I liked the Willners right from the off, and in some ways that made it all so much worse. Far easier to protect a principal if you can be objective about the exercise – ambivalent, even. Dedication to duty is one thing, but emotional investment is the way madness lies. And if not that, then certainly a spectacular burnout.
Still, by the start of that summer I was probably heading for both.
It was the first week in May when Parker Armstrong drove me out to Long Island for our initial consultation with the formidable Caroline Willner. I remember her fixing me with a piercing eye and asking the million-dollar question.
‘So, Ms Fox, are you prepared to die to keep my daughter safe?’
Despite the intensity of her gaze, her voice was little more than calmly curious.
My answer mattered to her, of course it did. But her attempt to hide that fact behind a cool facade was revealing. It made me more deliberate in my choice of words than I might otherwise have been, facing a wealthy potential client for the first time.
‘If it comes down to it, yes,’ I said. ‘But I’d rather we didn’t have to find out.’
She raised an eyebrow at that, lifting her teacup. Beside me on the sleek leather sofa, my boss twitched in sympathetic response.
We were sitting in the huge living area on the top floor of the Willners’ ultramodern house in the Hamptons, with plate glass windows offering a widescreen view of the shoreline. Below us, beyond a stark white security wall, the Atlantic surf rolled in all the way from North Africa. Caroline Willner had been sitting with her back to the glass when we were shown in to meet her, leaving us to be overawed by the open vista. She clearly did not share our concerns about the potentially uninterrupted field of fire.
‘What Charlie means, ma’am,’ Parker said smoothly, ‘is that close protection is all about anticipating trouble – keeping the principal out of danger in the first place. Dying on the job is considered a failure in our line of work.’
Even as he spoke, he realised what lay beneath and behind the words. His eyes flickered across to mine.
Charlie, I’m sorry …
Forget it.
If Caroline Willner noticed this silent apology, she gave no sign of it. The woman opposite was no doubt used to people hesitating around her. She had the steely demeanour of someone who took no prisoners, suffered no fools. The crow’s feet radiating from her eyes and the lines ringing her neck showed she had the self-confidence to reject surgical intervention as the years advanced. Her hair was unashamedly silvered, but cut in a style as severely modern as her home.
An interesting mix of defiance and pride that would not, I noted, make her accept advice easily, particularly when it came to matters of personal safety. Such people tended to confuse caution with cowardice, and react accordingly.
Parker had given me the background on the drive out from the office in midtown Manhattan. That she was rich went without saying. You don’t own beachfront property in Suffolk County and scrape by on your uppers. The money came from investment banking and was largely of her own making. Since her divorce from some minor branch of the German aristocracy, though, she was no longer entitled to call herself Countess. I took in Caroline Willner’s fiercely upright posture and wondered if that rankled.
‘And have you ever failed?’ she asked now. She spoke with that New York old-money clip I’d come to recognise.
‘Yes.’
The baldness of my answer – or perhaps the truth of it – surprised her. She covered by taking another sip of tea from a cup so delicate it was almost translucent. There was a smear of lipstick on the gilt rim, but none seemed to have come away from her mouth. It wouldn’t dare.
Her pale-blue eyes held mine with a certain arrogance, awaiting my elaboration. I said nothing.
‘But you didn’t die.’
I returned her stare blandly. ‘Not entirely.’
She nodded, disengaging for a moment as if checking with some internal database, nodded again slowly as the figures tallied when she hadn’t quite expected them to.
So, she had done her homework on us.
Or on me …
Parker and I sat side by side, holding our own cups in which the liquid had already cooled beyond comfort. We waited, unfazed by her brief silence and not rushing to break it. Clients of Caroline Willner’s status moved at their own speed. When it came to judging the pace of their mood, Parker was an expert.
He was a quiet man, not overly tall, not overly muscled, a chameleon who blended perfectly with whatever company he kept, without ever losing the essence of himself in the process. His prematurely grey hair gave him an air of maturity that inspired confidence in any client, belying a face that could turn surprisingly youthful when he smiled. And sitting here, in this exceptional house, he looked relaxed and quite at home.
Eventually, Caroline Willner said, ‘Dina came late in my life. By that time, both my husband and I did not expect to be blessed, and then … we were.’ A brief smile, almost rueful, but affectionate. Then she glanced up and it was gone. ‘An unfortunate side effect is that I have always felt a generation removed from my daughter, Mr Armstrong. My focus has been on my work and I regret that while Dina was growing up I probably did not pay her as much attention as I should have. We are not as … close as I would like.’
Caroline Willner sat very still as she talked, only her face showing animation. She looked from one to the other of us closely, checking for censure. We were careful to show her none.
Her hands were folded in her lap and now she straightened her fingers, absently inspecting the rings on her right hand. Habit rather than vanity, although I’d escorted enough precious gem couriers to know that the emeralds she wore must have cost well over twenty thousand dollars.
‘Has she been in any trouble?’ Parker asked, neutral.
