The Devil's Handshake

31

Upper Barpham

Once a year ever since he started his business, Thomas would host an event for his partners and staff.

At first he had held the event at The Savoy in London, but that changed when he purchased the lease of Farrow Hall from the National Trust as a ruin in the mid-nineties.

The Hall in many ways was to Thomas a representation of his success. First built in 1570 by his ancestor it was best described as classic looking Elizabethan Manor with its Boston ivy all over it.

Spread over fourteen thousand acres, over the years and as his personal fortune grew Thomas had modernized the estate to include the addition of a fifty-room luxury hotel, serviced cottages, guest wings, and stables on the edge of the estate.

Throughout the renovations and expansion he had insisted that the refurbishment and development of all of the buildings were true to original manor in order to maintain the integrity of history that surrounded the property.

When the house was not in use by him or Nara, the estate was run as a business offering a range of sports, operated as a farm, and allowed members of the National Trust to visit as per the conditions of the lease.

Originally, his assistants had managed the program of events around the weekend, but when Nara entered his life he allowed her to take over all the event planning. This was why he found himself with her and Louise parked inside his study going over the guest list and the seating plans for the weekend.

The list included the UK Business Minister, the local MP, CEOs, Oligarchs, Ambassadors, Financiers, Socialites, senior staff, spies and finally because he was on charm offence, though much to his distaste if not Nara’s as he had never allowed the event to be photographed, a society magazine from Steve’s group to record the event.

Something that he did draw the line under was the magazine’s crude attempt to park a few of their contracted starlets into the event to promote their profiles.

In fact, apart from the hired help for the night and Steve Krivets’ latest starlet Danielle Becker and one or two actresses or famous ballerinas attached to the arms of his National Champion’s colleagues for the weekend, the event was a true high society event.

Having reviewed the menus, declaring he was satisfied with what the Michelin starred chef from the village was going to prepare for both evenings and not just tonight, which traditionally was purely for his team, he moved on to the entertainment planned for each night.

Again using a record company within Steve’s group, Nara had arranged for some of their musicians to be supplied. Reviewing it, he found an exciting mix of modern pop with a band of the moment and more to his taste a brilliant Jazz band from Ronnie Scott’s plus, though he chose not to make a comment, the addition of the Russian Pop group.

Looking up from the list he smiled at his Nara then raised his eyebrow in mischief.

It was a quizzical look that said it all. She took the bait.

“I like their music, darling!” she said with a glare, ready not to back down if he attempted to take them off the list.

“I didn’t say a word!” he joked in return, knowing if he did he would be playing with fire having already vetoed the fountain of ice surrounded by Iranian caviar that would have cost a hundred thousand pounds for being a little too over the top!

“No caviar!” she had said in horror with a look that looked like a knife had just been plunged through her heart desperately trying to get him to change his mind with one of her sexiest pouts. Nine times out of ten he gave in to her, but this time he had not. For all her other talents, she had never learned that having a mountain of caviar as a centerpiece while a magazine was in the house was inviting a public relations nightmare!

Review finished, Louise left the room leaving them alone together. Assuming that Nara would follow he went back to his paperwork on his desk.

“Thomas,” Nara asked.

“Yes,” He said, looking up to find a slightly worried look on her face biting her bottom lip. A look that usually meant she needed something outside her usual spending patterns.

“I…h-a-v-e something to tell you,” she nervously stuttered.

She had only found out this morning when her doctor rang her to confirm the news. Immediately she had been awash with emotions, she hadn’t told him that she had stopped taking her birth control pills because she wanted to make sure that she secured her place in his life by giving him a son and eventually marry her. If she did she feared he might forbid her and quickly decide she was surplus to his life in the future.

Over the years as he had never expressed any interest, in adding to their family or marriage she had wrongly assumed it was because, like the majority of her girlfriend husbands or partners, he had other women that he enjoyed. So accepting that he never threw it her face, ever the survivor, she had parked it in the back of mind just as her friends did with their men.

