Haunted Dreams

He felt a strange stirring inside his chest, as if he had swallowed a bird that was trying to escape, wings fluttering against his ribs.

I must be sickening for something, he thought—maybe that headache is a symptom of something worse on the way? The last thing I need is to go down with the flu, especially of the virulent kind.

The silence that had fallen had made the girl look nervous. Noticing this, Ambrose said idly, ‘Has Sholto been your only boyfriend?’ and then wondered what on earth he was doing, asking this total stranger such a question. Serve him right if she slapped his face or walked off in a huff.

She gave him an even more startled look, very flushed, and opened her mouth to answer.

Ambrose quickly said, ‘Sorry, not my business, of course.’

‘Well, no, it isn’t,’ she said quietly. ‘And I shouldn’t have talked about Sholto behind his back, especially to you—he wouldn’t like it.’

‘No, of course, you’re quite right. I’m sorry,’ he said gravely.

Sholto must be worried stiff in case he had bitterly offended the very man he most wanted to impress. Ambrose Kerr felt a twinge of pity for him. This wasn’t Sholto’s night, was it? And he must have hoped it would be! He had probably planned that proposal, had wanted to do it here, so that he could announce it tonight, in front of the most important people at the bank!

He was probably hanging around outside, watching the door to this room, waiting on tenterhooks for her to come out so that he could pounce and find out what had been said about him in here.

‘Please…’

Ambrose looked down at the girl, who gave him a pleading look.

‘Yes?’

‘Please, could you forget you saw us? That it ever happened, I mean? You won’t let it influence you? Against Sholto, I mean…That would be so unfair.’

Still speaking gravely, he promised, ‘His career won’t suffer. Don’t worry.’

Looking at him uncertainly, she asked, ‘You promise?’

‘I promise,’ he said, and smiled at her suddenly, making her blink with surprise at the charm in that smile.

Charm wasn’t the first thing you thought about when you looked at Ambrose Kerr. He had an air of authority, calm self-assurance. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, tall, his body fit and powerful. His grey eyes made her shiver a little when they weren’t smiling. For all that charm, she didn’t think it would be wise to make him really angry. No wonder poor Sholto had looked witless when he recognised him.

Sholto was always talking about him—he admired him from a distance, because of course he didn’t know him, had never met him before tonight. Mind you, nobody seemed to know much about Ambrose Kerr, Sholto said.

He had come out of nowhere, shooting across the sky of the business world like a comet over the past decade. He had no family connections, no history he talked about, and people were far too nervous of him to go on asking questions he made it plain he didn’t want to answer.

He had an American background, but he didn’t have an American accent. He looked Mediterranean, if anything, with olive skin, close-shaven tonight along that tough jaw; his hair was dark too, smooth, a glossy blueblack in this light, brushed back from a widow’s peak, but with a silver streak at the temples.

She could see why he impressed Sholto so deeply. He impressed her. Her nerves rippled; no, it was more than that—he…She frowned, searching for the right word. Disturbed, she thought; that was it. He disturbed her. In fact, being with him was like standing on the very edge of a volcano. You were always aware of depths you couldn’t see but which you sensed were explosive and potentially deadly.

‘I really must go,’ she said uneasilv.

‘You haven’t told me your name yet’

‘Emilie,’ she said, and spelt it out. ‘Emilie Madelin.’

The name meant nothing to him. He repeated it, to memorise it, and at that instant the telephone on the library table began to ring. Ambrose frowned; he had been expecting the call tonight, another reason why he had come into this room—to wait for it.

‘I’ll have to take that—excuse me for a moment…’

He had meant her to wait, but as he picked up the phone the girl took the opportunity to slip away before he could stop her, murmuring politely, ‘Thank you again…’

The heavy mahogany door closed behind her.

Staring at it, Ambrose spoke into the phone curtly. ‘Yes?’

‘Ambrose?’

‘Hello, Gavin. How did it go?’

‘Like a dream. We’ve got him; everything’s in place for the kill. You can close in at the board-meeting on Thursday.’