‘No!’ Caroline Willner’s head snapped up, but her gaze slid on past. ‘Just a few foolish games. Drinking, partying, that kind of thing. She’s young and she’s fallen in with a crowd who are something of a bad influence. I never know where she is or who she’s with.’ Her eyes settled on mine again, more resolute. ‘I’m hoping that is something Ms Fox’s presence will rectify.’
A flutter of movement beyond the glass caught my eye. A girl on a big muscular white horse came bounding along the surf line, the horse’s gait snatchy through the knee-high water, neck flexed against taut reins. I had the impression he was more than a handful, and his rider’s decision to go paddling had been taken more in an attempt to regain control than for pleasure.
‘If I’m to take this job,’ I said mildly, ‘it will be on the understanding that I am not the girl’s gaoler, nor your spy. I can only suggest, not enforce. And I can’t protect her if she doesn’t trust me.’
Parker shot me a warning glance, but if anything Caroline Willner looked faintly gratified, as if having someone who would stand up for her daughter – against any detractor, regardless – was a personal vindication in her eyes. Proof that she had made the right choice.
‘You’re close to Dina’s age,’ she said. I was nearer thirty than twenty, but naturally I let that flattery pass. ‘And you’re British, well-spoken. It gives you, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, a sophistication not often found in someone of your … professional background. I hope she will take note of you, at least.’
I considered telling her that if she was looking for a role model for her daughter, she had best look elsewhere. My own parents had been at times both shocked and disappointed by the way I’d turned out. But then Parker asked, ‘Is Dina close to her father?’ and the moment passed.
Caroline Willner shrugged beneath her beautifully cut jacket. My own black wool business suit – the most expensive thing in my wardrobe that didn’t contain Kevlar – suddenly seemed like peasant garb by comparison. So much for my worldly air.
‘My husband and I separated when my daughter was eight,’ she said tightly, as if forced into group therapy against her will. ‘He returned to Europe after the divorce. There has been no … regular contact since.’
She rose, turning away from us and smoothing down her dress with an unconscious gesture that reminded me of my mother. Dignity at all costs. There was a large canvas on the wall to my left, a huge bold splodge of abstract colour exploding diagonally across it like multicoloured blood spatter. She moved over towards it and, after a moment’s apparent absorption with the brushwork, twisted back, poise almost masking the tension.
‘So, can you protect her?’
Parker put down his cup. ‘We can certainly do our best – and our best is pretty good,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘But you have to appreciate, ma’am, that preventing kidnappers who are well prepared, well financed and highly motivated is almost impossible without the kind of restrictions on your daughter’s lifestyle that she would find unacceptable. All we can do is minimise the threat – make your daughter no longer seem like a soft target.’
‘Make them look elsewhere, you mean?’ She gave another quick frown, not liking the idea of passing the buck.
‘If we can liaise with the authorities, study the reports on the previous kidnappings, and get a handle on the way these people operate, maybe we …’ His voice trailed off, then turned sharp. ‘Mrs Willner?’
‘The authorities know nothing of any of this.’ Another stern stare. ‘I was assured that the discretion of Armstrong-Meyer could be relied upon absolutely.’
‘It can.’ Parker stilled, eyes narrowing. He knew as well as I did that only around one in ten kidnappings were ever reported, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. ‘You should be aware that there has been considerable success in apprehending kidnappers inside the United States – far better than in many other countries around the world,’ he said flatly. ‘I would strongly advise full cooperation with local and federal law enforcement agencies.’
Caroline Willner inclined her head, almost graceful. ‘What I feel about the matter is irrelevant at this point, Mr Armstrong. My family is personally unaffected.’ She aimed a level stare. ‘I should very much like that state of affairs to continue.’
‘Nevertheless, a number of young people have been kidnapped – young people of extremely wealthy parents with homes on Long Island – over the past year,’ Parker pointed out. ‘Keeping it under wraps can only make things worse.’
‘Nobody likes admitting that they gave in to extortion,’ I agreed. ‘And if the victims were not precious, they would not have been taken.’
Caroline Willner did not appreciate being ganged up on. Her spine stiffened. ‘In the kind of social circles in which I move, involving the authorities would generate bad publicity that is something to be avoided at all costs.’ She glanced at me again, something calculating in her face now. ‘If word of this had gotten out, it would be open season.’
‘There have been – what? Three so far, I believe you said?’ I asked dryly. ‘The first of which was the middle of last summer and the last was only a few months ago. I rather think it already is.’
‘I am not saying I condone the decision of the people involved to handle things without the intervention of the authorities, Ms Fox, only that I can understand the reasons behind it.’ Faint colour lit her cheekbones. ‘That is why I am taking these steps to avoid the same fate befalling my daughter.’
‘Of course,’ Parker said. ‘The final decision in such an eventuality would be yours to take.’
She straightened, regal, her voice remote as if this was a business deal in which she only had marginal interest. ‘So, do we have an agreement?’
Parker glanced across at me, but I shook my head. ‘That’s up to your daughter,’ I said. ‘I can only protect a principal with their willing participation. If she’s against the idea, or obstructive, and refuses to take sensible precautions, then I can’t hope to do my job.’
Caroline Willner flipped back the sleeve of her jacket and consulted a wafer-thin wristwatch. ‘Dina should be back momentarily,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’