She truly loved Thomas more than life itself over what he done for her and her mother, but because of her early life she automatically assumed the day would come when he would move on from her.

Taking her early life experiences as a base she threw herself fully into making a baby with him. Much to her surprise though to her delight Thomas had responded with just as passion and was if anything even more passionate with her now than when she first entered his life at nineteen or their weekend in Venice all those years ago when they made their love child.

The result was the last couple of months had been to her the most incredible of her life with him despite missing her little girl terribly whom he had made her send away to school.

“Would he act like that again?” she had thought, thinking back to the last time he was angry with her and beat her all of those years before. Although it had never happened since it was never far from her thoughts.

By the look on his face, she knew he was under a great deal of stress at the moment with the job he had been given by the President of the Motherland.

Dispatching her worries momentarily as she found the courage to tell, Nara said, “I am pregnant, my Thomas.” She bit her lip.

As she said it, Thomas felt a thunderbolt sear through him, but it wasn’t destructive or unpleasant in nature rather an intense, powerful feeling of emotion, something he had only ever experienced in his life once before.

“Bloody hell!” he thought as looked back stunned at his beautiful but terrified lover seated in front of him.

Getting up, Thomas quickly walked around the desk, fell on a knee, took her hands, looked into her eyes and said with sparkling eyes.

“That is wonderful, my darling girl!” he said, his emotions bubbling over.

“You’re happy? My Thomas,” she said with a nervous smile.

“YES…yes… and yes! My lovely lady!” he replied excitedly as her news began to take hold over him.

At that moment having seen that in fact Thomas was completely over the moon and not upset in any way over her news she tore her hands away from him, grabbed him, passionately drawing him into her, and then peppered him with a kiss after kiss, dropping her papers out of her lap in the process.

“I love you my darling Nara!” he said, making her happiness complete.

On the morning of the main event with the guests now arriving, Mikhail, who was still nursing a seriously bad hangover from the amount of champagne, wine and fatally, the whiskey he had drunk after the both of them had told him and Hanna their news, wandered in to join Thomas and Saul the CFO of the group, to let him know that Rebecca and her companion had arrived at the hotel.

Immediately as he entered, Thomas laughed.

“You look like how I feel!” he said something that was true because the pair of them had drunk for England and Israel so much so that Nara had undressed him and put him to bed.

“Don’t!” he said with a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m all farmisht,” using the Yiddish phrase “for mixed up” as he sat down beside Saul before continuing.

“Anyway, Boss! Miss Leiris has checked in under Miss Field with her companion,” Mikhail said somewhat gingerly changing the subject back to his reason for popping in, ever the professional to the core.

“Companion or spook?” Thomas asked intrigued, unaware of the room arrangements.

“Spook!”

“He would never pull something as Shayn as her; he must be her boss!” answered Mikhail using the Yiddish word for “beautiful.”

“Don’t let Hanna hear you say that, she’ll cut your balls off,” retorted Thomas to his old friend in reference to his wife who before they married and had their three children, was an operative in the Shin Bet and had more than once had killed in the service of Israel, causing Saul to laugh at his friend and colleague’s expense.

“Tell me about it!” replied Mikhail joining the laughter in the room everybody knowing that although Mikhail may still look, he would never betray one woman who had tamed him. “I asked Angus to pop in and say hello like you asked,” he said, changing the subject back to business. “I also asked Saul here to make sure she gets twenty minutes with you this afternoon as well, Godfather,” pointing with his thumb towards to Saul making sure he wasn’t the only one in the room to bear the brunt of jokes. Thus earning a further chuckle from the CFO at his use of the Godfather reference of Thomas, half in joke and half in truth, knowing his habit of having him line up every thirty minutes, “a private meeting” slots outside the study door in the evening before the main events during the weekend.

“Alright! Alright! I get the message!” Thomas said, putting his hands up in mock surrender with a smile to hold his aching head.

When the offer arrived to attend his private garden party in response to Rebecca’s request to discuss further the situation in Adwalland, Michael, who was sitting beside her as they drove down to Litchfield’s estate together, had no idea it was to do with her personal crusade with regard to Christopher’s killer.

