man took my arm and began to walk away.
‘Wait a minute,’ I whispered. ‘You were going to take me to the Vice-Consul.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. We’re going to The Hawk.’
‘Oh, no! Not another yacht. I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime.’
I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release my arm. He wasn’t holding me all that tightly but there was no way I could escape.
He hailed a passing cab and almost tossed me into it.
‘Now, look here—’ I began.
‘No, you look here. You can go with Vanner, with the gendarmes, or with me.’
‘Or I can go to the Vice-Consul.’
‘If you know where to find him. And just how long do you want to wander around dressed—or rather undressed—like that?’
‘Are you daring to take advantage of my condition?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing.’
‘That’s blackmail.’
‘It’s what I’m good at. Now, shut up or I’ll toss you back into the water.’
I opened my mouth to tell him what he could do, but then shut it again. Not because I was afraid of his threats, or of him. I wasn’t.
But I’d seen a gleam in his eyes that undermined his words. He was laughing, challenging me not to laugh with him, and despite everything I found myself doing so.
That was the moment when it all began.
Chapter Two
Jack’s Story
MOONLIGHT and roses. Trees waving gently in the Mediterranean breeze. Romantic music playing in the distance.
It was twenty-three-hundred hours and I was standing outside Monte Carlo Casino, ten grand richer than when I’d gone in.
Yes, that was the state I’d reached. Moonlight. Twenty-three-hundred hours. Ten grand.
But what else did you expect? I’m Jack Bullen. King Midas. Whatever I touch turns to ten grand. Or, if we’re talking real money, ten million.
But tonight was only gambling, so I made do with pocket money.
I blame my grandfather, Nick, and his cufflinks. When he gave them to me he said they were lucky and they would help me win. And, dammit, he was right.
I don’t win every single time. It’s not quite as bad as that. But I win often enough to come out richer. And it’s all his fault.
I blame him for a lot more than that. Starting with my father. Nick was a happy-go-lucky fellow, who loved his family, earned enough from his little grocery business to get by, and enjoyed a laugh. So, according to Sod’s Law, he was bound to have a son who thought he was feckless and worked night and day to ‘better himself’.
I don’t know if my father got better, but he certainly got richer. He started work in Grandpa’s grocery and gradually took over, shunting his father aside. When he finally inherited the shop he built it into a chain, and raised me in the belief that my mission in life was to climb ever onward and upward to the glorious heights of tycoonery.
I’d rather have been a vet, and if Dad had lived longer I might have fought it out with him, but he died when I was fifteen and you can’t argue with a dead man. Especially if he’s left you everything.
Every last penny.
Which was unfair on my older sister, Grace, who was left to look after me, our mother being already dead. She didn’t complain, because she’d picked up Dad’s ideas about my dynamic future.
So I ended up doing business courses, computing, economics, just as if Dad were alive, because Grace said so.
As soon as I could touch my inheritance I transferred a fair share to her, but by that time it was too late. I was trapped in business and success.
Oh, yes, I was a success. I made money. The firm prospered. I bought another firm. Before I knew it I was a conglomerate.
I tried to lose money, I swear it. Don’t even ask me how I ended up owning a cable television channel. It was a kind of accident. The channel showed light porn. The screen was always full of nubile girls wriggling around half dressed.
I changed all that. Out went the girls. In came animal programmes, stuff about vets, nature expeditions, deep-sea diving. I bought up the rights to old animal series that hadn’t been seen for years, and the public loved it. Advertisers fought to give me their business.
Suddenly I was the wonder man whose finger on the public’s pulse was never wrong, the visionary who could see past cheap smut to an audience starved of beauty, the marketing genius who could make wildlife profitable.
Actually, I just enjoyed animal programmes.
It was like having a pact with the devil, only this devil was called Grandpa Nick. Wherever he was, he knew the terrible things money and success had done to me. I was out of my mind with boredom, and I swear sometimes I could hear the old man cackling.
There was nothing for me to do. Any fool can make money if they start out with a pile that someone else worked for.
Where were the great challenges in life?
At the moment my biggest challenge was fending off Grace’s attempts to match me with Selina Janson. I usually ended up doing what Grace wanted because I felt so guilty at the way my life had been lived at the expense of hers.
It shouldn’t have happened that way. She’s only ten years older than me, and she could easily have married, especially after I struck out for myself.
When you fly the nest that’s supposed to be it, right? You don’t reckon on the nest flying after you.
But Grace nobly declared that nothing would make her abandon me, and I couldn’t hurt her by saying how much I longed to be abandoned.
So here I was, mid-thirties and still officially sharing a home with my sister. I have my bachelor pad in town, and I’m there most nights, but Grace pretends it’s just the odd occasion.
Maybe that was why she’d redoubled her efforts to marry me off to Selina.
‘I don’t know what you’ve got against that lovely girl,’ she complained to me a few weeks earlier.
‘I’ve got nothing against her,’ I protested. ‘I’ve never had anything against any of the girls you’ve tried to handcuff me to. But if I married every girl I’ve got nothing against, my wives would fill a city and there’d be some sort of scandal.’
‘I do wish you’d be serious,’ she fumed. ‘It’s no way to approach life.’
‘It’s
