Robbie,” Fraser chuckled. “When’re we goin’ tae see you up here again?”

  “Not sure, but you remember Justine, who came up with Joe Harper?”

  “Aye, no an easy woman to forget, wi these great big long legs of hers.”

  “She’s going to be running the project for me, great big long legs and all. She’s coming up to Achravie tomorrow, that’s why I’m phoning tonight. She’s bringing my mother, so could you get a couple of rooms in the house ready for them? They’re staying till Thursday—and they’ll need one of the Land Cruisers to get about.”

  “Here, don’t you tell her whit a said aboot her big long legs,” Fraser advised quietly.

  “Too late … she’s here with my mother and you’re on speaker phone.”

  “Why did ye no tell me, laddie?”

  “Only kidding. Your secret’s safe with me,” Rob reassured him laughingly.

  “That’s no funny. You could gie a man a heart attack like that. Ye say yer mither’s coming up. Yiv been in touch wi her then, that’s good. She’s a guid woman, too guid fir that faither o’ yours.”

  “You’ll see her tomorrow and you can have a good chinwag then. Give Justine all the help she needs, will you? I’ll try to get up soon. Cheers for now,” Rob said merrily, ending the call.

  He returned from the study and found both women deep in conversation. When they saw him, they stopped suddenly.

  “What was all that about?” Rob asked casually, taking a seat.

  “Just woman’s talk,” his mother chirped.

  He eyed her sceptically. “Fraser’s expecting you. He knows what you need and he’ll organise things.”

  Justine leaned forward. “I hate to be a pest …”

  “Then don’t be,” he grinned.

  She made a face and stuck out her tongue. “I’d like to pick up a couple of things from my flat on the way out, and it’s not really off our way by much. I said we would meet the architect at 10.30, so if we leave about 09.00, we could swing by and I could nip in.”

  “No worries.”

  32

  At 08.55 the next morning, Rob, his mother and Justine climbed into Rob’s “business” car, a Black BMW 4.4L X5 M with darkened rear windows for passenger privacy. The car was fitted with light Kevlar armouring and bullet-proof glass, which offered extra passenger protection, voice-activated Bluetooth phone connectivity for ease of use in an emergency, and GPS tracker for tracing the vehicle’s whereabouts, if the need arose.

  Like Rob’s weekend Maserati, it was fast—very rapid from a standing start to get out of bad situations quickly. It had a top speed of in excess of 150 mph. Both Rob and Joe had undergone defensive driving training in the Regiment and, like their own security operatives, were subjected to frequent refresher courses, which Rob secretly enjoyed.

  The three were in fairly high spirits as the car took them along the Chelsea Embankment. They turned down a side street to Justine’s apartment, which sat one block from the river and had a decent river view from a corner balcony.

  “Don’t bother parking. Just sit on the double yellow and move if a warden appears. I honestly won’t be more than a couple of minutes,” Justine stated as Rob neared the building.

  As she ran across the pavement toward the lifts, Rob’s phone rang. He stabbed th
e answer button and Joe’s voice rang out, asking if Rob remembered a particular Middle East client they’d dealt with two years back. Rob said he was an Emirati and remembered him as a really nice guy, good to work with; he’d provided the man with close security for a trip to Jordan.

  Joe advised that the client was planning another such trip and had asked if Rob were available to provide the same service. Neither Rob nor Joe had time to undertake work, which took them out of circulation for two to three weeks at a time. As such, they agreed to inform the client of this and offer him the services of one of their most trusted senior operatives, who did most of the close security work in the Middle or Far East. They discussed day rates and Joe said he’d put together a proposal and let Rob read it over when he got into the office.

  Rob ended the call and glanced at the dashboard clock; he’d been on the phone with Joe for almost fifteen minutes. “Honestly, a couple of minutes, the woman said. You heard her, Mother. Is this what my life is going to be like?” Rob asked jokingly.

  “This is only the beginning, so get used to it,” she warned with a smile.