Instead, her immediate superior believed it was linked to the additional information request they had received from across the water with respect to Thomas Litchfield.

At first Michael thought about having one of Rebecca’s colleagues attend the event but thought better of it when he reviewed the guest list.

The opportunity to gain intelligence overrode his plans for the weekend! Not to mention if he were honest with himself he was guilty of suffering from a touch of voyeurism in that he desired to see how the other half lived. Something he wisely kept to himself when telling his wife.

Checking into the hotel on the estate once inside the room, Michael actually thought his wife would have really enjoyed this place not to mention the Spa, so much so he mentally decided not to tell her about it, as they could never visit it because he had used a cover name instead of his own.

Although they had been happily married over twenty years and she knew what he did for a living; he hated lying to her. It was bad enough all their friends thought he was a middle ranking civil servant instead of a senior officer in the SIS.

Because she never complained or asked him details in turn, he never told her about anything he experienced, not that there were many of them which could be considered luxurious or potentially enjoyable and he stuck rigorously to cockroach related stories to make her feel better.

At that moment though, Rebecca wasn’t thinking about the Spa.

Originally she had toyed with using the approval as a carrot as part of her strategy to get at Wasir, but she had changed her mind when one of her junior analysts advised her that the Americans had requested increased monitoring and information on Litchfield’s interests plus on his investment in Adwalland.

When she listened to his telephone conversation with the President of the country she quickly decided there and then Thomas represented a much better chance of revenge, if she handled it correctly.

With British interests over the last two years becoming focused on ongoing Gas supplies and Asian export Markets like India and China, Her Majesty’s Government, since the election, had moved away from the supporting American Foreign Policy goals and focused heavily into the rebuilding of relations between Russia and China using the position of a trusted ‘neutral,’ following the parliament’s vote over military action in Syria representing a prime example.

First, the Litchfield deal had been parked on the sidelines on the basis it was considered advantageous for British business but when the Americans had turned up on the scene, this meant as far as Rebecca was concerned that situation presented a much better bargaining chip that she could use on him.

The Vauxhall Bridge analysts had immediately grasped this by watching his first interview describing it as hostile, to say the least, for a network his company was a major shareholder in.

With the Director General instructing Michael to be “helpful” towards the Americans, in effect, meaning “all assistance short of help” so to allow the opportunity for the “deal” to bed in one-way or another.

Using her rank she had quickly taken over the liaison with the Americans using excuse that as she had the most knowledge on Litchfield and having established links of communications with him and senior members of his organization, she was the most logical choice. Secretly though it was because she instinctively knew she could use him as a lever in her quest to revenge Christopher.

“Bloody Americans! I take it we are being ‘helpful.’ I don’t want us to be caught up in a pissing contest between them and Ivan primarily as the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary have both expressed their support in this deal!” the Director General had said to Michael and her in their weekly briefing at his offices in Vauxhall Bridge.

“Of course, Sir” Michael had replied.

“We are also happy to confirm that we don’t believe he is an agent of the SVR,” Rebecca had added, handing him her report.

“Excellent news! I will let Foreign Secretary know so he can brief the Home Secretary and Number 10.” He smiled. “I had the ‘comic relief’ boys on at me why we were taking so bloody long—now I can tell them to bugger off,” he had said taking the report from her, having used his Service’s nickname for the MI5 which came about due to the red nose of Sir Francis Walsingham, the famous spymaster of Elizabeth I that formed part of their crest.

Like always, Michael, ever the inquisitor, had eyed her with a thoughtful eye when she presented her case for taking over the file.

Originally she had planned to tell him that Thomas actually knew her real name due to the politics surrounding him because she still wanted a career in the service, but relying on her instincts she had changed her mind on her way back to the office from their meeting at the Connaught over a month ago.

At the time, she processed the decision as low risk because he hadn’t let on he knew her in any of their public meetings so why take oneself out of the game, plus, though she didn’t want to admit it, she wanted to see him again having enjoyed the mental swordplay and flirting with him.

