“Hey, it wasn’t always like that! Sometimes, we had to go first class. Where are you?”
“On Charles Yelland’s plane on my way to his villa in Spain.”
“What?” He paused to take it all in. “Are you on speaker?”
“Wait, I’ll turn off speaker and video.”
“Good; I can live without pictures of your inner ear. I’m about to eat in the Subway.”
“It’s called the Underground. How many years have you lived in London?”
“No, I’m in the branch of Subway near the office, having just ordered a festive turkey snack.”
“Most people just have a mince pie. Wait a minute, isn’t it a bit early?”
“It’s midday.”
“I meant for Christmas.”
“Shop early to avoid disappointment. I might pick up an Easter egg on my way back.”
“Why don’t you eat in the office?”
“Nah, it doesn’t feel right; there are too many people watching your every move.”
“They’re spies; that’s their job.”
“Nah, I like to keep work and leisure separate.”
“How do you know the difference?
“Work is when I speak to you … What did you call me for?”
“Well, it wasn’t to discuss food – although all I’ve had today is Peroni and some cheese-and-onion crisps.”
“They have Peroni and cheese-and-onion crisps? What is it, a 777?”
“Well, this cabin is much bigger than mine in the woods. Can we leave the food for a second – anathema to you, I know – but I’m picking up funny vibes.”
“That’s the Peroni. Very soon you’ll have a following wind.” He sounded as if he had taken a huge bite out of something both wet and crunchy.
“Charles has started to tell me about the gas pipeline he’s promoting across the Mediterranean.”
“And why not?”
“Leonard, I’m beginning to smell a rat. To save you embarrassing Subway and calling the local authority health inspector, the rat is you.”
“Are you one of these conspiracy theorists?”
“Only when you’re involved.” She could hear more munching, which bothered her as she couldn’t imagine what crunched in a festive turkey roll. “What am I going to find when I get to Randy’s flat in Málaga? Am I in for any surprises?”
“Never been there. Are you going to his place in Marrakech while you’re only an hour and a half away?”
“What place in Marrakech?” she asked in mock innocence.
“No idea. So you haven’t found an address yet? I don’t believe it.”
As with everyone else faced with Leonard’s barbs, her hackles rose. His persona was so carefully crafted that even he didn’t know where reality and fiction started or finished. After only a second’s thought, however, anyone would conclude that he didn’t occupy his elevated position because he was a bumbling idiot. Most people forgot this.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The walls went on for miles, or so it seemed. They were terracotta coloured with yellow accents on the pillars; they didn’t look Spanish, maybe more Mexican. So many of the other walls they had passed during the half-hour journey were the more traditional white, in various states of repair. Mike could feel Maria’s influence even before the solid, dark-grey gates slid back to let them enter. The large, black Mercedes purred across the paved drive, all the way up to the villa. On either side, the lawns and palm trees were being irrigated by mists of water.
The chauffeur pulled up under the porte cochère; he didn’t get out. Charles opened his own door and waited while Mike found the handle and let herself out. She had to stop herself from waiting to collect her bags from the boot. Instead, she joined Charles, and they walked up the tiled steps to a medieval-looking, large, studded oak door. The villa was bigger than the manor house where he lived in Buckinghamshire. The hall was two stories high with life-size Roman statues in alcoves and a full-length tapestry that hung down from the vaulted ceiling to the floor. As a piece of Spanish art, it was very modern and surprisingly three-dimensional, having been made from (among other things) thick ropes and what looked like flotsam and jetsam. It was in stark contrast to the cool, pale marble floors and the sweeping wooden staircase – she was in another world.
“Inez will show you to your room and give you the password to the Wi-Fi – although I expect you’ve already got it,” Charles said with a warm smile.
Mike snapped out of her reverie, not even noticing the maid who had appeared, as if by magic. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, unconsciously acknowledging that, yes, she did have the password: he was using “Angelica1”, which was the same as in the UK. Charles was conservative with both a small and a large ‘C’.
“We’ll have lunch in twenty minutes, is that all right?”
“What? Yes, perfect. I’ll be down then.”
“Ask Inez if you want anything; she has been with me for years.”
With that, he disappeared through another oak door, this one with an armorial crest above it. Mike was fascinated by the motifs included in the crest and assumed it was from Maria’s family, descended from the conquistadores.
