Майкл Ридпат - The Predator

After a particularly obscure session, Eric turned to Chris. ‘Do me a favour. Don’t try to guess what’s going on.’

‘Of course not,’ said Chris.

Eric sighed. ‘You’d think just one night I’d be able to leave at five o’clock, wouldn’t you?’ Then his phone chirped its tune again.

Eventually they were on a small country road that wound its way through woods, past mansions surrounded by high walls and snatches of sea shifting darkly in the moonlight. After a couple of miles, they rounded a bend; Terry pressed a remote control, a set of iron gates swung open, and the car pulled up in front of a rectangular white house bathed in a soft light from the lamps placed strategically around it.

‘We’re here,’ said Eric.

‘Is this the place you showed me on the boat? The place you said you always wanted to buy? Wasn’t it designed by some fancy architect?’

‘Meier. That’s right. I’d forgotten I’d shown you that. You have a good memory.’

‘I remember that night, at least.’

‘Yeah. Well, come inside.’

They got out of the car, and Terry drove off. Chris was almost expecting a footman, but it turned out that Eric had his own set of house keys, and was capable of using them himself. ‘Hi!’ he shouted, as they entered a huge hallway, with a wide set of stairs heading upwards.

A slender woman in jeans and socks, with her fair hair tied back, appeared and gave Eric an affectionate kiss.

‘Chris, this is Cassie.’

‘Hi,’ she said with a friendly smile, and held out her hand to be shaken. There was a cry of ‘Dad!’ and a small boy with blond curly hair, who looked very much like his mother, hurtled into the hallway and grabbed his father’s leg.

‘And this is Wilson.’

‘Howdeedodee,’ said the boy, from between Eric’s legs.

‘Hello,’ said Chris.

Eric heaved the boy up into his arms. ‘Do you mind if I go up and read him his story?’

‘No, go ahead,’ said Chris, and followed Cassie into a huge kitchen. He passed an Hispanic woman who was putting on her coat.

‘Good night, Mrs Cassie.’

‘Good night, Juanita. Thank you.’

Cassie poured Chris some white wine and attended to the cooker, set on a kind of marble island in the middle of the vast room. ‘Wilson’s thrilled to have his dad home in time to put him to bed,’ she said. ‘He won’t be long.’

‘Are you working at the moment?’ Chris asked.

‘Part time. Since Wilson was born and we bought this place, it seemed a shame to spend the whole time in the city. I have a PR company. Fortunately, my partners are extremely good, but there are lots of evening functions that I still have to go to, which are kind of a drag.’

‘This is a nice house.’

‘We like it. Eric’s family comes from round here.’

‘I know. What about you?’

‘Philadelphia. The Main Line. It’s handy for Washington, which seems to be where all my family end up.’

‘Including Eric?’

Cassie smiled. ‘Probably. He can tell you about that himself. Now, how do you know Eric? He did tell me, but I find it difficult to keep track of all his friends.’

‘We were on the Bloomfield Weiss training programme together. Ten years ago.’

‘Do you still work there?’

Chris smiled. ‘No, thank God.’

Cassie laughed. ‘They all say that. I don’t know how Eric survives.’

‘He seems to be doing rather well.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Cassie. ‘I’m convinced he works in the mailroom. Have you seen his office?’

‘No.’

‘Precisely. Nobody has. And he calls his horoscope line every few minutes on his cell phone so that I’ll think he’s important.’

‘And then the horoscope line rings him back?’

‘Maybe it’s got callback. I don’t know. Eric would. He does seem to know about telephones.’

Chris laughed. Megan was right: Cassie was a nice woman. And attractive.

‘He says he spends a lot of time out of the country,’ Chris said.

‘Tell me about it.’ Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘But I think he genuinely does try to get back here whenever he can. Here, help yourself to another glass if you like.’

After twenty minutes or so, Eric joined them, and they all carried dinner through to the dining room. The table, chairs and cutlery were over-designed modern stuff, and didn’t look as though they were meant to be used for a real dinner at all. But Chris’s attention was grabbed by a painting on one wall. It was the picture of the petrochemical plant in the Saudi Arabian desert that he knew so well.

‘I recognize that,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ said Eric. ‘I think it was Alex’s best. His mother gave it to me.’

‘I’m glad you’ve kept it.’

They sat down. Another wall of the room was entirely glass, and it gave a terrific view of the bay and lights twinkling in the distance.

‘Is that Oyster Bay?’ Chris asked.

That’s right,’ said Eric.

‘Do your parents still live there?’

‘Not any more. Five years ago, my father ran off to California with some awful woman twenty years younger than him. My mother was so ashamed she moved out of town as well.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Chris said.

Eric sighed. ‘That kind of thing happens in families, these days. I’ve got to say, it was quite a shock. Dad never struck me as that kind of man.’

Chris changed the subject. ‘This is delicious,’ he said, digging in to the exotic salad Cassie had made. And it was. So was the main course, tuna steaks in a pineapple salsa sauce, and there was crème brûlée afterwards. The evening passed very pleasantly, and then Cassie announced she was going up to bed.

‘Would you like a cognac, Chris?’ Eric asked.

‘Here, I’ll help you with the dishes first,’ Chris said.

‘Oh, don’t worry about them,’ said Eric. ‘Juanita will deal with them in the morning.’

Chris paused for a second, thinking how nice it would be never to have to do the washing up after dinner parties, then followed Eric through to a large living room, with very little furniture and acres of empty floor space. Embers were glowing in a large open fireplace. It all looked good, but Chris suspected that Wilson spent very little time in there. Eric poured two brandies from a smooth curvilinear decanter.

‘Thanks for putting in a good word about me to Rudy Moss.’

‘No problem. How did it go?’

‘Waste of time,’ said Chris. ‘I had to try it, and I thought that I’d be able to persuade him, but he wasn’t having any of it. I reckon he just wanted to demonstrate his power over me. Gave him some kind of kicks I suppose. Nasty little man.’

Eric smiled. ‘It’s a shame someone so bright could be such a jerk.’

‘The fund’s in real trouble now. I’m going to have to sell some bonds to raise the cash to pay Rudy out, and the market timing is all wrong. Bloomfield Weiss won’t give me a decent bid for that stupid Eureka Telecom position Ian Darwent stuffed us with. And now another investor wants out. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘You’ll figure it out,’ said Eric.

‘I wish I had your confidence. I’d hate to let Lenka down.’

‘Don’t take it so personally. She’d understand.’

No, she wouldn’t, Chris thought. She would fight tooth and nail to save Carpathian. And so should he.

‘Have you tracked down Marcus Lubron yet?’ Eric asked.

‘Not yet. That’s tomorrow’s task. Once I’ve seen George Calhoun.’

‘Oh, yes. What on earth do you want to see him for? That really is a bad memory I’d like to keep in the past.’

Chris told Eric all about his discussion with Abby Hollis. Eric listened closely. When he had finished, Chris asked him about Alex taking drugs.