That had all changed the moment when she saw the photos of Wasir, to the point that she actually thought it might have been fate, for if she had told Michael he would have taken her off the assignment immediately. The direct consequence would have been that she would never have seen Wasir’s picture, and as such missed her opportunity to get him.

“Bashert!” meaning destiny in Yiddish she had thought at the time.

“Makes sense, Becks” Michael had said in support at the time when she offered him her dressed up false flag logic. “I will let Langley know you’re the new case officer.”

The phone buzzing in her room pulled her away from her thoughts and her unpacking for the night.

“Mrs. Field?” asked the regular public school voice of an older gentleman when she picked it up.

“Yes.”

“Angus Mackintosh.”

“Hello, Angus, and how are you?” Rebecca replied, recognizing the voice.

“Very well, Mrs. Field. I was wondering if you’re free for a meeting with Sir Thomas this afternoon?” he asked with the typical style of a British Army Officer not bothering with small talk, something his wife told him he was useless at in any case.

“Of course, what time would suit you?”

“How about three?”

“That is absolutely fine,” Rebecca answered.

She didn’t ask to bring Michael because she wanted to take the opportunity to find a baseline as to what type of leverage she might be able to use. If Michael attended the meeting he possibly could weaken that position by expressing or giving up the fact the service was only going through the motions with respect to their increased interest in Awdalland.

At a quarter to three Rebecca made her way down the stairs of the hotel. Finding Angus waiting at the bottom they shook hands then got into his golf buggy and proceeded to drive towards the main house from the hotel. Making a terrible attempt at small talk by using every Englishman’s old friend of the weather as a subject, Angus never mentioned that he knew her real name by sticking religiously to Mrs. Field all the way.

Taking five minutes to reach the main house, Angus parked up the buggy. Whereupon a member of the household staff quickly ushered them inside to the study.

Finding Thomas was already standing. It pleased her that he made no reference to their meeting at the Connaught as he shook her hand and smiled.

“Mrs. Field. I trust everybody is looking after you at the hotel?” he said using her cover name as a way of telling her that as Angus was present he wouldn’t call her by real name.

“Very much so, Sir Thomas,” she replied smiling in return, playing along.

“Excellent. I hope you don’t mind Angus being present?” he then asked.

“Of course not,” she replied. In her mind over the last hour she had toyed with a couple of scenarios as to how she could use the man standing in front of her now in the personal quest; in the end she settled on testing him first with respect to his relationship with Wasir and whether the phone conversation with the President was just to keep him on side.

Getting the small talk out of the way she went straight down to business.

“Sir Thomas, what can you tell me about your relationship with Wasir Osman Hassan?”

That question in itself immediately told both Angus and Thomas two things: firstly the British had him under surveillance, something both had expected so not surprising, and secondly the Interior Minister was a person of interest to the British.

“Why are they asking about him?” Thomas thought.

“I am sure you know more about him than we do, Mrs. Field,” Angus stated in return, surprised that a field intelligence officer was actually telling them they were under surveillance despite them both suspecting they would be.

“Why are you asking?” he probed with a forceful look.

“We are trying to make sure that no laws are being broken with respect to possible links back to Her Majesty’s Government,” she offered using the government’s latest crusade in the buildup towards the General Election.

Again that told both men they were also listening to their conversations, but that was pretty weak positioning as nobody took any notice what really happened in a third world country.

Having gathered his thoughts, Thomas answered this time instead of Angus. “He is the Interior Minister of Adwalland and provides security to the TLH exploration teams in the fields, because at the moment the law enforcement officers of the country are still pretty much in their infancy. His Ministry is responsible for the protection of all foreigners in the country.”

Angus offered a question back. “So why is he a problem Mrs. Field?”

“I take it you’re aware of his rather suspect past and business operations?” she countered ignoring Angus’s question for the moment.

