, Larry and her brother Lorne cut quite a dash when they entered Harry’s Bar on South Audley Street. As they were led to a table for three at the end of the room, their presence could hardly be ignored. They were something to see.

Larry and Lorne were both six-footers, and M, wearing high heels, was the same height. This aside, all three were wonderfully good looking and extremely famous.

Once they were seated Lorne said, ‘I don’t know about you chaps, but I’m going to have one of their fantastic Bellinis.’ Glancing at his sister, he said, ‘I know you don’t drink at lunch time, but go on, have one, darling, I hate to drink alone.’

‘I’ll certainly join you,’ Larry said. ‘But promise to stop me after I’ve had two, I’m afraid that once I start, I drink ‘em like pop.’

M began to laugh, and nodded. She said to Lorne, ‘Count me in, why not?’ As Lorne motioned for a waiter to come over, M’s eyes swept around the room, and she said to Larry, ‘Not a soul I know. How about you?’

‘None of my friends here,’ he replied and half shrugged. ‘But it’s Monday, sweetheart, and a lot of people are only just getting back from the country.’ He paused then, moving on, he asked, ‘Do you think Jack’s going to agree about the yacht?’

‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘Linnet thinks he will, and I hope James and Geo will come, too. Jack’s worried about our security, you know, and he needs reassurance that we’ll be safe.’

Larry directed his attention to Lorne. ‘I wish we could think up a way to stop this bloody guy Ainsley. He’s a menace, and he obviously has tons of money to finance his murderous schemes.’

Lorne agreed. ‘He does, and he’s as mad as a hatter…psychotic, in my opinion. Jack thinks the same thing. But look here, if Simon and James are along for the trip, then Jack should feel more at ease, and won’t put up too much resistance. As for you two, you’re surrounded by security already.’ He chuckled, glancing from one to the other. ‘The two of you have become a couple of rock stars. And almost overnight. And why not? You’re both gorgeous.’

Larry and Lorne, stars in their own right, had been good friends for years, and felt even closer now that they were brothers-in-law. And it was to Lorne that Larry turned whenever he needed to know anything about the family. And especially Jonathan Ainsley. This morning was no exception. ‘Why hasn’t anybody been able to stop him before now?’ Larry asked, staring at Lorne, a brow lifting.

‘I guess Jack and his guys have tried for years, without success, but then there was this horrendous car crash five years ago, and Ainsley was killed, and there was a funeral; but as you know, all that seems to have been a load of drivel, the funeral not the crash, I mean. I’m all for making the trip to Turkey, so you can count on me, M. If Jack still remains difficult, tell him you’ll cut out the Greek islands: that should help to soothe his nerves.’

‘Why?’ M asked her brother, frowning at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

Lorne held her steady gaze, explaining, ‘I believe Jack will go along with you, providing you promise to remain docked in the harbour in Istanbul, and plan to just go off on daily trips around the Turkish coast. There’s a lot of port police security, and don’t forget that ships are much more vulnerable floating around a group of islands. He’ll be thinking about all that.’ The drinks had arrived; Lorne picked up his glass, toasted them. ‘Here’s to you two lovebirds, and your honeymoon.’

‘And to you, Lorne,’ Larry murmured.

M said, ‘I found this great yacht, Lorne. It’s called Skylark, and I loved the name at once because it’s the name of a bird. Remember? We used to say a Lark and a Linnet when we teased her. Anyway, it has six cabins for twelve guests, twelve in crew, and it’s about one hundred and seventy-five feet and was built in Bremmerhaven. It’s very luxurious, and has everything we could possibly want to have a wonderful time. Linnet told me that Simon would enjoy it, but that he would only want to stay a week. I hope you can be with us for two weeks, Lorne. And do you want to bring your current lady friend?’

He laughed hollowly. ‘I would if I could, but there is no current lady friend. I don’t seem to be able to hang on to any of them these days.’

He had tried to sound miserable, but M caught the laughter in his eyes, and she knew he was play-acting, which he did for a living as well as for pleasure, or to throw his family off the scent.

Larry said, ‘How serious is the relationship between Simon and Linnet, M?’

‘Yes, do tell us,’ Lorne interjected. ‘I’d love to know, and I hope you’re going to say it’s serious.’

‘I think it is, from what she said this morning. And I hope so too, because it would be wonderful for her to have a companion. She’s been so lonely since Julian died.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ Lorne picked up the menu, looked at it and then eyed his sister. ‘My Italian’s lousy. What can you make out of this?’ he asked, putting the menu down.

‘Larry, you’re the clever one with languages, tell us what’s for lunch,’ M exclaimed.