  Rob punched the Bluetooth and called Justine’s mobile. The phone rang for a few seconds, then stopped. “Justine, are you there?” he asked, despite the silence. “Sod this.” Impatiently, he undid his seatbelt. “I’ll go and get her, Mother. She’s probably packing another huge suitcase. Won’t be long. If a warden appears, just humour him.”

  He jumped out of the car and entered the building, taking a lift to the third floor. He was just about to knock when he heard a crash and clatter, and a cry of pain from inside the apartment.

  Rob froze.

  A man’s voice muttered something and another cry of pain followed. Rob tried the door. It wasn’t locked and he entered the square hallway. He could see into the lounge and Justine lying on the floor with a man standing over her, about to hit her. Justine’s left eye looked red and swollen, and she was bleeding from her mouth and nose. The man sensed someone else’s presence and looked up, his fist in mid-air.

  “What the fuck do you want? Get out of here,” he snarled.

  Justine looked up “Rob!”

  Rob noticed for the first time that the man had a long knife in the other hand. With his free one, he pulled Justine by the hair. “Ri-ight. You must be soldier boy. She’s told me all about you, but she didn’t tell me you were with her,” he jeered. “She didn’t tell you about me though, did she?”

  He pulled her hard and smirked. “I just did seven years inside because of this one … but you didn’t know I got early release, did you, bitch?”

  She screamed.

  “Let her go and move away from her,” Rob ordered quietly.

  Justine’s ex-boyfriend laughed raucously. “I came here to make sure she never gets another boyfriend. I’m going to mark her so bad that no man’ll ever look at her again.” He glanced at her, his gaze heated. “Do you hear me, bitch?” He punched her in the side of the head.

  “Let her go and move away from her,” Rob repeated in a tone that left no doubt that he meant it, as did the look in his eyes.

  “And if I don’t, big soldier boy? What are you going to do?” he demanded loudly.

  “If you don’t let her go by the count of three, I’m going to kill you.” Rob spoke softly and calmly. “Simple choice … one live, two die, three …”

  Rob glanced sharply to the left and the red-faced man turned to see what had commanded his attention. In that split second, Rob launched forward; his foot connected with the man’s knee and Rob heard the kneecap shatter as his leg angled awkwardly.

  Moving behind, Rob attempted to stay clear of the man’s knife as he grabbed for his head. He twisted it viciously and heard the snap of vertebrae the same second a sharp pain exploded in his right leg. As the man fell, Rob’s leg gave way and they both fell backwards onto the floor.

  He lay still for a second, then pushed off the man and surveyed his leg. The knife had been plunged into his leg and, as the two had toppled, had opened up a deep gash, which was bleeding profusely. He glanced at Justine, who lay motionless and seemingly unconscious. “Please God, let her just be unconscious,” he whispered.

  The pain in his leg was causing him to feel lightheaded, but he needed to know that she was alive. As he started to drag himself across the floor, the world went round in circles and stars twinkled behind his eyes.

  “Excuse me. Is that your BMW on the double yellow downstairs?” a voice from somewhere called. “Hello?”

  “In here,” Rob managed through the pain “In h-here!”

  “What’s this?” A portly man in a traffic warden’s uniform entered the room and surveyed the mess.

  “Don’t just stand there. Check Justine and make sure she’s alive,” Rob ordered through the pain.

  “Rob? Are you there? What’s—”

  His mother’s eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth.

  “Check on Justine, Mother, please,” Rob shouted, frustration getting the better of him.

  She hurried to the traffic warden’s side.

  “She’s breathing okay,” he advised. “She’s taken a bit of a beating, but she’s alive.”

  “She’s coming round,” Elizabeth affirmed, appearing collected.

  “What about you, sir? That looks like a nasty gash. You need to stem that blood flow or you’ll bleed out in no time.” The warden tool off his belt and wrapped it round Rob’s thigh. Grabbing his radio, he called in the incident and requested an ambulance and police. “What about this man?”