“Well my dear, we know he isn’t a saint!” Angus answered annoyed at her rudeness in ignoring his probing and the fact that it was an unwritten rule that the role of MI6 wasn’t there to pass judgment on Her Majesty’s subjects and business practices of companies registered in the United Kingdom with regimes, not under UN Sanctions. It was only supposed to get involved or provide assessment with respect to whether British interests were at risk. This was a line of questioning was overstepping the mark in his opinion.

“Bribery! I will be damned,” he thought.

Sensing she had touched a nerve by Angus’s tone, this time Rebecca chose to stay silent to get the answer she needed to hear one way or another.

How Thomas answered it over the coming seconds or minutes, would tell her whether he would be an asset or represent an obstacle to her plans. Reading her face, trusting his instincts that there was more to this than meets the eye, Thomas chose to answer her question.

As he did so, Angus raised an eyebrow at his answer.

“Elizabeth, I actually agree with your service’s assessment. I think he is a dangerous man with his own agenda with respect to the leadership of his country and he is somebody that we are very aware could cause serious harm to TLH reputation if we do business with him.”

Her next answer totally surprised him in return.

“Her Majesty Government will be pleased to hear that, Sir Thomas, as you are aware the Prime Minister is keen on seeing your investment in the country gets the full support it needs. I have been tasked with making sure that happens and it is our office opinion he represents a clear threat to that.”

Rebecca’s next statement told them everything.

“Our American cousins believe he is a strong leader who has the support of the Clans. Therefore he represents to them a potential ally in the region against Al-Shabaab for them.”

“Interesting,” answered Thomas quickly understanding the significance of the exchange of information now taking place, for Al-Shabaab though a useful “PR” tool, had nothing to do with the real reason behind the American positioning.

“So they think that the Russians are backing the wrong man in the President?” asked Angus.

“That appears to be their assessment of the situation in Adwalland,” answered Rebecca.

Deciding to push a little further, Thomas asked, “So if he were to convince the Chiefs that he was a suitable alternative then he could count on their full support?”

“We can’t speak for our cousins, but we believe that is indeed the case,” the MI6 officer responded without emotion, years of training masking Rebecca’s true feelings.

A dumbfounded Angus now sat in silence processing Rebecca’s words as she started her briefing on Wasir Osman Hassan to ensure that TLH Group could best prepare with the threats coming from within Adwalland.

“Her Majesty’s Secret Service has just basically tipped a wink towards us that they’d rather see the Russians secure their interests in Africa over that of the United States of America! Just like Thomas told me over lunch,” the old General thought as she went about briefing them on the Americans view of him.

“The next Cold War is not going to be fought over ideology but rather over natural resources and in future, Her Majesty’s interests will have to be wrapped up in who best provides them to our way of life,” Thomas had said to him.

“That’s the only ideology that matters now, Angus,” he had said with absolute conviction when they had disagreed with each other two hours earlier.

“Britain would never back the Russians over American interests there’s just too much history, old boy,” he had said to back to Thomas, but now this beautiful young woman had just proved him wrong. He suddenly felt very old.

“It was always easier when it was just black or white, Communist or Capitalist, Christian or Muslim, Jew or Muslim, this new game only had survival of the fittest at its heart,” Angus sadly thought.

“The lines from now on would only be blurred!” he reflected in sadness. “The world was now the Devil’s playground!”

By letting Thomas know the Americans were taking a close look at Wasir as a possible replacement of the President she had thereby planted a seed. Dressing for dinner, Rebecca’s mind pondered on their exchange of the afternoon.

“Dad would be pleased in his little Jewish princess!” she told herself as she did her makeup.

She hadn’t actually formulated what she would do had Thomas’s answers indicated that he had in fact, a close relationship with Wasir. The fact that he didn’t, she took as a sign of “Bashert” was in motion.

Pleased with her overall appearance, she was wearing a simple long, black evening dress with her hair up in a bun above her face to show off her angled features. She picked up her clutch bag as she shut the door behind her and joined the rest of the guests in the lobby to wait for the convoy of BMWs and Audis that had been leased to take guests to the main house.

