that’s what I’d say, and rather frightening.”
Holley smiled through the half-light. “We’ll have to do something about that.”
In front of them, Dillon muttered, “For God’s sake, kiss the girl good night, and let’s get some sleep.”
Sara smiled and murmured to Holley, “See you in the morning.”
She pulled a blanket over her knees, closed her eyes, and lay back. Holley watched her for a while, wondering what was happening to him, then he also closed his eyes.
The drone of the engines in flight was the only sound now. Parry peered in from the cockpit and dimmed the lights even further.
Dillon wasn’t sleeping, just lying back considering what the day had brought. A lovely young woman, Sara Gideon, andshe’d obviously had a profound effect on Holley, but they were in entirely the wrong profession for that kind of thing. A pity, but there it was.
He moved on to analyzing the new situation in Ulster.
Always
the same. Reactionary dissidents who would never be satisfied till the sound of gunfire echoed in the streets and the killing began once more. What the hell was Jack Kelly playing at? He’d lost his only son to the conflict, spent years in jail.
“Christ,” Dillon murmured, “you’d think he’d have learned some sense by now.”
But there was no forgiveness in this world, and he remembered Jean Talbot in the Zion Gallery. She’d appreciated why he’d had to shoot her son, but couldn’t possibly forgive, had put out a contract on him—one of the advantages of being rich, she’d said.
Nothing to be done about that. People had been trying to kill him for years. He remembered the old days, going to the horns in the bullring in Ibiza, waiting for the bull to rush out of the gate of fear.
It comes as God wills,
the toreros used to say, which just about summed it up.
O ne-thirty over the Atlantic, but seven-thirty in London, where Jean Talbot was already enjoying the first cup of coffee of the day. She’d lived in the Regency House in Marley Court in Mayfair for years. It was just off Curzon Street, convenient for Hyde Park, and only ten minutes’ walk away from Owen Rashid’s apartment, a decided plus in view of the way their relationship was developing.
Her mobile sounded and there he was. “Are you up for lunch today? There’s something I wanted to run by you.”
“Sorry, Owen, I’ve got a meeting with the vice chancellor.” Though she was head of Talbot International, she mostly let her nephew, Gregory, handle things as CEO while she pursued an academic career. “Are you going for a run in the park?”
“Just about to leave.”
“I’ll join you if you like. I’ll be at the Hilton end of the subway.”
Which she was, and they walked through, entered Hyde Park, and had a brisk thirty-minute jog which ended with coffee by the café at the Serpentine. As always, she thoroughly enjoyed his company. No silly ideas of romance at her age. In a sense, he was filling her son’s place, and he was well aware of the fact.
“How did your flight to Rubat go the other day?” she asked, for another link between them was that Rashid Oil kept its private aircraft at Frensham Aero Club, as did Talbot International. Owen had been a private pilot for three years, Jean for considerably longer.
“Now that I’ve got my rating for jets, it was great fun. I was able to fly the Lear.”
“What was it you wanted to run by me?”
“I wondered if you’d thought any more about my suggestion that Talbot International might consider extending the Bacu Railway line into Rubat.”
She said, “I’ve raised the matter with Gregory, and he seems to think that the instability with Yemen next door might raise difficulties.”
Owen said, “All we’re asking for is an extension of the track and the pipelines. It would give us access to Southport and itstankers, and that would be more efficient for us. Remember
Holley smiled through the half-light. “We’ll have to do something about that.”
In front of them, Dillon muttered, “For God’s sake, kiss the girl good night, and let’s get some sleep.”
Sara smiled and murmured to Holley, “See you in the morning.”
She pulled a blanket over her knees, closed her eyes, and lay back. Holley watched her for a while, wondering what was happening to him, then he also closed his eyes.
The drone of the engines in flight was the only sound now. Parry peered in from the cockpit and dimmed the lights even further.
Dillon wasn’t sleeping, just lying back considering what the day had brought. A lovely young woman, Sara Gideon, andshe’d obviously had a profound effect on Holley, but they were in entirely the wrong profession for that kind of thing. A pity, but there it was.
He moved on to analyzing the new situation in Ulster.
Always
the same. Reactionary dissidents who would never be satisfied till the sound of gunfire echoed in the streets and the killing began once more. What the hell was Jack Kelly playing at? He’d lost his only son to the conflict, spent years in jail.
“Christ,” Dillon murmured, “you’d think he’d have learned some sense by now.”
But there was no forgiveness in this world, and he remembered Jean Talbot in the Zion Gallery. She’d appreciated why he’d had to shoot her son, but couldn’t possibly forgive, had put out a contract on him—one of the advantages of being rich, she’d said.
Nothing to be done about that. People had been trying to kill him for years. He remembered the old days, going to the horns in the bullring in Ibiza, waiting for the bull to rush out of the gate of fear.
It comes as God wills,
the toreros used to say, which just about summed it up.
O ne-thirty over the Atlantic, but seven-thirty in London, where Jean Talbot was already enjoying the first cup of coffee of the day. She’d lived in the Regency House in Marley Court in Mayfair for years. It was just off Curzon Street, convenient for Hyde Park, and only ten minutes’ walk away from Owen Rashid’s apartment, a decided plus in view of the way their relationship was developing.
Her mobile sounded and there he was. “Are you up for lunch today? There’s something I wanted to run by you.”
“Sorry, Owen, I’ve got a meeting with the vice chancellor.” Though she was head of Talbot International, she mostly let her nephew, Gregory, handle things as CEO while she pursued an academic career. “Are you going for a run in the park?”
“Just about to leave.”
“I’ll join you if you like. I’ll be at the Hilton end of the subway.”
Which she was, and they walked through, entered Hyde Park, and had a brisk thirty-minute jog which ended with coffee by the café at the Serpentine. As always, she thoroughly enjoyed his company. No silly ideas of romance at her age. In a sense, he was filling her son’s place, and he was well aware of the fact.
“How did your flight to Rubat go the other day?” she asked, for another link between them was that Rashid Oil kept its private aircraft at Frensham Aero Club, as did Talbot International. Owen had been a private pilot for three years, Jean for considerably longer.
“Now that I’ve got my rating for jets, it was great fun. I was able to fly the Lear.”
“What was it you wanted to run by me?”
“I wondered if you’d thought any more about my suggestion that Talbot International might consider extending the Bacu Railway line into Rubat.”
She said, “I’ve raised the matter with Gregory, and he seems to think that the instability with Yemen next door might raise difficulties.”
Owen said, “All we’re asking for is an extension of the track and the pipelines. It would give us access to Southport and itstankers, and that would be more efficient for us. Remember
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