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‘Morning Suni. How are you?’
The beggar smiled back, showing toothless black gums. ‘I am having a very fine day! Where are you going, all dressed up?’
Jhumpa winked. ‘I’ve got an audition.’ She bent down and handed over the greasy brown paper bag. ‘Here, I got you a little something. Puri puri, your favourite.’
‘Miss Jhumpa, what would I do without you?’ he called after her.
She laughed. ‘Not eat so much puri puri!’
Suni the beggar had been there ever since she moved in and she always took time to talk to him. One of the rules she tried to live by - along with always matching your handbag and shoes - was to treat others less fortunate than you with kindness. Unless that person happened to be a total wretch like Katrina Kapoor.
Her chauffeur was waiting with the door open. Jhumpa climbed in the car’s cool leather interior and sat back. It was show time.
‘You nailed it.’
Jhumpa glanced at the assistant. ‘Did I?’ She tried to sound nonchalant but her heart was racing. The audition had gone really well. The film director had loved her and said she looked great on camera. Jhumpa knew that of course - she’d spent enough time practising.
‘Yeah, you looked amazing. A real star.’ They were in a little sitting area away from the set and the director’s assistant was hanging round like a bad smell. He couldn’t make it any more obvious he fancied her. ‘So what are you up to tonight?’
‘Lots of things.’ Jhumpa looked at the door again. Bez had gone out to talk to the director. He’d been gone at least ten minutes; why didn’t they just come in and say she’d got it?
‘You know, I could always put in a good word for you.’ The assistant leaned in and Jhumpa tried not to wince. Someone had overdone the garlic last night. Shifting down the sofa she gave him a look. Back off. ‘I don’t need your help, thanks.’
The boy - who was all of twenty and covered in acne - leered at her. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Your face looks familiar.’
‘Probably.’ Jhumpa checked her iPhone again. What was Bez doing? Why didn’t he come back and save her? They must be talking money.
‘Come on, be friendly,’ the boy wheedled. ‘We can have a good time together.’
His breath was disgusting. Jhumpa was about to ask if he’d heard about the new brand of electric toothbrushes Phillips had bought out when the door finally opened. Bez came through, looking every inch the hotshot in his new D&G glasses.
She jumped up, relieved. ‘There you are!’
‘Jhumpa.’ Bez glanced at the boy. ‘Can we have a word in private?’
He didn’t look very happy. Jhumpa felt a jolt in her stomach. This wasn’t part of the plan. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ the assistant said smugly, as if he knew something was going on. As soon as they were alone Bez turned to her.
‘Jhumpa, when did you last hear from your father?’
Her agent could be random, but this was a new one for him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘Have I got the part or not?’
‘What?’ For once Bez’s mind wasn’t on the job. ‘I just spoke to the director, we won’t know for a few days yet.’
‘Oh, great.’ She sighed, trying to ignore her disappointment. ‘What’s the hold up? I thought he liked me.’
‘He does,’ Bez said vaguely. ‘Look, I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s about your father.’
Jhumpa stared. ‘Why do you keep going on about my dad?’
Bez sounded really serious. ‘I’ve just had the police on the phone. Trying to get hold of you.’
‘The police? Why?’ Now she was getting worried.
‘You should sit down.’ He started steering her back to the sofa, but Jhumpa pulled free. ‘Bez, what’s going on? Is my dad OK?’
Her agent looked scared. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. Your dad’s been kidnapped. On the Kashmiri border.’
‘Kidnapped?’ Jhumpa said stupidly. ‘Bez, is this your idea of a sick joke?’
‘No!’
As it slowly dawned on her that he was being serious, Jhumpa felt like she was starring in her own horror movie. ‘By who?’
‘Rebels…’ He trailed off. ‘They think your dad was mistaken for a spy.’
‘A what?’ This didn’t make sense, her dad was meant to be in Bhutan! As her legs buckled, Jhumpa sat down heavily on the sofa.
‘The police are on their way,’ Bez told her. He stood there awkwardly. ‘Jhumpa, I’m really sorry.’
She didn’t hear him. All she could think were two words. Kashmiri rebels. Only last month they’d been all over the news, for the kidnapping and brutal murder of five American tourists. The Kashmir region was a province in north India and a hotbed for terrorists and religious conflict. Basically one of the most dangerous places on earth. What was her dad doing there?
