“I see your point, Oliver. And so you should be sorry, because this revelation of yours is most disturbing, to say the least. But never mind, I’ll attend to this matter in due course.” Malakoff broke the connection and turned to Kurt. “I’ve got a special job for you, but there’s no immediate rush. I’m going to have a nap. Come and wake me when we’ve docked.”
On the rear terrace of the Fisherman’s Lodge Dillon was sitting on a lounger with a cup of strong Columbian ground coffee, smoking a cigarette. He was taking in the view of the bay. While also taking the rare opportunity of grabbing a quite moment to collect his thoughts about what had taken place so far, since he had arrived on the island, and when LJ had appeared through the French doors.
“I’ve been thinking,” LJ said. “We ought to drive down to St. Helier this evening for dinner. Why don’t we book a table at this Pomme D’Or Hotel? Which by the way, all the travel guides rave about as the best place on the island for sea food. Might even be rather entertaining to have dinner there.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Dillon said.
“We’ll take Vince with us to drive, and we may even be able to cajole Chapman to join us.” LJ said as he walked off inside, reappearing a moment later.
“Before you ring Chapman, I’ll give the hotel a call and make sure they have a table.”
Within seconds LJ was speaking to the hotel dining room manager, Francois Cocteau. “Monsieur Cocteau? Edward Levenson-Jones here. My friends and I are down from London, and were wondering whether you have a table for four available this evening?”
“I’m very sorry, Monsieur. I’m afraid we’re fully booked this evening. Although, I can offer you tomorrow or the next day?”
“Oh, what a shame. Mr Malakoff will be disappointed.”
LJ could hear a quite intake of breath at the other end of the phone. “You are friends of Monsieur Malakoff?”
“Certainly, and if you’ve got his telephone number why don’t you go ahead and check with him.”
“Just one moment, Monsieur Levenson-Jones.” The manager immediately phoned the Solitaire, and asked to speak to Malakoff.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, Monsieur. But, does the name Levenson-Jones mean anything to you. I only ask, because he’s trying to book a table in the restaurant for this evening, and informs me that you know him.”
Malakoff laughed out loud. “What a priceless gem he is. Yes I know Mr Levenson-Jones, Francois. Please ensure that he is dining this evening, will you?”
“Of course, Monsieur Malakoff. We look forward to seeing you this evening, goodbye.” The dining room manager hung up and immediately said, “Monsieur Levenson-Jones. We look forward to you and your friends dining with us this evening. At what time shall we expect you?”
“Shall we say, seven-thirty to eight?”
“That is fine.”
LJ handed the mobile phone back to Dillon. “Call Chapman, and see if he’s available this evening. If he is, tell him that we’ll pick him up at his place around seven, and to make sure he’s wearing a suit with a proper shirt and a tie. All in all, this should be an enjoyable evening, and I think we’ll start it with Champagne in the hotel bar before we eat.” He said, and went back inside.
“And what if Chapman doesn’t want to come?” Dillon called.
“He will, once you’ve used your infinite charm on him, old son.”
Chapter Twelve
It was just after eight o’clock in the evening, when Annabelle Cunningham arrived back at the luxury apartment that Ferran & Cardini owned on the banks of the river Thames.
She’d been at her Father’s bedside for most of the day, reading to him from the daily papers. She felt tired and drained from the days of vigil. But, as the doctors kept saying, Nathan was heading in the right direction, and the sound of his daughter’s voice was the best medicine in the world to aide his recovery.
In need of a drink she went into the kitchen, and from the fridge pulled out the bottle of white wine that she’d opened the night before. Pouring herself a good measure, she went through into the living room, kicked off her shoes and flaked out on one of the long comfortable sofas.
Her thoughts strayed back to Jersey. She picked up the phone, and dialled Annabelle’s Café in Bonne Nuit. It was Kate Jackson who answered. “Kate? It’s Annabelle.”
“Annabelle, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”
“I’m good, how are things down there?”
“Busy. But we’re coping just fine. How’s Nathan?”
“He’s making good progress, but it’s a slow process Kate. Very slow.”
“Well, I’m sure that he’s going to pull through. He’s a tough one, your dad.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what the doctors keep saying.” Tears started to roll down her cheeks. “Anyway, how’s Jake Dillon? Have you seen much of him since he arrived?”
“He’s been in a couple of times to eat. Oh, and he’s been out diving with Rob Chapman.” Kate said, and was about to elaborate about the fight that had taken place. But, decided that it was something that would keep until Annabelle returned to the island.
“Kate, I’m flying back home tomorrow for a day or two, and I’d like you to give Jake Dillon a message.”
“Really, that’s great, Annabelle. What’s the message?”
“Tell him I’m coming back on the five fifty-five flight, and that I’m sure I know where it is.”
“Where what is, Annabelle? Sounds a bit cryptic?”
“He’ll know what I’m talking about. Just make sure he gets the message, Kate.”
“It’s as good as done. See you tomorrow.”
Annabelle put down the phone, and rested her head against the soft leather of the sofa. She felt excited, and yet at the same time guilty, about leaving her father, even though it was only for a day or two.
Vince, LJ and Dillon pulled up in the Range Rover at Rob Chapman’s place at seven o’clock. Dillon got out and walked across the gravel driveway to the front portico. As he was about to tug on the bell pull, the door opened and Chapman appeared, wearing a pair of chinos, navy blue blazer and an open neck shirt that had all seen better days. Dillon on the other hand, looked extremely impressive wearing an immaculate navy blue Hugo Boss suit, a crisp white shirt buttoned at the neck and a silk tie.
As Chapman got into the Range Rover, he looked around at the others. LJ in blazer, charcoal grey trousers and old school tie. Vince, who was driving, wore a light grey suit, shirt and a tie that was loosely knotted at the neck.
“Well, don’t we all look smart this evening? Thank the heavens above, that I didn’t wear shorts.”
“Well, we are going to the most famous hotel in Jersey, are we not? So, I think that in the circumstances one should make an effort.” LJ said.
“You’re quite right Edward. The Pomme is a hotel that’s not only famous, but also has a very colourful past. And the food, I’m told, is excellent as well.” Chapman commented.
Vince parked the 4x4 in the nearest car park, and they all walked along to the hotel. When they entered the Pomme D’Or the front bar was already half full with the early evening trade. LJ went to the reception desk, and asked the concierge to point him in the direction of the restaurant. The dapper man in his late fifties, snapped his fingers and a uniformed porter was immediately to hand. He instructed him to escort the four men up to the first floor restaurant and bar area.
LJ went to the bar and ordered a bottle of the hotel’s finest Champagne, with two more to be put on ice for later. As Dillon and the others were sitting down, his mobile phone started to buzz silently in his jacket pocket. He excused himself, going out into the hallway to take the call. It was Kate Jackson calling from Annabelle’s place.