She spotted Michael dressed in a white dinner jacket with black trousers engaged in conversation with a colored gentleman and a lady Rebecca assumed immediately were Somali by their profiles. She gracefully joined them at his side.

“Ah, Elizabeth there you are!” Michael said smiling as he kissed her cheek.

“I was just having a chat here with His Excellency Suleiman Qalajango and his lovely wife, Aasyia,” Michael said. “Your Excellency, may I introduce my colleague, Mrs. Elizabeth Field,” he said keeping in line with their simple cover of civil servants newly attached to the East Africa desk. She offered her hand to the man who she guessed was the Ambassador of Adwalland and whom Michael had befriended earlier, before they had had a cup of tea together on her return from the main house so she could brief him on the meeting she just had with Thomas and Angus.

After introductions, a young member of staff, with an overriding instruction to herd the guests towards the cars outside to maintain the steady flow up to the house and avoid congestion in the lobby, wandered over. Politely he asked that the four of them make their way out of the hotel to the porte-cochere where a car would take them to the main house. Taking the hint, Michael suggested that they should catch up later. Something the Ambassador also agreed on.

Reaching the house in a matter of minutes they were met by yet another member of staff who quickly directed them through the Tudor hall and out towards the back of the house. As they wandered through the corridor, Michael’s eye was drawn to an overly large picture of an Elizabethan Buccaneer with piercing eyes watching over them from above.

“He looks like a hard bastard! Christ, doesn’t he look like Litchfield,” Michael observed.

“Yes he does,” answered Rebecca. “They’re very similar as well!” she offered.

“Really?” asked Michael.

“That’s Sir Humphrey Litchfield. He was one of Elizabeth the First’s famous Seadogs,” she briefed him.

“Christ, you really do know everything about Litchfield!” replied an impressed Michael with a smile at the extent of her knowledge covering his family history.

“That’s a little harsh Elizabeth, I have never traded slaves!” a voice behind them said with a chuckle as he joined them.

“You must be David,” Thomas said, dressed like Michael in a tailored white dinner jacket and black trousers, offering his hand

Taking his hand with a firm handshake, Michael confirmed his cover identity.

“I trust everybody is looking after you?” Thomas enquired as he did earlier with Rebecca.

“Very much so, Sir Thomas, and thank you for inviting us this evening,” replied the diplomat despite his hidden agenda.

“You’re most welcome and thank you very much for your assistance,” Thomas responded in turn in reference to his and Rebecca’s meeting this afternoon as Nara wearing a stunning couture Chanel dress joined him at his side.

“Madam Gurbanammedowova, I am Elizabeth,” Rebecca said offering her hand seizing the initiative to introduce herself to the woman who shared Thomas’s life.

“I am impressed, Elizabeth, most people have no idea how to pronounce my name,” Nara replied smiling, taking Rebecca’s hand who in turn was also assessing the attractive mature woman in front of her.

Thomas looked on with a quizzical eye.

“There were very few women in the world who can hold a candle visually to Nara in looks. Rebecca, although a polar opposite, is one of them,” he concluded as Rebecca informed Nara in fluent Russian with a hint of a French accent that was because she was once attached to the British Embassy in Moscow.

“Your Russian is perfect!” an impressed Nara said with a sparkle in her eyes.

“With a St. Petersburg accent as well!” injected an equally impressed Thomas as if a complement in reference to the fact that her accent with its French undertones sounded like the highborn society women of the early twentieth century from that city.

“A lady of many talents,” Nara implied, now eyeing up the woman copiously considering her as a possible rival after seeing the light in her Thomas’s eyes as he looked down at the woman while she introduced herself to her companion.

It was something that hadn’t been lost on Michael either as they wandered out towards the lawns of the house at the back, having had their introductions curtailed by Nara spotting one of her friends behind them, dragging Thomas off to say hello to them.

“I see he likes you, Elizabeth! Are you sure you two never met in Moscow?” he asked ever the intelligence officer, knowing they were both there at the same time.

She turned her head ever so slightly towards Michael. “His eyes just like to wander!” she answered, attempting to deflect him.