‘He’s not dead yet,’ Bez said unhelpfully.
Jhumpa looked up, face shock-white. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But for how long?’
Chapter Three
The Orkney Islands, UK
‘Hey there, Kate Middleton, how are the royal duties going?’
Luci Cadwallader - tall, fresh-faced and a dead ringer for Britain’s new Duchess of Cambridge - looked up from the pile of earth she was sifting through.
‘You’re such a twat,’ she said, grinning.
‘Charming. I bet Kate doesn’t talk to Wills like that. And I bought you coffee.’ Sam waggled the Thermos flask. ‘Hazelnut latte with an extra sprinkling of chocolate?’
‘I didn’t know Café Nero had started delivering to the Orkney Islands.’
‘They haven’t, but pretending’s the only way I can get through this stuff,’ Sam sighed. He unscrewed the top. ‘Shall I play mother?’
‘Pour away.’ Luci sat back and took her muddy gloves off. She could do with a break - they’d been out here since seven that morning.
‘Any luck?’ Sam enquired sympathetically.
‘Nada. I did think I’d found part of a paleolithic axe head but it turned out to be a weird shaped pebble. Don’t tell anyone, will you?’
‘Your secret is safe with me, chickie. One sugar or two with your ditchwater?’
‘Two. That stuff needs all the help it can get.’
Luci sat back on her heels and cupped the warm coffee. All around she could see her colleagues hard at work on the windswept moor. The tiny island of Wirra (population thirty) had the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in the Orkneys. Only a few weeks ago one of their team had discovered what had been described as the earliest carved representation of a human figure found in the British Isles. Pre-neolithic they were saying. It was beyond exciting.
Luci was mad about archaeology. Nineteen years old, she was in her first year at Oxford University studying for a degree in it. A love for the past ran in the family. Her father was Viscount Peter Cadwallader, Professor of Biological Archaeology at York University. The family seat was a sprawling pile in Gloucestershire and Viscount Peter spent his time between home, university and jetting off round the world on digs. At the moment he was in Bhutan excavating the remains of an ancient palace. Luci was so jealous! She would have loved to have gone with him. The wild splendour of the Orkneys weren’t a bad second, though. Off the northwest tip of Scotland, the white sandy beaches and vast blue skies looked more like a holiday brochure for New Zealand.
Luci was really close to her dad. Her mum had run off with her dad’s best friend when Luci was a baby, and her father had done a brilliant job bringing her up. Intelligent, outgoing and cheery, Luci was an accomplished sportswoman who’d captained every team at her boarding school in Hampshire and represented Great Britain in the Under 18 women’s triathlon. She was also a dab hand at country sports. Hunting, fishing, even shooting: Luci loved nothing more than picking off pheasants out of the sky over her family estate with her own 12-bore shotgun.
She wasn’t squeamish about chucking the dead birds in the back of the Land Rover, either.
‘You’re so annoying, you know,’ Sam told her.
‘What have I done now?’
‘Look at you, no make up and week-old hair and you still look stunning!’ Sam sighed dramatically and wiped a finger over his eyebrow. ‘Hamish is never going to notice me now.’
Hamish was their handsome forty-something team leader, who Sam had a massive crush on. Despite the fact Hamish was happily married with three children, Sam was convinced he could ‘turn’ him.
Luci giggled. She was so pleased she’d met Sam. The youngest by far on this dig, they’d become firm friends. Even if he did call her ‘HRH Kate’, and constantly joked about her royal wedding.
‘What do you fancy doing tonight?’ Sam said. ‘Boujis? Studio 54? We could even try Chinawhite if we’re desperate.’
‘Or we could just go to the bar in our hotel and have a single malt whiskey instead? You were rocking that juke box the other night.’
‘Don’t rub it in,’ Sam sighed. ‘Our social life is desperate.’ He still hadn’t recovered from the fact they didn’t have broadband here. How he’d ever ended up being an archaeologist was anyone’s guess.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Luci said lazily. ‘I quite like it.’ She loved being out here, away from everything and everybody. There was zero phone reception and at least Adam couldn’t get hold of her. Now her ex, they’d met at Uni and had gone out for three months. He’d been sweet but a bit clingy, and when he suggested Luci cancel her dig to spend the summer with him, she knew it was time to call it a day. Her inbox was going to go mental when she finally switched her phone on again. Hopefully he’ll have got the hint by then. She hated upsetting people.
