Beneath The Lies Page 11

  Lydia bobs her head and gives me a smile while Peter looks like he swallowed a nail. His mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out. Handling the illegal side of this business has been one of his main duties for a long time now. My father made him the direct point of contact for all such sales, thereby keeping his own name out of these deals. In case of any exposure, Peter would’ve been the fall guy.

  It’s a risk that Peter Dighby has willingly taken because he’s been paid generously for it. He has a house in Hampstead, membership to several clubs, private schooling for his daughter, etc. The perks have been plenty and so far, he has diligently managed to keep everything under wraps. He can continue with the perks; I don’t care about any of that. I just want my business clear of anything even remotely unlawful.

  My lips twist as I think of my father ranting in hell at my decision. With that, we close the meeting. Peter is still looking perturbed so I change the topic to one that would surely get his attention and ease his mind.

  “Peter, how is Josephine? Is she doing fine?”

  Josephine Dighby is Peter’s daughter and the apple of his eye. Peter was widowed many years ago and he used to bring Josephine to visit at Heaven’s Gate, our estate in Hampshire, when my family retired there during the summer months. He worked closely with my father and our estate is huge, so Peter was always welcome to bring his girl with him. We used to play as kids, but after I left home I had limited interaction with her. But I remember her as a gentle and lively girl.

  A strange look passes between Peter and Lydia at my question. Is there something I ought to know about Josephine and have forgotten? Or is it that my imagination runs rather too high because of my memory loss?

  Before Peter replies, my cell phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Jonathan.

  Meet me at my estate in Scotland the day after. The project is getting delayed and I can’t wait any longer. So far, your team has failed to impress me. I’ve yet to see if you can. If not then I’ll find someone else.

  Damn! If it were anyone else, I’d have asked him to fuck off. But it’s Jonathan and I know he’s hurting and that’s why he is pushing me, taunting me to retaliate. I check my anger and go through my schedule on my phone. Thankfully, it’s clear for the day Jonathan has proposed.

  I’ll be there at ten am, I reply back.

  I turn to Peter. “Sorry, what were we talking about?” I ask him, my mind still on Jonathan. Since I am going to visit his estate, it’s perhaps a good idea to find out what exactly he’s looking for and to talk to him and sort things between us.

  Peter and Lydia are both silently observing me. “Sorry, where were we?” I ask again.

  “Lydia will get back to you with a list of merchants with whom we’ll have to increase business to fulfill our diamond stock now. I will revert on the cost impact of this new decision of yours. It’ll have a substantial brunt on the profits. At least twenty percent from what I can guess, maybe even more. I’ll also show you a list of all payments made as soon as they’re done.”

  “Do it, Peter. I don’t care about the profit loss,” I tell him. I fix my attention on the first email in my inbox after Peter and Lydia exit my office.

  Damien

  It’s dark outside the window when I finally lift my head from my laptop screen. The whole day has gone by working here at Annette & Co. I roll my shoulders and suppress a yawn, deciding to call it a day.

  Mike follows me into the elevator as we make our way down into the store section. The staff acknowledges me with polite nods as I walk across the various display cases. It’s almost closing time and there are still a few patrons around. Just as I’m about to exit, I see an old man peering into a tray of rings. He selects one and puts it on his pinkie finger.

  “Yes, this is the one. She’ll love it,” he tells the girl attending him. “Please wrap this up for me.”

  He swivels and his eyes meet mine. I give him a warm smile and exit outside.

  I scroll through my phone while Mike instructs the store valet to fetch my car. When a few minutes have passed, I look up. “What’s going on, Mike? Where’s the car?”

  Mike squints to his right. “Sir, there seems to be a traffic jam right outside the underground car park.”

  I sigh and tuck my phone into my pocket and look to the right. Sure enough, there’s a garbage truck stopped right outside the exit of the car park.

  I rub my hands against the seeping cold while we wait for the traffic to clear.

