Piers Venmore-Rowland - Latent Hazard

‘Now watch this.’ Kate smiled and walked into the evening sunshine. Rafi let out a quiet whistle. The blue gemstones in the necklace and the matching earrings had turned a fiery amber colour, setting off her hair perfectly.

‘Magic, isn’t it?’ asked Kate with a grin.

‘You look stunning… What are they?’

‘Blue amber. I’ve always wanted to wear them but never had the occasion before. They’ve been hidden away since my granny died a few years back.’

‘She had the same colour hair as you?’

Kate nodded.

‘I can see why she gave them to you. They are fabulous. I love how the amber changes colours. You look ravishing.’

They walked back to the bed. Four long dresses were draped across the duvet cover.

Rafi picked up a pale gold dress which had an almost translucent quality. It shimmered as it moved in the light. He wasn’t certain about the colour, but Kate seemed to like it. He suggested she try it on.

‘Do you think the colour is too much with my hair? A little shop in Milan made it and some matching shoes especially for me. I paid them a visit while I was working there a couple of weeks ago.’

Rafi watched as she slipped it on. He was surprised at how much he liked it; it hugged her figure, enhancing her subtle curves, and the colour actually accentuated the beauty of her skin and hair.

‘It’s perfect. There’s no need to look any further.’

‘In which case we have a some time to kill,’ said Kate suggestively, slipping off the silk dress. ‘It’s a bit cluttered in here. How’s about we try the sitting room?’

The taxi arrived outside Kate’s flat on time. The twenty-mile journey to Windsor Castle was good for the hour of day.

Emma and Aidan had also received official invitations to the dinner. Neither had expected the other to be there. The seating plan had them next to one another near the top table. Kate and Rafi sat opposite each other at the other end of the room, with a European Council member, two immensely wealthy Continental European industrialists and a French newspaper editor, Jean-Michel Coeurs.

Kate and Rafi noticed a lot of famous faces as they mingled during the pre-dinner drinks. The Royal family, senior politicians and the movers and shakers of the British economy were out in force.

At dinner, Rafi’s conversation with those sitting around him ebbed and flowed. It turned to international businesses and whether too many were exploiting accounting and taxation loopholes. Surprisingly, it suddenly got interesting.

The industrialist on Rafi’s left explained, ‘As the chairman of a listed company, I have analysts crawling over practically everything we do. I’ve got to play by the rules.’

‘That’s your choice,’ countered the other industrialist. ‘I find life so much easier running a private business. I have a flexibility that gives me a distinct competitive edge.’

‘What about the Commission and its approach to matters financial?’ Rafi asked.

This sparked off a lively debate.

‘Remind me how many millions – or was it billions? – of the Commission’s budgets were unaccounted for last year?’ asked Jean-Michel, the journalist.

‘I can’t answer that question as the accounts aren’t due out for several months,’ countered the bureaucrat defensively.

‘OK, what was the figure for the year before, approximately?’ asked Jean-Michel.

‘Roughly, in percentage terms, around… one percent’

This seemed to rankle Jean-Michel. ‘That’s over €1 billion. It would be bad enough if that was the correct figure, but I believe the true figure is far, far greater. Didn’t the European Court of Auditors raise serious concerns about where the €80 billion spent on agricultural and structural projects actually went?’

‘Yes, there are undoubtedly a number of grey areas,’ replied the bureaucrat without any hint of embarrassment.

The topic of conversation continued until the speeches, but the disputed figure still hadn’t been resolved.

Rafi mentally missed most of the speeches. His mind was on the recent conversation. Two things struck him: first, the lack of concern that the bureaucrat had about the Commission’s unbalanced books and the system’s opaqueness, and, second, the opportunities to which the private industrialist had alluded, which enabled him to play the system, make easy money and enjoy being accountable to no one. Then there was the journalist, Jean-Michel; he seemed to know his stuff. Rafi made a mental note that he was a man worth talking to.

After the dinner, whilst Kate and Rafi were waiting for their taxi home, Jean-Michel came over and said his goodbyes. He too was on his way back to Central London.

‘Why don’t you join us? We practically go past the front door of your hotel,’ suggested Kate.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was a truly memorable evening. Your Royal family certainly know how to entertain and make guests feel special.’

During the forty-minute ride into London they chatted about various things. After a lull in the conversation Jean-Michel turned to Kate and said, ‘I believe we have a mutual friend?’

‘Who might that be?’

‘Stephanie Doucet; she and I grew up together. I saw her for dinner a couple of nights ago. Our conversation touched on the terrorist attacks in London. She mentioned you, and that you reminded her of when she was younger. It seems you made quite an impression!’

The taxi came to a halt at the hotel and Jean-Michel climbed out. His parting remark was, ‘Perhaps we could have dinner with Stephanie sometime and continue this evening’s conversation?’

‘That would be nice,’ replied Rafi.

The taxi moved off. Kate playfully nudged Rafi in the ribs. ‘Thinking about your dinner with Stephanie, are we?’

‘No, I was thinking about our first night in Luxembourg and hoping you aren’t feeling tired,’ he said with a mischievous grin.

Early summer arrived; Kate and Rafi continued to travel around Europe. There had been a steep learning curve in understanding the intricacies of how the European Union, the Commission and big pan-European businesses operated.

Once every three or four weeks, they spent a weekend in London at Kate’s flat. This Saturday, they had slept in, and were lying on the bed enjoying a breakfast of croissants and coffee while going through a pile of post.

There were two smart envelopes; their backs bore the Royal Coat of Arms.

Kate opened her envelope to find it was a formal invitation to a Garden Party at Buckingham Palace, to be held in five weeks’ time. In the envelope there was a second gilt-edged card which requested the pleasure of her company at an audience with the Queen an hour and a half prior to the Garden Party.

Rafi opened his envelope. He, too, had two invitations. He recalled how, on his return from Newquay, he had liaised with an enthusiastic SJ at Number 10 regarding the idea of a Garden Party. He had thought nothing more of the conversation.

‘First a dinner, and now a Garden Party and an audience with the Queen. Aren’t we moving up in the world!’ said Rafi.

‘Wow, doesn’t it look smart?’ Kate exclaimed. ‘What an excuse to buy another new dress!’

Rafi looked across at her beaming face.

‘Would you believe it, I shall be in Milan again the week after next?’

Major Charlie Stavely and Saara phoned during the weekend to say that they, too, had received invitations to the Garden Party. They were very excited. After a flurry of phone calls, it was arranged that Kate and Rafi would see Saara and Steve for supper the night before the Garden Party and then meet up with family and friends the following morning.

Kate and Rafi had become accustomed to their European travels and over the past couple of weeks they had gone in opposite directions.