A chugging sound made them look round. It was the boat, coming in from the mainland. ‘Am I going mad or is it Wednesday?’ Sam asked.
Luci checked her Tag watch, a present from her dad for her eighteenth. ‘Nope, it’s definitely Wednesday.’ Mondays and Thursdays were meant to be the days the ferry came in and brought fresh food and supplies for the island. Maybe they were doing a special delivery.
The boat docked and they saw Hamish walk down the jetty. He exchanged a few words with the captain, then a few moments later the gangplank was lowered. A man in a dark suit appeared and walked unsteadily down it. The suitcase he was carrying looked utterly bizarre in the surroundings.
‘Aye up, what’s going on here?’ Sam said.
‘I don’t know, but they’re coming our way. Get up and look busy.’ She didn’t want Hamish to think they were slacking.
She and Sam got back to work, but a few minutes later a pair of shadows fell over them. ‘Luci, have you got a minute?’ Hamish asked.
‘Sure.’ She put down her trowel and stood up.
‘Luci, this is Jeremy… sorry, I can’t remember your last name,’ Hamish said to the man.
‘Jeremy Fitzwilliam,’ the man said crisply. ‘I’m with the Foreign Office.’
‘Mind where you’re standing,’ Luci said cheerily. ‘We don’t want you trampling on anyone’s house.’
Jeremy Fitzwilliam didn’t smile. He looked a bit of a stiff, Luci thought. She watched him open his briefcase and take some official looking papers out.
‘Miss Cadwallader,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news about your father…’
Chapter Four
The sky above Buenos Aires, Argentina One month later
The London-bound Virgin Airways jet left Buenos Aires airport bang on schedule. Celine looked round as the 747 soared into the air; save an old couple and a guy with his head buried in a newspaper at the back, the cabin was empty. Celine was relieved - she couldn’t take crowds of people right now.
Even with the lights dimmed for take off, it didn’t detract from the luxury of travelling First Class. The gold and purple colour scheme made it look more like a Monaco nightclub, while silver-plated chandeliers swayed gently overhead. And just in case anyone couldn’t see where to sling their Gucci hand luggage, the overhead compartments were thoughtfully lit up with Swarovski-encrusted panels.
Normally, Celine would love this kind of stuff, but tonight she was in her own little world. As the plane climbed through the clouds she looked out the window, the city laid out beneath like a glittering carpet. Somewhere down there was her school, her friends, her home. My old life. Before her parents had gone missing. The whole thing still felt like a sick wind-up.
The seat belt lights flashed off and the captain’s deep voice came back. ‘We’ve just reached our cruising height of 29,000 feet, the weather ahead looks to be good with a little patch of turbulence over the Atlantic. I’ll come back to you a bit further into the journey but in the meantime sit back, relax and enjoy the flight.’
Celine heard the chink of glasses from the galley as the cabin crew got the drinks ready. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by exhaustion. She reached for the sleep mask and put it on, praying for oblivion.
‘Hi there.’
The voice sounded miles away. Celine had been in the middle of this really weird dream where her parents had been stuck down a mine-shift trying to escape a Samurai-sword-wielding Mrs Gonzales. As she came round, the eye-mask felt wet for some reason. Celine touched it and realised she’d been crying in her sleep.
She hastily wiped her cheeks and turned away. Hoping whoever it was would get the message.
‘I’m Remy.’
The voice was French and male. God. This was all she needed, some fat balding businessman trying it on with her. Celine lifted the mask and was about to tell him where to go when a smouldering pair of brown eyes stopped her dead.
‘Hello,’ the man said. He looked like a manga warrior, all silky black hair, tanned skin and cheekbones you could cut your finger on.
In short, seriously hot.
He was also wearing a D&G blazer, totally that season. Celine could tell by the collar.
‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’ He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. ‘I’ve just been given a complimentary bottle of champagne and I’d prefer to share it with someone.’
‘Uh, OK,’ Celine answered in French. She rubbed her eyes. ‘How long have I been asleep for?’
‘About three hours,’ the man said. He looked in his mid- twenties. ‘Not that I’ve been stalking you or anything, but it’s not exactly busy in here.’ He stuck his hand out, accessorised with a cool silver thumb ring. ‘I’m Remy Chevalier.’
