In their little world, the hotel proprietor had been doing his best to protect them from any further unwanted press intrusion, but the situation was becoming untenable. Camped outside was a small village of TV crews and reporters. Kate and Rafi needed to do something or they would get no peace and quiet for the rest of their holiday.
An idea came to Kate and she phoned Jeremy to get Pete Lockyer’s number. She then phoned Pete to ask if he would do an interview. He jumped at the invitation and said he would be there first thing the next morning.
As dusk was falling, the hotel proprietor arranged for Kate and Rafi to be smuggled out in the back of a van. The afternoon trip to the doctors was otherwise straightforward. The nurse looked at the notes from the hospital and set about changing Rafi’s dressings and bandages. Fifteen minutes later he only had one dressing left on his side. All the others had been removed as she was pleased with how he had healed. Kate arranged a follow-up session for the last of his stitches to be taken out and they returned surreptitiously to the hotel.
Psychologically Rafi was feeling much better. His headaches had gone and seeing the wounds on his body almost mended had been a real tonic. That evening they went downstairs for dinner. As he passed through the reception, Rafi observed that the repair work was almost complete.
In the dining room, they were met by the restaurant manager. ‘Excuse me for saying, but everyone is curious to see how you are mending. They have seen the mess and, like me, find it incredible that you’re still alive.’ He beckoned them forward. ‘Your table is at the far end by a window overlooking the sea. It should be quiet, except you will have to walk past everyone.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Rafi as he shuffled in. He became aware that the room had fallen silent and dozens of pairs of eyes were staring at them. As they approached the table, Rafi noticed that the two seats had their backs to the room and were facing the window and out to sea. ‘Could you move our places so that we can look into the room? That way we won’t look as if we’re avoiding everyone.’
Moments later Rafi sat down gingerly. The restaurant manager reappeared with the menu.
Kate asked, ‘Is the person I noticed as I came in the retired doctor who helped Rafi?’
‘Yes, he’s sitting over there with his wife.’
‘Thank you.’
The menu was mouth-watering. Kate was in her element. Her healthy appetite had returned, helped by the long runs and swims she had enjoyed while Rafi was resting. She made her choice. Rafi was still hesitating and when the waiter returned, Kate passed him a sheet of paper.
‘Sorry, but you’re still on a strict diet; it won’t be long before your fully mended and you can have grown-up food again!’
‘At least I won’t have to cut it up!’ he said, moving his right arm in its sling.
‘I’m so pleased you are on the mend. A serious look replaced Kate’s radiant smile. The helicopter flight down to Plymouth felt like the longest journey of my life. The retired doctor who tended your wounds was a godsend. I honestly thought you might not make it.’
She hesitated. ‘Would you mind if I asked him and his wife to join us for coffee? He was so brilliant…’
‘That’s a great idea.’
Kate got up and walked down to the doctor’s table. He and his wife were pleased to accept the invitation, and at the end of the meal, they joined Kate and Rafi in the sitting room for coffee. Like everyone else they were keen to find out what had really been going on. Rafi thanked him several times over.
‘Just pleased to help,’ replied the doctor, ‘And the helicopter ride was a first.’
‘I only found Rafi a few weeks ago – I couldn’t bear to have lost him so soon,’ said Kate.
The conversation covered a wide range of topics. The doctor chatted about his time working in Manchester and the increase in gun and knife crime that he had witnessed. He explained how he had had his arm twisted a number of years ago and had attended a special training session on how to deal with gun crime injuries… ‘I’m pleased it came in useful,’ he said with a grin
After half an hour of talking, tiredness overcame Rafi. He said his goodnights and retired upstairs, leaving Kate chatting to the doctor and his wife.
Back in the bedroom Rafi undressed with difficulty and surveyed his body. In many places, it was hard to see where one bruise ended and another started. His wounds were still sore, but the burning heat had gone out of them.
He curled up in bed. Next thing he knew it was morning and Kate was sitting at the bottom of the bed, in her running kit, eating breakfast.
He smelt the hot food. It made him hungry.
‘Good morning. I hope you don’t mind me starting,’ she said.
‘Not at all. What’s on the menu?’
‘Scrambled eggs, croissants, fresh orange juice and coffee. By the way, we’ve got Pete Lockyer due here in about an hour.’
Pete was early and caught Rafi in his dressing gown. Kate ordered breakfast for him and his cameraman, whilst Rafi slowly got washed and dressed. She explained the ground rules. ‘Please treat Rafi as a close family member. We do not want anything published that he will regret. We will chat openly to you, on the understanding that you clear what you write with Jeremy’s boss, Neil Gunton, at MI5.’
Judging by the size of his frown, Pete was none too happy with that suggestion and Kate picked up on his reluctance.
‘It’s quite simple. Much of what Rafi and I will tell you has been kept under wraps. There may be things we tell you that could jeopardise the investigations into this awful affair. Don’t worry; there should be enough to keep you in stories for weeks!’
Pete gave his word. ‘And having seen today’s newspapers I appreciate your reticence,’ he commented. ‘The photos weren’t very nice.’
Rafi caught the end of the conversation and glanced across to Kate.
‘One of the guests took a series of photos of you at dinner last night and you looked quite awful in them. The proprietor was very upset. He’d asked all the guests to respect your privacy whilst you were convalescing. The culprit was the same reporter who passed the bung to the chambermaid. He got a guest to take the photos using a special hidden camera.’
‘Quite how marketable is our story?’ Rafi sighed.
‘Red-hot,’ replied Pete. He paused. ‘Would you want paying?’
‘What sort of sum would we be talking about?’ asked Rafi, and Kate shot him a glowering glance.
‘The full inside story, handled properly over a number of weeks or even months, would net you a six, maybe even a seven, figure sum for an exclusive. Basically, you could name your price. Is this going to be a very expensive trip for me?’ enquired Pete.
Rafi looked across at Kate. She slowly shook her head.
‘I think it would be churlish not to take the money,’ said Rafi.
‘But…’ interjected Kate. She looked horrified.
‘Seriously. Consider if the money was not for us, but for the hospices helping those with radiation poisoning. They must be overflowing. How about Pete’s paper running an appeal to raise money for the hospices helping those suffering? The appeal could go alongside our story. It would be great publicity for the newspaper and be great for its image,’ argued Rafi.
As he paused to think, Rafi could see Kate visibly relax. ‘If your paper were to start the ball rolling with, say, a?250,000 donation and top it up as more stories were rolled out, I reckon Kate and I would be very happy.’
Pete looked pensive. ‘I reckon my editor would go with that if I got an exclusive.’
‘Where else would we go?’ asked Kate rhetorically with a huge smile.
They chatted for almost an hour and a half. For the photo shoot, the hotel proprietor arranged for them to be slipped out of the back of the hotel in a laundry van down to a nearby beach where the pictures could be taken in the morning sunshine. They returned using the same means of transport.
With the story and the photos in the bag, Pete made arrangements to meet with Neil, said his thanks and slipped off to London with his scoop.