  “You’re still here, Your Grace?” Peter asks, walking towards me.

  “Yes, I’m waiting for the car.” I point to the truck.

  “Oh!” Peter nods and we both lapse into silence.

  “Good evening,” a cheerful voice says from my other side.

  The old man from the store is smiling at me. He’s carrying a small Annette & Co. paper bag in his hand.

  “Good evening,” I respond.

  “You’re the new owner, right?”

  I nod.

  “That girl pointed you out when you were leaving.”

  “I hope you enjoyed your purchase?”

  His weathered and wrinkled face breaks into a grin. “I did. It’s my fiftieth anniversary tomorrow and I’m hoping to surprise my wife with this gift. We bought our wedding rings from your store and my wife always says that whatever jewelry you dream of, you will find it at Annette & Co.”

  “Thank you,” I say, touching my chest, “I’m honored.”

  And this right here is the reason why I want this legacy, gifted to me by the hand of fate, to survive and prosper. This is why I want to nurture it for my future generations.

  I extend my hand to him. “Damien Talbot.”

  He shakes it firmly. “Timothy Rivers. You’re the new Duke that everyone’s talking about, isn’t it?”

  Before I can reply, there’s the blaring sound of a motorcycle engine. Tires squeal against the road, drawing closer to us. I turn and Mike rams into me, pushing me to ground. I hit the floor on my side and Mike’s entire body covers me. Bullet shells explode around us in a deafening sound before the bike zooms off and there is silence again.

  Mike moves off me and I sit up on the pavement.

  He’s saying something, but I don’t hear him above the ringing going on in my ears. I press my ears with my hands willing the noise to subside; within a few moments, it does. Dread pools in my stomach as I sit unable to move, my muscles locked rigid. I force myself to look to my left and Peter’s on the floor not moving. Blood is pouring out of his body.

  “Sir, are you hurt?” Mike screams against the wail of police sirens now echoing in the background. He has a gun drawn out and looks from side to side. He turns to me when I fail to respond and shakes my shoulder hard, bringing me out of my daze.

  I put my hands out and stand. I blink several times, forcing my mind to process what has just transpired. “Fine, I’m fine. But Peter…”

  Mike speaks into the phone while I go to Peter.

  I kneel on the ground beside him and squeeze his cold hand. “Peter, talk to me.”

  When there’s no response, I try again. “Peter, come on.”

  He winces and opens his eyes. “What happened? My arm burns like the bloody devil.”

  He tries to sit up, but I push him down. “Wait, stay where you are.”

  “Mike,” I shout, “he’s injured. Call for an ambulance.”

  “It’s on the way,” he yells.

  Mike is bent over the old gent I was talking to only seconds before. He puts his finger on the man’s throat, checking for a pulse and shakes his head at me.

  “Stay here, Peter,” I order and rush towards the old man.

  There’s blood all around the old gent, no he’d told me his name, Timothy Rivers. His name is Timothy Rivers and he was alive just a moment ago. And now there’s so much blood. It’s still seeping out from the multiple bullet wounds on his chest. I look into Rivers’ face and his eyes are open as if staring into nothing, all the life drained from them.
The bag from Annette & Co. is discarded on the side, now covered in blood.

  My hands rush to my head as I suddenly find it hard to breathe. I force myself to inhale deeply and exhale. I do that several times until I am more in control of myself. I rub a shaking hand down my face and look around the once pristine pavement that is now covered with red.

  Mike removes his overcoat and covers Rivers’ face and body with it, while a few people start pouring towards us. Mike immediately stands in front of me, the gun drawn to his side as ambulances and police cars surround us.

  Aaliya

  Iclimb into the taxi with a buoyant smile. My discussions with Dale Adcock and Phil Vickery, the two artists that I wanted to meet, took off exceptionally well and their artwork will be a brilliant addition to my portfolio. My body thrums with excitement for the first time in days. It is so refreshing to be back in work mode and although I am in touch with my office and I work on my laptop from home, it doesn’t come close to working on the front line and interacting with people one on one.