Michael smirked as if not quite believing her as yet another member of staff asked for their names so he could show them to their table for the night.

“My eyes wouldn’t wander if I had that firecracker in my life!” He muttered in reference to Nara’s beauty as they followed the young man to their table.

“Michael! What would your wife say,” mocked Rebecca.

“Where did he find her?” he asked intrigued whist ignoring the quip.

“The legend goes he bought her off a pimp in Turkmenistan!” answered Rebecca quietly as they walked down the path of the gardens.

“Really!” he answered in genuine shock.

“So he is a slave trader then,” he joked as he took onboard her response.

Rebecca smiled back at Michael’s joke but didn’t say a word.

“He certainly doesn’t play by the rules of society!” she thought knowing the details behind the legend of how the beautiful woman entered his life having researched him. The psychoanalyst report made reference to the particular moments and decisions in his life appeared to follow a form of Homeric views.

Not knowing what the analyst meant by Homeric she had looked it up and agreed instantly with his synopsis. It was why she used the Greek legends during their conversation at the Connaught.

“Everything he undertakes in his professional and personal life appears to have reason, intelligence, worldliness, secularism, courage, honor, integrity, and restraint,” the analyst had concluded. Rebecca though recognized something else. That being, because Thomas was bound to act in a particular way and to live up to his nature and not shirk from it. More specifically he had a strong inner and outer strength to achieve it. This meant once you put them all together then it was fair to assume that Thomas certainly didn’t feel the need to conform to the defined laws of society or even feel the need to be bound to it and as such in the future, this might represent a threat if on the other side,

The saving of the beautiful woman at his side was pure consequence of those views. The romantic in Rebecca saw him as a throwback to a warrior king from the stories of ancient Charlemagne. Yet from a national security viewpoint Thomas represented a dangerous threat to the national security and to the way of life she had sworn to protect if Britain’s interests ran contrary to his own, such was his influence and power.

For now though, he was an ally in her quest. At their table Rebecca and Michael found the dashing Angus and his wife, Anne, the rather young looking new Russian Ambassador to Adwalland known as Vitkor Vladimirovich Karpin, and his wife Olga.

Introductions out of the way, the dinner started with a routine by a famous wit from British Television and a contemporary of Thomas’s from Oxford as the host of the night promptly followed by a short speech by Thomas.

With the first courses delivered as the first band of the night started the entertainment, all the parties made a toast with the excellent Penat-Chardonnet Grande Reserve Grande Cru.

His speech finished, Thomas quickly left the stage and made his way to his table, stopping to shake a few hands along the way in the process with the Minister of Business, the local MP and his wife, who made sure the society photographer got a photo of her kissing his cheek.

Arriving at the table, Thomas apologized for getting caught up. Luckily everybody had started without him as Nara told everybody not to wait, knowing from experience he would most likely get waylaid.

Going around the table, Thomas hugged the Russian Ambassador to the United Kingdom, then Steve Krivets followed by a handshake with his long term friend and fellow National Champion, Valeri Aleksandr Berezutskiy, before finally their particular wives with kisses on the cheeks, and in Steve’s case his girlfriend Danielle. It did not go unnoticed by Nara that the girl had stroked Thomas’s side rather too suggestively for her taste.

“Little Jelep!” she thought in disgust.

As they picked up their glasses for their private first toast, Elena a beautiful young former ballerina from the Bolshoi, whom Valeri had acquired as a second wife, commented on the champagne.

“Nara, this champagne is like fresh, crisp green apples in my mouth it is so complex, where did you get it from?” she asked with her piercing blue eyes.

Knowing her young friend had a penchant for following them, having taken her under wing when she moved to London with Valeri, Nara replied.

“You can’t buy it, Elena, because we own the entire vintage.”

“The entire vintage!” cried Steve impressed. He didn’t think that was possible.

Stepping in to cut short the discussion as Thomas hated it when Nara went into one of her ‘One-upmanship’ modes, despite understanding that it was part of her make-up, due to having nothing before he entered her life and a general affliction of his National Champion colleagues, including Valeri who had just brought his own Premier League team, he interjected.