He perused it quickly, and rattled off, ‘A wonderful fish cooked in a salt casing, veal scallopini, some kind of shrimp dish, another fish, and lots of different pastas. But let’s ask the maître d’ for recommendations, don’t you think?’

After the head waiter had told them what was on the menu, and once they had ordered fish and white asparagus to start, Lorne said, ‘I have a number of friends in Istanbul, as you know, M, since I’ve been going there for years, and I have one friend in particular who’s going to be really helpful, if you want to see a few of the special sights.’

‘Who is that?’ M asked, sounding curious.

‘Her name is Iffet, and she’s actually a professor of archaeology, but she also owns a travel agency. Iffet has great expertise and knowledge. You’ll like her, M; she’s a lovely woman, very sweet. And a great guide. Or she can just hang with us if you want to stay put.’

‘She sounds great, and I like to have contacts in foreign countries,’ Larry said, and went on, ‘Before I forget, my mother wants us to go to dinner, Lorne, and for you to come along with us.’

‘How nice of her, and I’d love to. Will Portia be there?’

Larry looked at Lorne alertly. ‘Odd you should ask that. My mother said I should tell you Portia is going to come. If you are.’

‘Ha! Ha!’ M cried, staring hard at her brother. ‘Do I smell a romance blooming?’

‘No, you don’t,’ Lorne said in a firm voice. ‘But we’ve known each other for years and like each other a lot.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting anything improper,’ M protested.

‘Not ‘alf,’ Lorne muttered.

Jack Figg was halfway up Mount Street when he felt the mobile phone in his breast pocket vibrating against his chest. He pulled it out and flipped it open. ‘Figg here.’

‘Hello, it’s your Wharton friend.’

‘Hi!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Good to hear from you. News?‘

‘Affirmative. Riddles are the order of the day. Okay?’

‘Mighty fine, Wharton.’

‘You know the company I am one day to inherit?’

‘You mean the nature of it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then, yes, I do.’

‘That is what our friend has. His own private plaything. For himself. And for others, of course.’

‘Do you have its name?’

‘Oh, yes, and it’s all above board. Nothing phony. And everything is stashed there.’

‘Really? That’s very interesting.’

‘There’s a partner. A new partner, well, he’s been around a couple of years.’

‘Who is he? Or she? And whence does he or she hail?’

‘I’ll give you details later. A couple of days. Suffice it to say that caviar is a favourite.’

‘I got it.’

‘I’m making headway with the…keys, you know what I mean?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’ Jack closed his phone down.

On a small side street in Hong Kong, Richie Zhèng did the same. Then he placed the mobile phone on the ground and stamped on it, threw the debris in a garbage bin. New phone, now smashed. No trace.

Jack was sitting at his desk in the study of his flat in Kensington when the land line began to shrill. Picking it up, he said, ‘Hello? Jack Figg here.’

‘It’s Simon, do you have five minutes to spare, Jack?’

‘Hello, Simon, and ‘course I do. What’s up?’

‘Can I come around? I’m literally seconds away. I need to talk to you.’

Jack laughed. ‘Sure, come on up to the flat. We can have a drink together. I’m just messing around on my computer, not doing much.’

‘That’s great. Thanks. See you in a few seconds.’

Jack glanced at his computer, and was about to turn it off when a name suddenly appeared on the screen. The name was GRISHA LEBEDEV. It was a name he had never seen before, and he was momentarily baffled, and then a smile spread across his face when he saw the word CAVIAR come up next to it. He looked at the screen, searching for the name of the sender, and saw another name he’d never heard of. He chuckled quietly to himself. Richie Zhèng, the computer whiz, had obviously sent it through one of his compadres, as Richie called his computer buddies. Jack glanced at the date. It said the ninth of May on the desk calendar, just two days since Richie’s phone call. He was wonderfully prompt, that young man. Jack approved of promptness. Richie had said he’d be back to him in a couple of days, and he was.

Suddenly more words came streaming onto the screen. First Jack read: BELVEDERE-MACAU PRIVATE BANK. And then there was a message. It said: ‘I’m twenty-one today. I’ve got the key of all the doors. Except one. I’m twenty-one and rich.’

Jack threw back his head and laughed. Richie was telling him that he had twenty-one codes or passwords or keys to do with all of Ainsley’s computers at Belvedere Holdings in Hong Kong, and that he was missing only one. And the word ‘rich’ was a play on his own name of Richie.

Peering at the top of the document, he saw that there was a different name for the sender. Another one of Richie’s compadres, he had no doubt. Despite the seriousness of it all, there was a twinkle in Jack’s eyes as he continued to stare at the screen.