  As the taxi takes me towards my house, my thoughts drift back to Damien. How can I keep him in the dark after the intimacy we shared last night? I cannot be dishonest to him. It is wrong on so many counts. I exhale a shaky breath, making up my mind. I have to tell him! He deserves to know the truth. The sooner I tell him, the closer we will be to figuring out how to get back his memory.

  My cell phone rings and Gabe’s name lights up the screen. He’s just the person I have to talk to. A rush of excitement goes through my body thinking about breaking it to Damien what we mean to one another. I pick up Gabe’s call but it disconnects. The taxi soon stops in front of my house and my phone rings again. I answer it while I unlock the door to my house.

  “Gabe, I was going to call you. I wanted to talk to you about…”

  But he cuts me off.

  “Where are you Aaliya?” He asks in a hurried voice.

  “I’ve just reached home, what’s…”

  “Switch on the TV to a news channel right now,” he cuts me off again.

  I do as he says and the channel opens to the visual of a police-cordoned off area somewhere in London.

  “OH MY GOD!” I scream upon reading the news ticker. Fear slams through me and my stomach cramps.

  Duke of Kittridge in a shootout...

  Lone gunman on a bike...

  Police at the scene right now...

  One man injured and one dead!

  My skin turns to ice. “No, no! NO!”

  It cannot be. This cannot happen. He has to be alive. He has to be.

  “Tell me he’s fine. Tell me he’s not dead,” I cry into the phone. “Please, Gabe. Please tell me he’s fine.”

  “He’s fine, Aaliya, shaken up but fine. He’s not hurt either!”

  “Thank God! Oh, thank God!” I whisper amidst tears. “Where is he?”

  “We’re at the police headquarters. Damien is giving a statement to them right now. I just stepped outside to call you.”

  I wipe my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. “Who did it, Gabe? Do they know?”

  “It was a lone gunman on a bike. He was wearing a helmet. Everything happened too fast for them register anything useful. However, they are checking security footage as we speak.”

  I swallow down a lump in my throat. “I need to meet him, Gabe.”

  He sighs. “You can’t, Aaliya. The police don’t know who shot at him, whether it was aimed at him specifically or any of the others who were with him. But he and I both think that he was the target.”

  “I need to see him. I need to see for myself that he is fine. Please, Gabe!”

  “No! Aaliya, please understand. This is difficult enough as it is. I cannot add Rian and you to this explosive situation.”

  “You have no fucking right to decide on my behalf,” I lash out.

  I wish I knew where Damien lived then I could have gone to him by myself. I hate that I’m dependent on Gabe to even see him.

  “Damien asked me to protect Rian and you. You heard him in his voice message and so, I’m going to do that in the only way I know how to and that is to keep you both away from the glare of the media and possibly, the person who is after him.”

  My hand presses against my forehead as I think on his words.

  “Aaliya,” Gabe pleads, “you need to be rational about this and work with me. Don’t you think it looks suspicious that you claim to be his wife right after he was shot at? Do you think he’s going to trust you easily? He may just think it’s a ploy used by someone to get to him. Whoever is after him took a huge risk to try and shoot at him in public. What if they have the resources to try and hurt Rian? Are you willing to risk your son’s life?”

  My shoulders slump in defeat because Gabe is right. The timing of me telling Damien right now does sound suspect and I’m unwilling to risk my son when Damien still doesn’t remember us.

  “He’s been shot at and I can’t even go to him, Gabe.”

  “Give him time, Aaliya,” Gabe says. “You bewitched him last night. He couldn’t get his eyes off you when you were dancing with Jonathan. Stay on course with him. Spend time with him. He will remember you on his own. At least try it this way before rushing headlong into confronting him about your truth.”

  “But I need to meet him, Gabe. I need to see that he’s safe.”

  “You can’t tonight. But I will try to organize something soon. Please give me a day or two. He’s safe right now, rest assured on that.”