Gavin Wheeler’s voice was excited, a little thick, as if he had been drinking, and no doubt he had. Gavin drank far too much, especially when he was coming to the end of a particular project.

Ambrose never drank with him, which, he knew, Gavin resented. From the occasional curious remark, Ambrose knew Gavin suspected him of being a reformed alcoholic, which was ironic. Ambrose’s childhood had been made miserable by an alcoholic father who was violent when he was drunk and morose when he was sober. That was why Ambrose himself only drank the occasional glass of wine, on social occasions, and no spirits at all, and never drank when he was alone. But he had never talked to Gavin about his fatherAmbrose wasn’t giving Gavin any power over him, if he could help it. He did not entirely trust Gavin; in fact, Ambrose did not trust anyone unreservedly.

Coolly, Ambrose said, ‘Good work, Gavin. Sure Rendell doesn’t have a clue what we’re doing?’

‘Not unless someone has told him since this morning,’ Gavin said, laughing. ‘I’ve personally talked to all the shareholders; their shares will change hands on Thursday, too late for George Rendell to guess what’s going on. Our friends on the board all agree that he’s too old for the job now. He should have retired long ago.’

‘If he’d had a son he would have done, no doubt,’ Ambrose said. ‘It must have been a terrible blow to him to have no heir.’

‘Don’t waste any pity on the old man; he has plenty of money to make his retirement comfortable,’ Gavin retorted.

‘It is still going to hit him hard; his life is invested in that company.’ Ambrose rather liked the old man, and was sorry for him, but the company was going downhill when it should be doing well in the current climate, and, with the bank’s money invested, it was his duty to make sure their money was safe.

‘He’d have to retire soon, anyway,’ said Gavin indifferently. He didn’t care two pins about George Rendell—he barely knew him. Gavin didn’t work at the bank; he was directly responsible to Ambrose, who kept him moving between the bank’s clients, doing deals, arranging take-overs, finding out information and researching possible mergers. Gavin was a clever accountant; he had a cold heart and a cool head and the temperament to enjoy following a difficult trail to track down a target.

‘He isn’t a friend of yours, is he?’

‘Not a personal friend, but he has been a client of the bank for a long time.’ Ambrose was irritated by the question. Personal feelings couldn’t come into the way he dealt with clients. The bank’s money had to be safeguarded, that was his job, and they had invested quite a sum in George Rendell’s company.

George Rendell’s family had been making paper for over a century and had several mills in Kent and Sussex. Two years ago George had asked if he could borrow money with which to update machinery, and Ambrose had agreed, but although George had kept up the monthly repayments, a large amount of the money was still outstanding and the company’s audit last year had revealed that, far from an improvement in sales, there had been a falling-off since the new machinery was introduced. Ambrose had come to the conclusion that the management was set in a rut, starting at the top, with George Rendell himself. He was nearing seventy and had no son to take over, allowing him to retire. The company was ripe for take-over. It was in the bank’s interest to arrange one with a client firm, safeguarding the bank’s investment.

‘The company should be making twice the amount of product; the whole place needs a good shake-up,’ Ambrose said. ‘OK. So when do you fly back?’

‘Ten tomorrow.’ Gavin had been up to Scotland to see a big shareholder in Rendell and Son who was prepared to sell to their prospective buyer for the firm.

‘You’ve got your secretary with you?’

‘She’s here right now,’ Gavin said, laughing in a way that told Ambrose that the two of them were in bed together.

Gavin always had affairs with his secretaries; he chose them for their looks as much as their brains, although the girls always had both. Gavin expected his secretary to work hard, to be ultra-efficient, as well as good in bed. They never lasted long; about a year was the usual time one stayed with him. Ambrose wasn’t sure whether he sacked them or they left, but they kept changing.

Well, he’s good at his job, I don’t have to like him, thought Ambrose. The way he lives is none of my business.

‘Well, work on your report with her during the flight back,’ he said coolly. ‘Get her to type it up as soon as you arrive, and have it on my desk before five tomorrow.’