At the sound of the doorbell ringing, Jack rose and walked out into the entrance hall, opened the front door and welcomed his nephew. As he led Simon into the sitting room, he told him about the messages. ‘I’m glad to give you good news: we have the name of Ainsley’s Russian partner. It’s Grisha Lebedev, Grisha being the nickname or pet name, if you like, for Grigori; and we now have the name of the private bank Ainsley owns, although that would have been easy enough to get, I’m sure. He’s not keeping the bank a secret. Richie’s doing a good job for us.’

‘He certainly is,’ Simon murmured, and immediately sat down when Jack waved his hand at him, indicating he should take a chair. ‘What’s the name of the bank, Jack?’

‘Belvedere-Macau Private Bank,’ Jack told him, and crossed the room to a trolley where there were bottles of liquor, and an open bottle of white wine in a silver ice bucket. ‘Wine or a drop of the hard stuff?’ Jack asked, looking across at Simon.

‘I wouldn’t mind a vodka on the rocks, please,’ Simon responded, and leaned back in the armchair, crossed his legs, relaxing finally after a long day at Harte’s.

Once Jack had made the drinks, he came and joined Simon, gave him his glass. ‘Down the hatch!’ he said.

Simon repeated the toast. ‘I want to talk to you about Linnet, Jack. I know you might think it somewhat strange that we are very serious about each other when we’ve only been seeing each other for about a week, but—’

‘She told me a little bit, Simon,’ Jack cut in softly. ‘And I don’t think there’s anything strange about it at all. You’ve known her a very long time. Now, miraculously, you’ve discovered you’re in love.’

Simon nodded, and gave Jack a quizzical look. ‘You sound approving.’

‘I am very approving. I love Linnet the most of all the Hartes, and she’s a fantastic young woman. You’re a lucky chap, I can tell you that. And I’m glad this has happened: she needs a man exactly like you.’

‘Do you think her parents will be all right about it? What I mean is, well, we do want to make this permanent, Jack.’

‘I’m sure Paula and Shane will welcome you into the family with huge smiles and loving hearts, Simon. After all, they’ve known you since you were a child, so that’s not a problem. No, not at all. And in any case, Linnet is of age. She’s going to do what she wants, whatever they think or say.’

Jack took a swallow of his gin and tonic, and continued, ‘I’ve known her since she was a baby, and of all the Hartes she is the one most like her great-grandmother Emma Harte. Not only in her appearance, with red hair, green eyes, and beautiful features, but in character and personality. It’s uncanny in a certain sense. Sometimes, when she’s talking, I think it’s Emma, the way she phrases things, and in some of her gestures. And she can be tough like Emma. The odd thing is, she never knew her great-grandmother. She’s just inherited everything. It’s in the genes, I guess.’

‘I think you’re right. M is so very different, wouldn’t you say? Not only in her appearance but in her personality,’ Simon now ventured.

‘Yes, she is, but, you know, there are moments when M also reminds me of Emma. She’s a true Harte woman, I think, with her business smarts, and she can be stubborn and bloody tough, I can assure you of that.’ Jack eyed Simon for a moment or two and then murmured, ‘You think she’s more like an O’Neill than a Harte, don’t you? But take a look at her mother some time, Simon, and you’ll see M in Paula…in the whole…cut of the jib.’

Simon smiled. ‘Cut of the jib is not a nice way to describe a beautiful woman, is it?’

‘No, it’s not, but the words just came out of my mouth! So, you want to talk about M, don’t you, old chap, and the yacht trip? That’s one of the reasons for this visit, isn’t it?’

‘It is, yes, Jack.’

Jack sighed and sat back in the chair, looked off into the distance. ‘I guess I’ll agree to it. But only if James Cardigan is on board, as well as the two security men he has looking after M and Larry. And you. I want you to be there.’

‘I will be, Jack. I’ve tried to analyse this whole thing, and I do believe we’ll be safe if we stick to the harbours.’

‘You’d bloody well better stick to them! Or I’ll have every-body’s guts for garters!’

‘Will you come, too?’

‘It all depends on what’s happening. I hate to be away from the store; on the other hand, Ainsley’s not going to hit the store again. He’s been there, done that, I believe that’s the way he looks at things. But a yacht’s an easy target, as you know, Simon.’ Jack’s voice trailed off; he cleared his throat, said, ‘However, not even Ainsley would be dumb enough to try and blow up a yacht in a harbour filled with police, as they are these days. Not to mention the yachts of his friends and colleagues in the world of high finance.’

Simon said, ‘M wants you to know she’ll stick to the harbour in Istanbul, and also skip the Greek islands, because she knows that the yacht could be vulnerable at sea. So, what’s the verdict?’