  Rob eyed the inert body. “He’s dead,” was his cold reply.

  “Rob, are you there?”

  Elizabeth bent down and clasped her hand gently. “He’s here … just not very mobile at the moment by the looks of things.”

  Rob couldn’t believe how calmly his mother was taking this.

  “I don’t understand, what‘s wrong?” Justine asked, sitting up with Elizabeth’s help.

  “He has a nasty cut on his leg, dear.”

  “Where’s Harry, where did he go?” Justine sounded in a panic.

  “Harry won’t bother us again, don’t worry.”

  “You don’t know that,” Justine said, looking forlorn.

  “Trust me, he’s not a problem anymore,” Rob stated.

  Sirens immediately outside signalled the arrival of emergency services and within two minutes, the room was full of paramedics, ambulance crews, and uniformed police.

  Justine, now more aware, had crawled over to Rob and hugged him tightly. “What have I done to you?” she sobbed.

  “I should have been more careful,” Rob replied quietly. “Your Harry stuck the knife in me, not you. He obviously didn’t like me, either.” The loss of blood caused him to pass out just then.

  33

  The next thing Rob knew, he was lying in a hospital bed with tubes and sensors plugged in everywhere. He awakened to find his mother, Joe Harper, two nurses and a doctor, and a policeman, peering down at him.

  The doctor, who was checking monitors, smiled when he noticed Rob open his eyes. “Good of you to join us again, Mr MacLaine. We thought we’d lost you for a wee while in the ambulance. Thankfully, your mother remembered your blood type, so we got some into you PDQ.”

  “Where’s Justine?” Rob asked anxiously.

  “Miss Fellows just got back from an MRI, a precautionary measure,” the doctor informed him. “We think she has a concussion, but the rest looks worse than it is. The bruising will disappear in a week or so, and unless the MRI show something we aren’t expecting, she’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

  “Can I go and see her?” Rob asked. “I need to be sure she’s okay.”

  “I’ve just explained her condition to you. She’s going to be fine, really.” He smiled fleetingly. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “No, of course not. I just want to see her, that’s all.”

  “For the time being, I suggest you stay where you are. You arrested on the way here. Wh
en we first examined your leg, we thought you might lose it. However, once we got in, it wasn’t as bad as first feared … so we let you keep it.” He smiled and winked, then grew solemn. “It’s rather sewn and stapled together at the moment, but provided you don’t go galloping across the hospital to see your young lady any time soon, it should mend itself with no long-term consequences. You can either do as I suggest or you can suffer the ignominy of having your mother tell you what to do … in front of everyone here. Your decision.”

  “I get the message,” Rob said with a dry smile.

  “Once I’ve seen the MRI results, I’ll ask one of the staff to bring her to see you.”

  “No you won’t,” a young grave-faced policeman in the doorway stated. “Not till I get a statement.” He nodded in Rob’s direction. “I’ll decide when and if they get to talk to each other.”

  The doctor frowned and stepped into the corridor.

  “I’m Police Constable Farthing, Metropolitan Police. You’ll stay where you are till I say you can do otherwise.” He ambled up to Rob’s bed and regarded him warily. “There was a dead man in that room with you two, and my job is to investigate the circumstances of his death.”

  “I hope you’re not expecting overtime on this one, sunshine,” Rob responded with a frown. “There were three people in that room when the traffic warden arrived: Justine, who was unconscious, the dead guy you’re so worried about, and me. So either he killed himself or I killed him. Take your pick.”

  “You admit you killed him, then?”

  “We were fighting over the knife he was threatening Miss Fellows with … I hurt his knee and he stabbed me in the leg … we both fell and he must have hit his head. Bingo. Dead knife-wielding thug.”

  “That’s your statement is it? Funny though. His neck was broken. He didn’t hit his head,” PC Farthing said mockingly.

  Rob looked at his partner, sitting in a corner. “Joe, should I know that? Or should he not have told a suspect how the victim died?” He drew a deep breath. “He