Barbara Taylor Bradford - Breaking the Rules

BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD

Breaking the Rules

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2009

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2009

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780007304073

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2014 ISBN: 9780007304202

Version: 2017-10-25

In loving memory of Patricia Parkin, my British editor and friend for thirty years, who died on March 20, 2009. You told me to listen, and I did. I’m still listening to you, Patricia, and I always will be.

This book is also for my husband, Bob, who knows the many reasons why, with my dearest and abiding love.

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

March 2006

PART ONE

Falling in Love

August–December 2006

ONE

Two

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

PART TWO

Dodging the Enemy

January–April 2007

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

PART THREE

Winning the Game

April–August 2007

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

Manhattan

September 2007

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He was a stocky, slightly rotund man, in his thirties or thereabouts, and he leaned against the van, looking perturbed. He took a long drag on his cigarette, wondering why Bart was taking so long. To his way of thinking, Bart should have done the job already and been back before now. And they should have been speeding away from the scene of the crime. He glanced at his watch; it was just a few minutes past four. They needed to be on their way. Heading back to London.

Wondering whether to go looking for Bart, he suddenly tensed, leaned forward, squinting in the sunlight coming through the trees. He listened acutely, frowning, wondering exactly what it was he had just heard. Scuffling? Branches breaking? Yes, that was it. And also a muffled scream? He wasn’t sure there had been a scream … but maybe there had.

He hoped to God that Bart wasn’t up to his old tricks. They’d be in the shit if he was. And really and truly in it. Like dead.

His impatience spiralled up, dragging with it sudden apprehension. Sam, for that was his name, made an instant decision. He dropped his cigarette on the dirt path, grinding it under his foot. Pulling the key out of the ignition, he shut the door of the van, and hurried down the path into the denser part of the woods. It grew dimmer, sky and sunlight obscured by the density of the trees that formed a dark canopy above him.

Within a couple of minutes, Sam was close to the clearing; sounds became more distinct … Bart cursing and hissing and breathing heavily … and then a female scream cut short by Bart. And more scuffling.

Sam cursed under his breath, began to run, shouting, ‘Bart! Bart! For Christ’s sake, stop it!’

Startled, Bart swung his head sharply, turned his body towards Sam, and in so doing left himself vulnerable.

The young woman pinned under him seized her opportunity. Bringing her right hand up, she bashed Bart hard on the side of his head with a rock, and did so with unusual force. Dropping the rock, she pushed him hard with both hands. Injured, blood spurting, Bart fell backwards.

Scrambling to her feet, pulling up her jeans, the girl ran away, sped deeper into the woods, shouting, ‘Gypo! Gypo! Come on, boy!’

Sam was still frozen to the spot, filled with shock at their failure. A horse whinnying, hooves thudding along the path, told him the girl had escaped. She was gone. They’d never catch her now.

Rousing himself, Sam ran over to Bart, who lay on his back, his eyes closed, his head and face covered in blood. Sam bent over him, found a faint pulse, heard even fainter breathing. Bart was alive. Well, for the moment. Stupid bastard he was, messing with the girl, trying to screw her. Served him right, it did.

Getting hold of Bart under the arms, Sam dragged him along the dirt path, pausing from time to time to catch his breath. He was sweating profusely. It was unusually warm for March. When he finally got him to the van he opened the back doors, managed to drag Bart inside. He hid him under a blanket, closed the doors, raced around to the driver’s seat, then backed the van along the dirt path until he came to the incline. Making a U-turn, he headed down onto the main road, began driving south. He didn’t know whether Bart was now dead or not. All he knew was that he had to get away from this area as fast as possible, before the girl raised the alarm.

His body was taut, his expression grim as he pushed ahead; after a while he began to slow his speed. All he needed was a local traffic cop on his arse.

Bloody hell, this was a disaster. Sam grimaced. The boss would have their guts for garters for messing up the way they had, for failing to eliminate the girl. No, hang on, it was Bart who’d failed. Not him. But understanding the way the boss operated, he was certain they’d both end up dead as a doornail.

Not if I can help it; not me, Sam muttered to himself. But what to do with an injured Bart or Bart’s body? How to deal with it? Dump it outside a hospital in another town? Leave it by the side of the road? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to save himself from the boss’s wrath …

‘Come live with me, and be my love,