‘I’ll give M a ring first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll let them do their yacht trip…and, in fact, I’ll join you for several days.’

Simon gave him a big smile. ‘M will be ecstatic.’

Jonathan Ainsley knew that the best thing he had ever done for himself was build this yacht. This beautiful and most elegant yacht…safe, secure, streamlined and swift, and a sailing palace, to boot.

Now, standing on the upper deck, staring out at St Petersburg from the vantage point of the Neva River, he thought about the big party he was going to give towards the end of May. He had been planning it for a long time, just as he had planned the design of his yacht for a long time, and he couldn’t wait to welcome his friends on board. It would be a party to show off his yacht to the world he inhabited these days…a world of high society, show business, politics and billionaires. He himself was a billionaire, and he was at the pinnacle of his career. Of his life. He had become the man he had always wanted to be: successful, rich and powerful. Untouchable.

He leaned against the rail of the ship, continuing to stare at Hare Island, upon which St Petersburg had been built by the will of Peter the Great, who founded it on 27 May 1703. And what a city of beauty it was, filled with palaces and buildings so magnificent that they boggled the mind.

Now, at this twilight hour, as the sun set and the lights of the city came on, it looked like the most magical of places, and such it was for him. When he wasn’t working on his desk, he enjoyed visiting those palaces, to admire the interior architecture and the unique art. Most especially he loved the European paintings bought, collected and transported to Russia by Catherine the Great, and housed in the Hermitage, that gallery of incomparable beauty which she had had built for this purpose.

It was there that he would happily spend some of his leisure hours, staring at the paintings by some of the world’s most talented and brilliant painters, filled with admiration for their genius and creativity.

To Jonathan Ainsley, St Petersburg was an extraordinary city, and it offered him many other pleasures, as well as its art and architecture. In particular, women of unusual beauty, who were willing and able, and generously catered to his many whims. Just as importantly, it was the perfect place to meet with his Russian partner Grisha Lebedev, who rarely travelled, and who also enjoyed the luxury of this yacht.

And so he frequently brought the yacht here in order to do his business with Lebedev, but he was anchored most of the year in Istanbul. That was his favourite city of the two, and even though his yacht was both a home and an office, the centre of his working life, he had recently bought one of the loveliest yalis on the Bosphorus. This had been expertly renovated and remodelled by the best artisans, under the direction of Angharad, who had decorated it herself and turned it into one of the most unique and luxurious of villas.

Angharad Hughes. Although at times she could truly aggravate him, he was glad he had married her. After all, she had brought him back to life by taking him to Zurich and the clinic there. And when the time came, she had made sure he had the very best of plastic surgeons. All of them had done a brilliant job in reconstructing his face. If he wasn’t the old Jonathan Ainsley, he was still a very handsome man whom women found alluring. All the scars had healed perfectly all over his face and body. She was to be commended for this.

Only one thing troubled him, and that was Angharad’s inability to give him another child…the son and heir he longed for. He did not bother too much with his daughter Elizabeth. The four-year-old was a poor substitute for the son he needed and who would inherit the empire he had built single-handedly. Besides, she had red hair and green eyes. His only child, Elizabeth Ainsley, was a daily reminder of Emma Harte, the grandmother he had hated with virulence.

The Harte women would soon be destroyed. He would make sure of that. So far his people had somehow managed to bungle things, but his next attack would be successful. Sam had assured him of that, and Sam would keep his promise. Otherwise he would be a goner, just like Bart: another failure. Yes, Paula and her hateful brood would soon be dead.

Moving away from the rail, he turned, went down the stairs, holding on to the banister. Jonathan Ainsley was heading for the lounge and bar, admiring everything as he moved slowly through the rooms, pleased when he realized he was barely limping tonight. He had named the yacht Janus, after the Greek god, who, in mythology, was the god of portals and beginnings and endings. He had thought it appropriate, since this 380-foot yacht was a portal for him, a door to the world, and surely his reinvented life was a new beginning.

Jonathan took immense pride in this yacht, built to his own specifications by Blohm & Voss in Germany. He smiled to himself. The Russian oligarch and billionaire, Roman Abramovich, owned the 377-foot yacht Pelorus, which had been known as the largest privately owned yacht in the world. But Jonathan’s Janus was larger, and this pleased him.

Angharad looked around as Jonathan walked into the bar. She couldn’t help thinking how fantastic he looked tonight. He was her own creation, in a sense, since she had put him back together. Or rather directed everyone to do that. She had given him back his health, his good looks, his very life. And she had presented him with a child. But a girl wasn’t good enough for him. Especially a girl with red hair and green eyes who looked like a miniature replica of Linnet O’Neill and Emma Harte, and was therefore not very beguiling to him. Quite the opposite. Angharad knew she would give him a son eventually. She had to. No alternative.

