Harlan was wondering what he could do next. Disaster upon disaster had piled in on him, but he could rise again. After his meet with Javier, he would start to regroup. Smooth things over there, reassure the cartel that he was still their man. Get some new boys together, people he could trust – not like that bastard Ludo and that waste of space Nipper, who’d both let him down so badly.
He thought – briefly – that maybe something off had happened to them. But no. No way. Two hard cunts, searching the safe English countryside for one helpless girl? Nah. They’d given up, cleared off out of it; moved on to pastures new. Later, when all this was settled down, he’d find them. He’d track them down. And then they’d be sorry.
Yeah, it would all be OK. He’d talk to his associates in Manchester and Liverpool, make sure everything was fine with them and that they hadn’t lost faith in his ability to pull this all back together. Of course they would have heard about all the misfortunes that had befallen him. They knew his manor just as surely as he knew theirs. There were people in place all around him, he knew that, reporting any dirt they found on him back to their masters. So they knew damned well – just as Javier knew – that he was in a hole.
But he could dig himself out.
He was certain of it.
From the city he drove the Porsche back to the Essex house. The grass was even longer now, no security on the gate. He let himself into the house. Empty. No cleaners. Nothing. The whole place looked tired. Dead flowers drooped in a stinking vase in the hall. In Nula’s sitting room, on the mantelpiece, stood the two urns containing Charlie’s and Nula’s ashes. Turning away from them, he went back out into the hall, running his hand up the bannister as he went up to the master bedroom. His fingers came away coated with dust.
Things were going to have to change. He admitted to himself that he had lost grip lately. Let things slide. But not any more. After he’d settled things down with the cartel, he’d be back in the driving seat. Javier was meeting him at the Savoy. And he was looking forward to it. He’d grease up that little wop bastard with oily promises and grand reassurances, and Javier would soak up every word and go back to Bogota to tell the cartel that Harlan was back in control.
Soon, he would be. He promised himself that.
He’d wobbled a bit. But that was in the past.
Now he was here, cooling his heels, mentally preparing himself. He took a long luxurious shower and then towelled dry. He dressed in fresh jeans and a crisp white linen shirt. Then he stood looking out of the vast master bedroom window down the garden and over the grounds to the orchard and the zoo. No helicopter on the helipad, not any more. He thought of Charlie then, and that crazy old cow Nula.
Dead and gone.
Sorting them out should have solved every problem. But it hadn’t been plain sailing since the crash. Far from it. Someone, somewhere, was making his life hell, tearing chunks out of his backside, kicking the shit out of his manor.
He thought of Belle. Still missing. Dead, or alive? He hadn’t a clue. He thought of the scarred woman the Vietnamese had talked about. The dragon lady.
Belle?
Nah. Surely not. He went back downstairs. He’d have some lunch if he could find anything in the kitchens and then he’d go down to the zoo; he liked it down there, although that place, like the rest of his manor, had been sadly neglected of late. They used to keep a girl on to care for the reptiles, but she’d left, months ago. The caimans and the big boa had scared her. So he had no idea when they or any of the other animals had last been fed. None whatsoever. It was time he got a grip on things.
And he would.
He promised himself that.
Leaving the master suite, he paused at his old room and pushed the door open. It was empty now, all his stuff had been moved out. The master suite was much more comfortable even though it was bigger and he’d always had a liking for small, enclosed spaces. Still, he was getting used to the suite. It was fitting that the master of the house should be in there – and he was the master.
He kept telling himself that.