Adrian Magson - No Tears for the Lost

It was evidently sufficient for Myburghe. He made a grunting sound. There was no doubt that, having spent time in Colombia, he would have met more than his fair share of security men and women. Because of the diplomatic and political circumstances in which he’d lived and moved, perhaps he’d managed to do so without having to consider any of the individuals as people before.

‘Glad to hear it.’ He looked doubtful but soldiered on. ‘Some of Keagan’s team have been assigned to cover the church. There are various government and Foreign Office people attending the service, and Keagan thinks the journey between the village and here is a weak spot. I’d like you two to concentrate on the house and grounds, and obviously Victoria and Annabel, when they get here.’

‘That won’t be easy, with just two of us,’ said Palmer. ‘They’re unlikely to stay together, and in a crowd of any size, that leaves us overexposed. I recommend we get more people in.’

‘I appreciate that. On the other hand, I know enough about security to realise that I could draft in a small army, and it still wouldn’t guarantee their safety. Just do what you can. Please.’ He looked at his empty glass and put it down on the desk with an expression of regret.

Palmer said nothing, but conceded the point. A large team could never ensure absolute safety. On the other hand, while two focussed professionals blending with the crowd might spot trouble before it happened, it was hardly throwing a wall of steel around them.

‘And after the wedding?’ Riley asked. ‘They could still be vulnerable.’

Myburghe nodded. ‘Victoria is delaying her honeymoon, so she won’t be travelling for a week or two. Perhaps you have some suggestions?’ His eyes slid to Palmer for guidance.

‘I’ll put a couple of extra people on them,’ said Palmer, getting to his feet. ‘I know their addresses. They’ll be in place before either of your daughters leaves here.’ It was as much an instruction to Sir Kenneth as a reassurance. ‘In the meantime, we’ll do a thorough security check of the place. Do you have a list of all staff working here over the next couple of days?’

‘Of course,’ Sir Kenneth nodded. ‘Good point. I’ll see to it.’

Myburghe approached the window and watched as Palmer and Gavin crossed the rear garden. They moved comfortably, clearly attuned to their surroundings and each other. He felt a faint rush of comfort at their presence. They seemed to be a good team.

But he knew they weren’t enough — they never could be. Not by a long way.

He wondered what was yet to unfold; what barricade would be breached in order to turn the screws on him further? What nameless horror would they mount next to make him do what they wanted?

The door opened and the slender figure of Victoria stepped into the room. She was tall and graceful, and as she leaned forward to greet him with a kiss, he was reminded at once of the huge risk he was taking by going ahead with the wedding. Yet when he had suggested cancelling it in the wake of Christian’s disappearance, she, like Annabel, had protested strongly. Thankfully, he pondered, although they knew about the threats, they didn’t know the reason for them.

‘Is she his girlfriend?’ Victoria asked, watching the two figures in the garden.

‘I’ve no idea. I doubt it.’ Myburghe knew that Victoria and Palmer had once been more than acquaintances. Thrown together by circumstance when Palmer was hired to look after a friend of hers, Victoria had gradually become fascinated by the seemingly nonchalant but watchful ex-military policeman hovering in the background. It had taken solid resolve and the counsel of Susan, his wife, to make him step back and leave them to it, rather than rush in and try to stop the relationship developing. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

‘No. There’s no need.’

‘No regrets?’ he queried, and instantly wished he hadn’t.

But Victoria smiled and touched his arm, knowing he was concerned for her. ‘No. Frank’s a lovely man. But I wouldn’t have figured very much in his life. It was fun, but… ‘ She shrugged. ‘I’m pleased he’ll be around, though. He’s solid. I trust him and so does Mummy.’

Myburghe grunted, recognising the warning signals against becoming the over-protective father. ‘Very well. Are you off?’

‘Yes. Back to London. I’m having dinner with Annabel and a couple of girlfriends tonight. Perhaps you could make my apologies to Frank?’

He nodded and watched her walk from the room, then turned and looked at a photo of Christian on the wall. His son was smiling into the camera with all the innocence and promise of youth, and Myburghe felt sick and ashamed, the guilt washing over him as it did every waking minute, and even in his dreams.

‘Do you believe it?’ said Riley, as they made their way back to the car. ‘That he ditched all the letters and stuff? How dumb is that?’

‘People do strange things.’ Palmer had been quiet on the tour of the house, checking exits and stairs, familiarising themselves with the general layout. Now they were off to look at the approaches to the village and the house and grounds. It wasn’t giving them much time, but it was essential they got to know their way around in case disaster struck.

‘And you’re okay with that?’

‘No. I’m just trying to figure out why he did it.’

‘You make it sound as if it was deliberate.’

‘Maybe it was.’

‘But that would mean-’ Riley stopped and looked at Palmer, who kept walking, but at a slower pace.

‘It would mean,’ he finished for her, ‘that he didn’t want the letters traced.’

She caught up with him, digesting the implications of that idea. The only conclusion was astonishing. ‘He knows who sent them? That’s incredible. What makes you think that?’

He stopped. ‘Most normal people getting threatening letters would go straight to the police. Myburghe’s had far worse than letters, but with a hotline right to a close protection unit, he’s done nothing about the latest package. I don’t think he even told Keagan about the finger. Why not?’

‘Palmer, that’s a bit wild, isn’t it?’

‘Depends what he’s hiding, doesn’t it?’ He started walking again and Riley had to scramble to catch up.

‘He didn’t mention his wife at all.’

‘Ex-wife,’ Palmer explained. ‘They split last year. Lady Myburghe lives in London. She’ll be at the wedding, though.’

‘Does she know about Christian?’

‘Yes. He had to tell her in case it hit the headlines.’

‘You mean he considered not telling her?’

‘They don’t communicate much.’

‘Jesus, no kidding!’ Riley thought back to the websites she’d searched. She was certain there had been a photo of Sir Kenneth and his wife taken sometime in the last year or so. Whatever had driven them apart must have been recent. It might be worth taking a closer look.

As they approached the car, she said casually, ‘So you know Victoria Myburghe.’

‘Knew her,’ Palmer corrected her. He held out the keys to the Saab. ‘Do you want to drive?’ The way he said it told her he was hoping it would take Riley’s mind off asking awkward questions.

‘No, thanks.’ She climbed in and settled herself down. ‘She’s pretty. Girlfriend, was she? Victoria, I mean.’

‘No.’

‘Well, she wasn’t a college chum, was she?’

‘Hardly. I’d have been arrested for cradle snatching.’

‘Oh, come off it. She can’t be that much younger than you. Anyway, hadn’t you heard? Some girls prefer the more mature man.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘So where did you meet her? Was it at a Young Farmers’ ball in Chipping-Cum-Stately? No, of course not. You don’t do farms, do you? Or — ’