The Charmers: A Novel(60)

Now, sitting at Verity’s bedside, watching over her as though by sheer strength of will he could make her better, he thought if there ever was a woman that needed his protection, it was this one. It had been a long hard road after his wife was killed, taking on the role of bringing up two small girls alone, returning home to those endless evenings, his children secure in their beds, some favorite music playing, a bottle of wine opened, and no one to share any of it with. Especially his emotions. There had been nights, he would admit it, when he, a grown man, the tough, vigilant cop, had broken down and cried. But wine was better without tears and time moved on. Looking at young Verity Real, sleeping like she was drugged, he felt a tenderness he recognized as the first awakenings of love.

He got up quickly, told himself he was a fool, brushed down his uniform, adjusted the tie, patted the gold stars on his epaulettes. He should not be wasting time here. The girl—he always somehow thought of Verity as a girl, not a woman, though she was certainly old enough to qualify—did not need him. Of course not, she would never need a man like him.

Without so much as a knock, the door suddenly swung open. The Colonel’s hand reached automatically for the weapon at his hip, so it was the barrel of a Luger the Boss faced when he walked in.

“Well, well,” the Boss said, putting his hands up. “The Colonel is playing soldiers again. I thought we’d had enough of that at the party. Anyhow, I did not expect to see you here.”

Embarrassed, the Colonel apologized. He took out a large white handkerchief and mopped his suddenly sweaty brow, feeling like a kid caught in some nefarious act, instead of the policeman acting on his duty.

He said, “Your men at the gate were good enough to allow me to enter.” He knew he sounded like he was reading for a script, when all he’d wanted to say was the guys let me in, I came to check on the young woman who’d almost drowned and investigate the suspicious event.

There was just something intimidating about the Boss, an element the Colonel recognized from his years of investigating criminals, an invisible aura of darkness. This was a no-holds-barred man who would allow nothing and no one to stand in the way of getting what he wanted. And quite suddenly the Colonel understood that what he wanted was Verity. And he felt afraid for her.

The Boss said, “Well, as you can see, Verity is being very well looked after, right here. Anything she wants, or needs, will be hers.” He sounded impatient, as though it was time the Colonel left.

The Colonel said, “Then I suggest you have Dr. Prescott examine her when he returns.”

“Prescott?”

“The world-renowned neurosurgeon. I’m sure you’ll recognize his name and his work.” The Colonel was definitely sweating. He mopped his brow again, aware that the Boss was observing him. “Besides, he’s your neighbor.”

“I know him. He was nice enough to attend my party, as you were yourself, Colonel. I trust you enjoyed it. I’m a hospitable fellow, I like to share what small things I can offer to my neighbors and friends, like yourself. But now, my dear Colonel, I must ask you to leave. Let us allow young Verity to get what they call her ‘beauty sleep,’ though as you can see for yourself, she surely needs no sleep to make her beautiful.”

The Boss was smiling at him, holding open the door. The Colonel wanted to hit him. He wanted to punch him right between those dark eyes that were staring so mockingly into his own. It took all his self-possession to simply put on his cap and walk past the man and out through that door.

As he hurried down the path, past the main house to where his car was parked, down the gravel driveway, for the first time in his life the Colonel was uncertain what to do. In the end, he decided he needed to get in touch with Chad Prescott, and with Mirabella.

Mirabella

The Colonel met me at the Nice airport.

“Madame Mirabella,” I heard him call as I wandered from the labyrinth, dragging my wheeled duffle behind me, still lost in the gloom of leaving Chad, a man I had not so much as really even yet kissed, well, not properly anyway, let alone had a more intimate relationship with. Such as an affair. I was lost in gloomy thoughts of that, and of what I was going to do to help Verity, and now here came the very man I needed.

The Colonel took my bag and brought me up to date on Verity’s welfare.

“We have to get her out of there,” he said finally.

I told him what Chad believed had happened, and how he distrusted the Boss.

I had a vision of her in that enormous bed, her angelic sleeping face propped on a small mountain of pillows, the bedside table piled with books, magazines, the chilled bottle of Perrier, even a crystal glass to drink it from; the kindling in the grate waiting only for a match to light the log fire, soft music playing, the view of trees and flowering bushes and the scent of jasmine and lilac from the bowls of flowers. It did not take a genius to know how easily a girl might be seduced by such lavishness, by such overwhelming generosity, by such power and money.

“What shall we do?” I asked the Colonel, feeling completely helpless.

“I have to speak to the Boss,” he said.





50

The Boss

The Boss had not gotten exactly what he wanted. He was a frustrated man, a grown-up child deprived of the promised treat, and it was his own fault. True, he had Verity shut away in his guesthouse, though now not quite “at his mercy” as she had been before. And true, he had received due recognition from the media by saving her life. The video of him walking from the sea holding the unconscious girl aloft had been featured on every newscast worldwide. Her hero, was the caption, along with cameos detailing his life, his homes, his wealth, his generosity, and the fact that he was single.