THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR (2 page)

You know the feeling, that odd clawing at the pit of your stomach. A slight headache even though you'd stayed off the booze the night before. I hadn't slept well, but that was nothing new, and it wasn't the reason I felt like crap. What disturbed me was that the odd, undefined, premonition had no logical reason to be in my head.

Cold water and the sight of Julie standing naked on the aft deck washed away the uncomfortable feeling that crowded across my mind. She showered with fresh water from the transom faucet, head back eyes closed, then stood letting the sun dry her bronzed skin as the water ran in rivulets between her perfect breasts.

“I can feel you staring, Thomas,” she laughed and squeezed the water from her long blonde hair, her light New England accent drifting gently on the slight breeze.

“Can't think of a better way to wake up,” I said, as the last images of the bloodied bodies of my colleagues faded from my ongoing nightmare. Eighteen months and it still seemed like yesterday. “Coffee?”

“Juice please. Pineapple and orange.”

I took the jug of freshly prepared juice from the fridge, and popped an ice cube into a tall glass as the coffee percolator started bubbling on the stove.

“You had another nightmare last night. Scared the hell out of me,” her voice drifted through from the cockpit. “Thrashing about and shouting.”

“Really? I don't remember.” I did but there was no sense in talking about it. I carried a mug of coffee and the juice into the cockpit.

“Thanks.” She took the glass and drank a third quickly, and tossed her head back savouring the morning. “I'd like to go to the festival in the village tonight. Maybe we can eat at Lorenzo's.”

“Sounds good.”

“And before that I thought we might take the horses out for a trot, have lunch at Godwin's cafe...” she paused and reached her hand to my face, smiling wickedly, “...and then make love in our favourite grotto.”

“Got it all worked out, don't you?”

“Of course.”

I slid from her grasp before she started something I couldn't stop, and fled to the safety of the galley to prepare breakfast.

“Coward,” she shouted happily, wrapped a powder blue sarong around her slim tanned body, stretched out on the starboard cockpit settee, and sipped her juice.

“Want some melon with prosciutto?” I said, preparing two plates in anticipation. I leaned over and turned on the stereo, already tuned into the BBC World Service. It was my morning fix, that and the coffee.

“Yes please.”

“….and now at the top of the hour, the news headlines from the BBC World Service read by Jonathan Davis.” The familiar music played for a moment or two before the newscaster began talking, and for a few minutes I forgot about my self-imposed, albeit luxurious, exile.

“On his recent trip to the United States, the leader of the new British National Independent Party, Nicholas Hansard, said in an interview with The Wall Street Journal, that the Governments of both countries 'have skewered National Defence' with their failure to increase military spending, and left the door open for increased terrorist activity....”

'Yet another extremist group leaping to the forefront. Left wing, right wing, they're all the same,' I thought cynically wondering why I listened to the news at all, but the BBC World Service was a comforting connection with home.

“Republican Tea Party leader, Wesley Bradford, welcomed his remarks. The recent elections in Israel have seen the Prime Minister and the Likud Party retain control but with a much reduced majority, and the extreme Zionist Ysrael Party led by American born software billionaire Elias Stevens claimed eleven seats in the Knesset....”

“Great. More Middle East problems,” I said, aloud this time, thinking of my friends and former colleagues who were still serving in Afghanistan.

“I can hear you muttering, Thomas,” Julie called from the aft sun-bed.

“Just bringing your breakfast, milady,” I answered in a mock English butler accent, walking through to the cockpit.

“...Sir Ivan Gunn, the billionaire chief of Gunn Group Industries, has been kidnapped in Belfast. Details are not available and a spokesman for the PSNI (Police Service of Northern Ireland) has stated that no ransom demands have yet been received. Sir Ivan, a leading and-influential industrialist..."

I didn't hear the rest; just felt a numbing sensation between my ears and let the plates crash to the deck.

T
o me funerals are a morbid
display of egoistic emotion, but that's probably my own denial having had to attend too many of them. The experience was uncomfortable, and I was glad to be back in the car headed home. My stepmother Mary had recovered somewhat from the initial shock but tired easily. She lay back in the soft deep leather seat with her eyes closed. Heavily applied make-up did little to hide the lines around her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was thin, brittle.

“You are the head of Gunn Group Industries now Thomas. Control of the company should remain in the family. I know you don't like the idea, but you are just going to have to get used to it.”

“This is not the time to discuss it, Mary.”

“This is the right time.” Her eyes became bright, burning, feverish. “You are going to do it. Tell me you'll do it. Tell me now.”

“Let me think about it.”

“No. There is no discussion. No debate. You will do it just as your father wanted. What you or I want is immaterial. You'll do it because it is the right thing to do.” Her voice rose to a shout, loud enough for Henderson to glance in the rear view mirror.

