who would that be Patrick?’
‘The Boston operation is being managed by Doctor Peter Laird.’
Carl felt as if he had just been kicked in the stomach.
*****
After Patrick Turner left Carl poured himself another drink and then, as if to justify the need, he turned on Bryan. ‘I thought that bastard had done the right thing and died somewhere in Peru. That’s about all I need right now, goddamn it!’
‘I assume we are talking about this Laird fellow. Who is he?’
‘A treacherous little prick, that’s what he is. Who he is? Sir Reginald Laird’s one and only.’
‘He left behind a rather detailed account of just how Sarah arrived here, amongst other things.’ Bryan made no attempt whatsoever to hide the disapproval he felt as keenly then as he did now.
Carl smiled, ‘Did he also leave behind a blueprint of his grandiose plan to rescue Sarah after murdering Richard?’ Bryan started. ‘No, I don’t suppose he did. He hid behind the screen in the library where Sarah and Richard were to have dinner together that first evening they, ah …
‘Laird took a pistol from Richard’s private collection. A lovely piece it was too except that the stupid bastard didn’t have a clue about what he was doing and loaded it with the wrong bullets. Even Richard couldn’t decide whether the gun would simply misfire or blow up in his hand.
‘Seefan said that he had sent a note to Sarah but Richard was away ahead of him as usual. He intercepted it, read it then had Seefan deliver it.’ This time Carl laughed openly. ‘The image of Laird emerging from behind that screen with Richard right behind, his gun pressed tight against the back of Laird’s head. Priceless, that’s what it was; priceless. Richard scared him so bad he wet his pants.’
‘What was Laird doing here in the first place?’ Bryan asked.
‘Richard was asked by …’ Carl turned back to the whiskey decanter to freshen his drink. ‘It’s not important.’
‘Carl, I know Richard worked for MI6. I know what service he provided them and how good he was at it.’
The two men stared at each other; both trying to determine who was in the best position to claim the moral high ground. ‘And what service was that again, Scott? I’ve forgotten.’
‘Richard was a Double-O-Seven although no doubt he was much more deadly than either the film persona or Fleming’s literary character. I’m sure his mother would have been very proud of him.’
‘She would have been, Scott. In fact, if Richard could have turned the clock back I’m sure he would have quite happily disposed of his father, thus saving both his mother and the world a whole hell of a lot of grief.’
This was one subject Bryan was not prepared to engage in. The loss of Richard’s mother Catherine was too great a sorrow for him to bear; sorrow, regret, shame and revenge all blended together, producing as strong a potion now as the one that killed her. ‘What happened to Laird?’
Carl shrugged. ‘He spent the night chained in the basement. In the morning he was shipped out to Peru. Last I heard he was still there, assisting Doctor Santos. Seefan went with him.’
‘Why?’
Carl sat down on the sofa opposite Bryan, his drink cupped between his hands. ‘It was a last-minute decision so we didn’t have a lot of time to say goodbye. She seemed almost in a panic to get away as if … I asked her why she was going and I think that’s when the tears came. She basically told me that she had developed a fondness for Sarah and that she couldn’t stay and see … I remember word for word what she said although I didn’t understand; not then.
‘You cannot stop him and if you want this child you must not stop him’.
‘I’ll tell you Scott that scared the hell out of me.’ Carl sighed. ‘The christening is this Saturday, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then afterwards I’m going to Boston. I’ll pry that little shit off his fucking throne if I have to use a crowbar.’
8
August 22nd, 1981
Churchyard, Cavendish Hall
Carl Emery’s relief was almost palatable as he watched Alan Rose make his way through the crowd standing on the lawn outside the chapel. He would pause now and again to shake a hand or brush a kiss across the cheek of some of the women who knew him and loved him.
By the time he reached Carl his natural conviviality had peaked so their reunion was a warm one; almost like family really which isn’t surprising since Carl thought of Alan Rose as almost his natural son perhaps because both Alan’s parents were dead.
Tall, athletic with a crop of light brown hair that was always too long and always unruly, Rose had the natural grace, good looks and charm to not only pass inspection as Develin’s godson but he looked like an escapee from the Kennedy clan. He was twenty-eight years old and a doctor of clinical medicine.
They embraced briefly before Carl stepped back smiling as he checked Rose over, top to toe. ‘Good to see you lad. You look well so obviously the jungles of Peru haven’t done you any harm.’
Rose returned Carl’s smile. ‘Good to be back and yes, it’s been an awesome experience. Seefan,’ he exclaimed as he enfolded her in his arms. ‘Imagine you an old married lady.’ She put her hand to her lips to hide the giggle as she retreated closer to Carl.
The smile on Rose’s face remained even while he scanned the immediate vicinity but it began to fade as his search failed to find what he was looking for.
‘Where is she, Carl?’
Carl nodded towards the mausoleum. ‘Why don’t you go and say hello - to both of them,’ Carl suggested, ‘and baby Richard too of course.’
‘Yeah,’ Rose replied although he seemed almost hesitant as he looked towards the entrance way into the Develin family crypt. ‘How is she?’
‘Well ah … let’s just hope that you prove to be the perfect tonic.
‘Look,’ Carl paused, ‘I need to talk to you as soon as possible. With all the travelling you’ve been doing, I’ve not had a chance to bring you up to date with what’s been going on around here since …’ He tried to smile but failed miserably. ‘Sarah’s been through a hell of a lot lately so …’ He swallowed hard. ‘As I said, we need to talk.’
*****
Sarah was on her knees in front of Develin’s tomb holding baby Richard in her