  After Gabe disconnects the call, I crumble on the sofa and cry till I have no more tears to shed. When I left India, I’d promised myself to stay strong and see this through. But how can one stay strong in the face of such adversity? How long should I continue down this path when there’s no end in sight? When will it be a good time to tell him? Once again, I’ve no answers, only more questions.

  Damien

  It’s been two days since the shooting. Each time I think about that incident, I hear the sound of bullets echoing in my ears, I taste the terror that had engulfed me, I see the pavement that was painted red by the blood of two men. A man died because of me. Peter was injured because of me. Thankfully, the bullet only scraped his arm and he wasn’t too badly hurt. I’m glad that he’s back home safe and sound. But that other man Timothy Rivers…I can’t even think of him without breaking into a cold sweat. And it constantly keeps ringing in my head that it could’ve been me.

  Shutting down those thoughts, I peer outside the car window as we drive through the interiors of Scotland. A light snow is falling, painting all the tops of the trees white. I yawn, my tired eyes stinging from lack of sleep. I should have cancelled this meeting today, but after the crazy two days I’ve had, visiting Jonathan’s estate in Scotland seemed like a fine idea to take my mind off the shooting.

  I’ve spent the whole of yesterday deferring questions from the police. I refuse to tell them my suspicions and to involve them in my own situation until I’ve sorted the mess my father and brother have left behind at Annette & Co.

  The car stops in front of Jonathan’s house and the waiting butler shows me to his study. Refusing his request to sit, I stride towards the window instead and peer at the rolling dark clouds. The snow is steadily falling now. The weather is taking a turn for the worse and I don’t want to be stranded here when that happens.

  The Sommerfield Estate is fifty kilometers north of Inverness and is in the middle of nowhere. My plane landed at a private airstrip in Inverness and from there Mike drove us here. Usually, the drive through any part of Scotland is beautiful but driving back even to Inverness in bad weather will be fraught with danger.

  I check my watch. It’s been fifteen minutes since I was shown to Jonathan’s study and he hasn’t yet made an appearance. Here I am, way too early on a Saturday morning, in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands, miles away from civilization and the bugger hasn’t the decency to be on time. I decide to give him five more minutes, else I’m going to leave. After the crazy, sleepless
nights I’ve had, my rather rotten mood is souring further with every minute that he’s delaying.

  The door opens and Jonathan finally saunters in with his usual joie de vivre. “Apologies, apologies, Damien. You’re right on time as usual,” he tells me looking absolutely unapologetic.

  “And you’re late as usual.” I shake hands with him.

  He inspects me from top to toe. “How are you holding up? I heard about the shooting.”

  I sigh. “I’m fine.”

  “The news reports state that some fanatic against the aristocracy has probably decided to target you.”

  “Yes. I guess that’s what it is.”

  When the police came up with this conclusion, I didn’t correct them. It makes sense to use this as a ruse for now because every now and then we do have some activists who pick on entitled aristocrats like Jonathan and me. I agreed with the police and hence they’re off my back for now while Mike’s using his contacts to investigate more thoroughly. Now, he has a valid excuse to be in touch with the police for any information they get about the shooter. So far there is none though.

  “Bloody damn fanatics!” Jonathan comments. “Why can’t they understand that we don’t just twiddle our thumbs in our huge houses? Many of us work for a living and do a great amount of good for society.”

  Jonathan is one of the premier horse breeders in the world and in spite of his wild ways, he is one of the hardest working people I know. Royalty from across the world, American tycoons and Chinese billionaires covet the horses from his stud farm.

  I give him a half shrug. “Many of us, but not all and that’s where the real problem is.”

  Jonathan nods.

  We both study each other without speaking and it’s rather sad that neither of us has anything more to talk about. This man is a good friend and I have to at least try and mend it with him, no matter that I don’t remember why I chose to disconnect with him when I disappeared for five years.