Even though he messed around with other women the entire time, he still wanted her in his bed every night. She made sure of that by using her expertise, and many clever and innovative wiles. And yet she did not get pregnant. She was forever disappointed. And so was he. But she managed to hold him captive sexually, and made him happy in other ways.

Jonathan interrupted Angharad’s thoughts when he stopped and said, ‘You look ravishing, Mrs Ainsley. Are you available tonight? Much later of course, after our guests have left?’

She gave him the benefit of a seductive smile, and said, ‘I am indeed. And I have a few new presents for you, my darling. They will certainly amuse you, and titillate you, I have no doubt.’

Sliding off the bar stool, Angharad walked around to the other side of the bar, swiftly mixed him a dry vodka martini, which only she could get exactly right. ‘Here you are, my sweet,’ she murmured as she slid it towards him across the black marble top.

He thanked her, and took hold of her as she came back to the bar stool, pulled her close, kissed her on the mouth, and held her away from him. ‘You look like a long strand of beautiful pure silver in this dress. Divine, Angharad. Is it new?’

‘Yes. It’s from Chanel. I’m happy you like it.’

‘I love it on you, it’s extremely sexy. Better order another one. I’m literally going to rip it off you later.’ He brought his face to hers and whispered something in her ear, but so quietly that she could hardly hear him. Knowing him as well as she did, she knew what he had said. It was vulgar but nevertheless it pleased her. He was obviously hot. A chance tonight to make a baby.

Lifting his martini glass, Jonathan now said, ‘Here’s to you, my darling. And death to the Hartes.’

Angharad burst into laughter. ‘Death to the Hartes! That’s a new one, and a nasty one even for you. Toasting their deaths. Good God!’

‘Please don’t laugh, Angharad. It will happen. I promise you. But if it doesn’t, and if I should die before them, you must promise to pick up my sword. You must destroy them.’

She gaped at him, and then smiled lovingly. ‘You know I’ll do anything you want, Jonathan. Anything.’

‘I do know. That’s what I’ve always loved about you: your willingness to please me. That’s why I married you. The reason I stay married to you. I know you’ll even commit murder for me.’

Angharad cringed inside at these words, knowing he was verging on the psychotic again. She forced a smile, picked up her glass of champagne, touched it to his. ‘Here’s to our rendezvous later. And to the joy of making babies.’

He laughed. Then he swiftly turned around at the sound of voices, recognizing the growl of Grisha Lebedev. And, as he set eyes on one of the stewards bringing his partner and a woman across the lounge to him, he caught his breath.

Hanging on to Grisha’s arm was probably the most wondrous-looking young woman he had ever seen. Ever in his life. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen and she was a willowy, gorgeous blonde with an hourglass figure, big voluptuous breasts and endlessly long legs. He wanted her. He had to have her. No matter what the cost. He had to have this woman.

Grisha was kissing Angharad on her cheek, then giving him a bear hug, and all Jonathan could think of was this girl. All he wanted to do was feast his eyes on her.

Suddenly, he was holding her hand, leaning forward, inclining his head. And wanting her. Vaguely he heard her saying hello, heard Grisha exclaiming, ‘This is Galina. My fiancée.’

Angharad, who rarely had her eyes off Jonathan, and missed nothing, had witnessed his reaction to the Russian girl, and she was furious. Clever and skilful, as always, she hid her feelings behind a smile, and said, ‘Let’s go to the bar, Galina, and you too, Grisha. We must celebrate your engagement.’

Since marrying Jonathan Ainsley, Angharad Hughes had become a clever and charming hostess, and she managed to make the evening work for everyone.

Throughout dinner she kept Grisha engaged in conversation, and left her husband to monopolize Galina. But she was concerned. Not about the girl, and his obvious lust for her—after all, she herself would reap the benefit of that later, in their marital bed. Jonathan would fantasize that he was making love to the Russian beauty, and be at his best sexually, and she prayed that she would conceive. What concerned her was his mood.

Angharad knew he was entering one of his psychotic phases and this genuinely troubled her. Also, he was talking about a party he was giving in Istanbul next weekend and she had never even heard a word about it. What was going on in his head? she wondered. Surreptitiously, she watched him, distracted him constantly, and so prevented him from making a fool of himself in front of Grisha, a valuable partner in business. One they could not afford to lose. And he was a proud man who could turn vindictive if aggravated enough; he could easily become a ruthless enemy.