‘Celine.’
‘Your place or mine?’
‘Excuse me?’
He laughed. ‘I mean, where do you want to drink the champagne? I could come and sit up here.’ Celine needed to stretch her legs. ‘Why don’t we hit the bar?’
Ten minutes later they were already on their second glass. Celine had a sudden urge to get wasted. Forget about everything for a while. It helped that Remy’s arm was brushing hers at this moment, sending little thrills through her body. He was even better with the blazer off. Under his tailored black shirt Celine could make out a ripped body. Remy probably did loads of martial arts or something - he looked like that kind of guy.
Right now, Remy was telling her about his job. Fashion buyer at Selfridges. ‘This is my fourth flight this week,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been in Buenos Aires having meetings.’
‘That is so weird!’ Celine said. ‘You know, I want to be a fashion designer.’
Remy took in the studded black T-shirt and cropped leather trousers. ‘I thought you worked in the industry already, to be honest. I love what you’re doing with the whole punk thing going on at the moment.’ He touched the safety pin necklace round her neck. ‘Nice touch.’
Celine’s skin had prickled nicely at the gesture. ‘I’ve got some drawings with me actually. I’d love you to look at them.’
‘Sure, I’d be happy to.’
Celine went to retrieve her sketchpad from her bag. By the time she’d got back, Remy had already ordered another bottle of Moet from the barman.
‘Here you go.’ She handed the pad to him and sat down again.
Remy put his glass down and started flipping through. ‘Wow, Celine. These are really good.’
‘Really?’ Celine knew she was good, but it was amazing to get an expert’s opinion.
‘Completely. Your style is unique.’ He stopped at a drawing of a tuxedo with huge embroidered shoulders. ‘I love this, the detailing is exquisite.’ Remy glanced up. ‘I could have a word with my boss. You never know.’
Celine couldn’t believe it. ‘Really?’
‘Really’ Remy said. ‘I’ll give you my card.’
He got one out of his wallet and handed it to her. Celine looked at the familiar Selfridges logo. ‘Remy Chevalier, Assistant Fashion Buyer,’ she read. ‘Very nice.’
‘It’s not a bad job.’ Remy clinked his glass against hers. ‘You get to meet lots of interesting people.’
Was that a come on? Celine looked at Remy’s full lips. She was imagining kissing them when she realised he was saying something.
‘Where do you come from?
‘Oh… er… Back there. Buenos Aires.’
Remy looked surprised. ‘You’re Argentinean?’
‘Yup.’
‘Wow, your accent is flawless. I would have thought you were French.’
Celine shrugged. ‘Languages are one of my many talents.’
‘I imagine a girl like you has lots of talents.’ He was definitely flirting.
She gave a saucy little grin. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
The moment was severed as the barman came up and refilled their glasses. Remy settled himself on his stool. ‘I’ve told you all about myself and I know little about you, Celine, other than your interest in fashion. What are you in London for, business or pleasure?’
She knew she wouldn’t be allowed to forget for long. ‘Neither.’
Remy saw her face change. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘It’s OK.’ Celine fiddled with the flute of her wine glass. ‘Remy, can I tell you something?’
‘Of course.’
She’d not told anyone about the purpose of her trip, but Celine suddenly had a desperate need to unburden herself. Besides, it wasn’t as if Remy knew anything about it. I hardly know what’s going on myself.
She put her champagne flute down. ‘Back in a minute.’
Celine went back to her bag and returned this time with a thick black envelope.
‘What’s that?’ Remy said.
‘I need to tell you the story first.’ Celine paused. ‘My surname is Van Der Berg, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?’
He shook his head helplessly. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘I wouldn’t really expect you to. All you need to know is that they’re really famous archaeologists.’
Remy’s eyes widened. ‘Like Indiana Jones?’
‘Not exactly.’ Why did everyone think that? ‘Anyway, six weeks ago they went off on this dig. In Tibet.’ Celine sighed. ‘At least they told me it was Tibet but then it turned out it was actually Kashmir, and they’d been kidnapped by rebels.’
‘Oh my God.’ Remy looked shocked. ‘That’s terrible. And you’ve heard nothing from them since?’
‘Nothing.’ Despite all the military troops apparently combing the area. Celine was trying to stay on the positive side. She had to.
