Chapter One
Maxine Graff stopped the car just by the wall that ran round the French farmhouse. The wall was considerably newer than the house itself. Above the entrance a motion sensitive camera she noticed had locked itself onto her car. Bright and gleaming new, chrome plastic and metal the camera towered on a metal pole above the wall, which, while in a traditional style, managed to look more like a new wall than perhaps it should,
Stepping out, she immediately looked down at the pool of muddy water her expensive right shoe was now in. Then up at the electronic camera eye that had found something new upon which to fixate. She muttered something inaudible under her breath and slammed the car door with more force than necessary. Stepping nearer the camera she allowed the silver box in its weather proof housing to pan and tilt and, she assumed, zoom in on her.
After a few moments the large gates emitted a sharp click and whirred slowly aside. The wonders of modern technology. Where would we be without it. In Maxine’s case, still waiting at a set of closed gates.
Carefully, very carefully this time, Maxine climbed back into her car and drove up the short loose graveled drive to the farmhouse.
Electronic eyes and ears. Loose gravel so an approaching car would be detected and feet would crunch over the little stones. James Maybrick valued his privacy. He could afford to, and, more importantly, he needed to. Even in these dark days.
She parked next to a Range Rover that dwarfed her hired Citroen city car. She stepped out onto dryer ground and opened the boot to retrieve her sports bag. Maxine had been here many times before and the quaint French farmhouse, with its surreptitiously enhanced security, glassteel windows and a reinforced door, were things she took as a given. She paid them no mind.
As she did so the door opened and a young black woman dressed in some kind of retro Victorian gentlemen’s suit came out to meet her. Or at least what a modern designer interpreted to be Victorian. She stood, looking imposing and both very modern and somewhat old fashioned, in the open doorway, staring down at Maxine.
“Ms Graff.” It wasn’t a question and no hand was offered in friendship. “My name is Naomi Drake, I’m Mr Maybrick’s personal assistant.” She looked impassively at Maxine. Whatever she thought she kept it to herself.
“Are you now?” Maxine said, shifting her weight slightly so she was better balanced. “Where’s Grant?” Maxine was more familiar with Maybrick’s regular bodyguard. She hadn’t seen Maybrick himself for a long time, but it would take something very serious for him to part company with Grant. She knew it wasn’t something fatally serious because Maybrick himself was still alive. And also there was little in this part of the world that Grant couldn’t deal with.
“He left Mr Maybrick’s employ recently.” Naomi Drake said. “Would you come with me please?” Maxine didn’t particularly want to go with her. She didn’t know who Naomi Drake was, but she knew, exactly, what she was. The retro clothes were loose enough to allow a concealed weapon. At least one pistol.
“I find that hard to believe.” Maxine hung back, carefully shifting the bag. It only contained her overnight things, but it was heavy enough. Naomi, like most people, was several centimeters taller than her. A suitable whack in the right place could bring her down fairly easily. “Grant is someone who is surprisingly loyal. He’s British, they still have their old fashioned view of how things are done.” Maxine was well aware of the failings of the British character. Everything was a game to them.
“Times are changing.” Naomi said quietly. “With Mrs Maybrick’s death Mr Maybrick is not the man he was. Grant isn’t stupid nor am I. Come inside, Ms Graff.” She stepped aside, “I’m afraid Mr Maybrick’s time is precious and short.” If nothing else that was, sadly, very true.
Maxine gestured vaguely, “Please, after you.” She wasn’t going to let this woman stand behind her. English good manners were all well and good but they were a sneaky people when it suited them.
Naomi shrugged ever so slightly and walked ahead. The house looked the same as it ever did. Maybrick hadn’t a lot of taste in art or general décor, but Maxine reasoned that was a general failing of the English. “Just leave your bag by the stairs, you can take it up to your room later.” Naomi said. She gestured vaguely at a set of narrow, twisting wooden stairs. They looked both quaint and authentic. Maxine knew, from personal experience, they were also designed for someone at least six centimetres shorter than even she was.
There had been a time when Grant would have taken her luggage to her room while she went to speak with Maybrick and his wife. But she did as she was told. Naomi Drake was down by the door to Maybrick’s study. Maxine sauntered over, taking her time.
If Naomi was bothered she didn’t let it show. She didn’t seem to be the kind to let much show, but there was almost a quiet, steady hum of energy around her. Maxine recognized it, she had been told something similar about herself.
The study was just the same. But Maybrick had changed.
“Hello, Jim.” Maxine said softly, looking at the grey, thin, tired figure in the black leather chair. There had been a time Maybrick filled that chair. Big and muscular, with thick black hair. Now the hair had all but gone. Leaving worrying tufts, thin and wispy on his grey scalp.
He nodded slightly. The body was in trouble, but there was still the gleam in his eyes. She was more than familiar with that. It was pleasing to see. If Maxine Graff ever had someone she might have been willing to classify as a friend, it was James Maybrick. If nothing else he’d kept her in business for several years.
She sat opposite him, crossing her legs, and inching her skirt up just more than necessary. Naomi Drake sat nearby, at the computer terminal. Looking like she belonged with the machine/
“Max.” He said, his voice so reedy and quiet even she had trouble hearing it. “You don’t change, do you?” It was a question she’d heard several times from several people, she just smiled and muttered something about good genes.
She could hardly tell him he was looking well. “How are you?” was a bit pointless but she said it anyway.
“Grant’s gone.” Maybrick said. “He was with me for years. Now he’s gone, That’s loyalty for you, isn’t it? One last job and he’s gone.” Grant provided Maybrick with security, a bodyguard. Though now looking at Maybrick Maxine realized the pointlessness of that job. Whatever enemies Maybrick had left would need to do nothing to him. Just sit back and let nature take its course. Nature that, by the look of things, wouldn’t be taking very long.
“I know, your ….” She waved vaguely in Naomi’s direction, “…told me. I’m sorry I couldn’t make Liz’s funeral. I had business.” Maxine was genuinely sorry to have missed Mrs Maybrick’s funeral. She had liked Liz Maybrick a lot. Which was something she rarely said about anyone she met. By nature and necessity Maxine Graff was not a very sociable person.
“I heard. South America, wasn’t it?” Despite being ill Maybrick was very in touch with what Maxine had been doing.
Maxine nodded. South America had been very interesting, if nothing else, a country she had never been before.
“Liz…Grant….most of the staff have gone.” Maybrick said. He seemed resigned. Neither angry nor sad. ”It’s really just Naomi and me here now.”
“A cleaning lady once a week and a nurse.” Naomi said.
Maxine ignored her. Instead she picked up a large manila envelope
