I flew out of LA the next afternoon, arriving back in London the morning after that. I slept most of the flight, feeling more relaxed than I had for months. Natasha and the kids were delighted to see me – especially when I handed them their expensive, well-thought-out gifts rather than the usual cheap last-minute tat – and Bill Davis was equally delighted with my report from my meetings with Buddy. He was already hinting that my promotion would be made permanent. I had managed to sort out the situation with Olivia – and Bennett, although harshly treated, was at least out of my life.
That Saturday we took Helen and Matthew into town for a spin on the London Eye and a movie at the BFI IMAX cinema. Then we went up to Hatton Garden and bought a new wedding ring for me – flasher than its predecessor, with three colours of intertwined gold – and a matching pair of diamond earrings for Natasha. For the first time since I’d slipped through the screen into my own private pornographic disaster movie, it was starting to look as though, somehow, things might work out all right.
But that would be a pretty boring end to the story, wouldn’t it?
The next morning, I was sitting trying to concentrate on the Sunday Times while Matthew clambered all over me, flying model aeroplanes into my ears and landing them on the sleek runway of my head, when my mobile phone rang. The screen said ‘Private number’. The voice I heard was horribly familiar.
‘West, is that you? It’s Joseph, Joseph Bennett. I need to talk to you.’
‘Shit!’ I thought. ‘OK,’ I replied, hesitantly, ‘I’ve got a few minutes before we take the kids swimming. What can I do for you?’
‘Not on the phone,’ he hissed, ‘I need to see you in person. When can we meet?’
I wasn’t especially keen to see him mano e mano, given the reasonable probability that he would take the opportunity to rip my head from my scrawny shoulders. ‘The thing is, Joseph, I’m just back from LA and things are completely mad at the office. After swimming, I was planning to pop in for a few hours to go through the backlog. Then next week it’s meetings, meetings and more meetings. You know how it gets. How about next weekend?’
‘Yes, I know exactly how it gets, thank you,’ he replied. ‘But I have to talk to you urgently – today.’ He heard my silence and quickly identified my concern. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, West, I promise. I’m in enough shit already. We can go somewhere where there are plenty of other people if it would make you happier.’