‘Why were they kidnapped? Do these people want a ransom? I read something in the news about a similar story once.’
‘I don’t know. Anyway, as you can imagine life hasn’t been that great recently.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘I’m meant to sit around and do nothing while half the Indian army are out looking for them. But three days ago, this letter came.’
She opened the envelope and took out a piece of black paper with swirly gold writing across it.
1st July
Cadwallader House
Nr Southrop
Gloucestershire
England
Your parents’ fate is in your hands. A meeting will take place at the above address on the 21st July at 10 a.m.
I suggest you cancel your plans for the rest of the summer.
Tell no one.
A Friend.
Remy frowned. ‘That’s very cloak and dagger.’
‘Tell me about it. There was a plane ticket inside the ticket, which is why I’m here, and instructions to meet a car at Heathrow.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nothing.’
Remy was silent for a moment. ‘Celine, I don’t like the sound of this. It could be dangerous.’
‘I know.’ She’d thought about it enough! ‘But what am I supposed to do, Remy? What if it is real and I did nothing? I’d never be able to forgive myself. I mean, my parents bug me and want me to do this stupid college course I’m so not interested in, but they’re still my parents.’
After a moment, Remy nodded. ‘I do understand, Celine. You’re very brave. I don’t think I could do it.’
‘Come back and tell me that again when it’s all over.’ Celine didn’t want to think about it any longer. ‘Can we talk about something else? Or at least drink ourselves stupid.’
‘You won’t hear any complaints from me.’ Remy bent down to pick up something from the floor. ‘Does this belong to you?’
‘My earring, it must have fallen out.’ She went to take it off him but Remy grabbed her hand.
‘Be careful, Celine, won’t you? It’s not the sort of thing a girl like you should be getting involved in.’
She had no time to answer, as just then they hit a patch of turbulence and the whole plane lurched. Immediately, the seat-belt signs pinged back into life. Remy picked up the bottle. ‘Let’s finish this sitting down.’
It was a shaky walk back and Remy was right behind her. Close enough Celine could make out the Marc Jacobs aftershave. He even smells sexy.
Remy followed her to her seat. ‘I’ll come and sit by you, hey? In case you get scared.’
With the turbulence and all the champagne, Celine started to feel really dizzy. Remy had barely sat down before she’d lost her balance and fallen right on top of him.
‘Oops!’ She started laughing. ‘I’m really sorry.’
He looked at her. She looked at him. Their mouths were inches from each other. ‘So…’ Celine said, but then she shut up, because that was when he started kissing her.
Chapter Five
London, UK Two days later
Jhumpa looked out of her hotel room window. Below, shiny black cabs and big red buses were streaming past like a procession of brightly coloured bugs. This city beat to a different rhythm than the one she’d left behind in India, but it was no less exciting. It was why she’d booked herself into the famous Dorchester hotel, the epitome of English elegance and luxury.
She was meant to go straight to the house in Glandularshire, or wherever it was, but her flight hadn’t landed at Heathrow until midnight. Jhumpa wanted a good night’s sleep, so she was prepared and fresh for whatever lay ahead. She still felt edgy. Someone else was calling the shots and she didn’t like it.
Her suite on the ninth floor had a panoramic view of the city.
Jhumpa cast her eye over the skyline: she could see the London Eye, Houses of Parliament, Big Ben. Even at night it was pretty amazing; just like she’d seen in the movies.
There was a stirring from the bed. The delicious form of Caleb stretched out and turned over under the starched white sheets. Even from here Jhumpa could see the tightly packed bands of muscles across his back. She smiled to herself. Yes, bumping into Caleb had turned out very well indeed.
Jhumpa wasn’t normally into one-night stands. Back home in Mumbai she was always very selective about who she brought back to the apartment. The last thing she wanted was someone doing a kiss-and-tell on her when she was a famous actress and spoiling her public image. But things weren’t normal right now, and when she’d been sitting in the hotel bar nursing a Cosmopolitan and Caleb had come over and offered to buy her another… well, one thing had left to another.
Even if Caleb hadn’t been so hot, Jhumpa would have been pleased to have someone to talk to. She would never have admitted it, but she’d been feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable the moment Caleb had chosen to walk up. Good timing. Funny how a complete stranger could fulfil such a purpose.