“There are only five thousand bottles Steve, I agree though; it is a fabulous champagne, excellent choice darling,” lifting his glass to Nara to show his appreciation.

The Ambassador’s wife, ever a trained diplomat herself noticing that Nara’s glass was filled with only mineral water and her plate was missing, knocked on the table three times then pretended to spit three times over her left shoulder as she radiantly smiled towards Nara, who quickly followed suit and did the same in response.

A shining glowing Thomas also followed suit.

“What does that mean?” asked Steve as the Ambassador, Valeri and Elena having now grasped the situation as well, followed suit, which carried over to the next table where Mikhail and Hanna and his closest aides all did the same, beaming smiles all around.

“We are praising Nara’s pregnancy. You knock the table three times and spit over your left shoulder so not to jinx it,” the Ambassador answered with a huge smile.

“It’s an old Russian custom,” Valeri further explained to Steve.

“Pregnant!” shouted Steve as both he and his young starlet girlfriend Daniele followed suit as well joining the joyful laughing surrounding the tables.

As the ripple was finished, Thomas winked at Nara whose eyes sparkled when she caught it as they raised their glasses to his lady, but not before a little shiver went down her spine.

Once the party had entered into full swing Steve joined Thomas in his study. After offering him a cigar and a tumbler of three fingers of his 78 Speyside Mortlach, Thomas asked if he wanted water.

“Yes, please Buddy, just a touch,” Steve answered as he clipped a Short Churchill cigar and proceeded to light it.

Handing the malt to his friend, Thomas started to light his own cigar.

“I am sorry Jessica went a little overboard the other day,” Steve said, starting their catch-up.

“Don’t worry about it! James had me well prepared,” Thomas answered sincerely. “We knew it was coming and anyway it proved one thing! Your leaders have definitely taken the bait!” Thomas added.

“Yeah I had that prick McGiven on the line moaning to me that our publications were being too friendly towards you and the Russians. Little fucker!” Steve added with a touch of theatre as he remembered the exchange that took place having decided he wasn’t go to tell his friend yet of his plan to run for the Governorship.

Thomas too held own his secret. That being the meeting with Rebecca at which she informed him about the “nod and the wink” as to the Americans intending to support Wasir.

Instead, Thomas asked Steve if he could give Ambassador Jack Fielding some airtime so he could assist them in the pushing of the neutral position of being honest brokers to be used by, rather than Thomas becoming the recipient of the United States of America sword.

“Fielding!” Steve replied shaking his head with a pained look that immediately told Thomas there must have been some past history between the two men.

“Do you know him?” he probed.

“You could say that!” Steve cryptically answered looking into his whiskey deeply.

To Steve the memory that flooded back after all these years was of her slender, girlish figure. Her oval face that made her beautiful in the extreme and with her finely honed figure, large eyes, a mass of coal black hair, olive skinned skin and molded lips, Kelly Christina Fielding. The only woman he had ever loved.

A product of Jack Fielding’s first marriage to an aristocratic Spanish woman Steve had met her at the Cannes Film Festival at one of his father’s parties when he was twenty-one, and she was just eighteen. She was a free spirit, born from unstable home life and a Swiss boarding school and Steve was instantly drawn to her for her ability to spark chaos all around. Over the course of that wonderful summer, he had fallen head over heels in love with both her vulnerability and independent spirit like a moth to a flame and found himself constantly getting into fights all over South of France trying to protect her from herself, forgiving her each time. It was to end tragically at the end of the summer with Steve losing her to a drug overdose on the Rivera and with it all his dreams of having children and a stable relationship.

Fielding blamed Steve, so much so, he had banned him from attending her funeral.

“We have a personal history,” was all he said to Thomas.

Seeing his friend face change to one of sorrow within an instant, Thomas chose not to press him on it.

“Fair enough, let’s forget it, I will get Weston to earn his keep,” Thomas offered wondering what had affected his friend so badly.

“Thank you,” was all Steve said.