Julie sat quietly listening to the exchange. “Mary's right. It is the Gunn family company and you are the only one left.” Her remark surprised me and I looked angrily at her. I knew they were both right, but I just didn't want the job. I wanted to go back to Gozo and resume my life with Julie. Laze around in the sun, make love, and forget everything. For years I had lived off the family fortune without contributing anything. Now it was time to assume responsibility and I felt the shackles closing around me.

“OK, I'll do it,” I said gently, thinking that at least being on the inside I'd have a better chance of discovering why my father had been murdered.

Mary visibly relaxed and closed her eyes again.

The wake that followed the funeral was like a subdued cocktail party. Everyone making meaningless small talk, knocking back as much free booze as possible and pretending all was right with the world. However, it did give me a chance to corner Adrian Newell and tell him the news.

“Don't worry, Thomas, you will pick up the reins in no time.” Sarcasm rested easily with Adrian Newell. “If you need to know anything just ask. Your father left a lot of the running of the business in my hands. He didn't like to meddle too much in the mundane day-to-day dealings.” I could see what he was angling for. If he could keep me under tight control and out of the running of things, then he would be the man in charge. I must say the idea did have its attractions, a thought he must have known had obviously crossed my mind otherwise he would not have been so open in his suggestion.

“I do plan to find out all there is to know about the way the Group operates, Adrian," I said watching the CEO of my father's company's eyes carefully. I didn't like him and I didn't trust him. "What was my father doing in Northern Ireland?” I was expecting a reaction, but not quite as dramatic as he visibly turned pale and I thought his eyes would pop into his champagne glass. “Is anything wrong, Adrian?” I asked.

He coughed and made little choking noises. “N... n... no. It's OK. I just swallowed a large mouthful of champagne. It went the wrong way.” He coughed again and recovered his composure. Adrian seemed to have developed a nervous tick at the corner of his right eye. “It's a new project. A proposed micro-electronics factory to be constructed just outside Belfast. It was your father's own personal project. I'm afraid I don't know much about it.” His composure returned and before I could question him further, he excused himself and mingled with the other guests. I let him go as this seemed hardly the time or place to pursue him with the ferocity I felt.

“Adrian seemed to be in a hurry to escape from you.” The voice of Hamish McDougall came from behind and I turned to see his friendly face smiling at me. He had been my father's closest friend since before I was born. An MP and Minister of State for Trade and Investment, he seemed to drift through life, tidying up other people's problems quietly and efficiently. He would never be Prime Minister, he just didn't have the flair, but then again he was quite happy looking after his constituents and carrying out a worthwhile job in the Government.

“Yes. I seem to have struck a nerve, though why I don't know.” I took a sip of champagne. “Presumably you've heard that I'm taking over as head of the Group?” He nodded and patted me on the arm.

“Yes, I'm glad. It's about time you came out of yourself. You've been ducking and weaving for too long.” I tensed ready to let my anger rise again, when I caught his eyes. They were laughing at me. “You have to learn to control that quick temper of yours, too. It just might get you into trouble and there is no room for histrionics in the Board Room.” He was right, of course. The shock of grey hair, laughing eyes and relaxed attitude of the man always defused any situation.

“Listen, if you need someone to talk to, just give me a call. Mary has my number.” At that moment Julie came over and told me that Mary had gone to rest. Hamish excused himself and we were alone.

“How is she?” I asked.

“Just tired. She's more relaxed than she has been for a long time, probably relived that you've taken the job. Doesn't like Americans much does she?”

“I'm sure she'll make an exception in your case. And she already has in my case.”

“How so?”

“I have dual nationality, my mother was American, born in Santa Barbara California.”

“I knew that. Well your step mother is relying on you to pull the family together." She hesitated and then, with a touch of mockery, added. “She also wants to see you married and have an heir.” She looked at me with a sideways grin, gauging my reaction to the comment.

“No way. Not yet. I like the practice we are getting, but I don’t think I'm ready for children.”

“That's what I told her. Well, not in so many words, but close enough.” We both laughed, awkwardly. Julie had changed over the past few days.

When I first saw her,
she was a dream vision floating through the evening twilight and soft streetlights. A sophisticated poised and confident beauty that most men hungered after and very few had the balls to approach. Her grey/green eyes and direct look I knew could freeze any unwanted attention without her having to utter a word, and I was immediately fascinated. I was sure I had seen her on the cover of Vogue, or Elle magazine and continued to watch her easily brush off the young rich 'bar-flies' that frequented Café Carlo.

Perhaps it was the scar that looped across my forehead where the shrapnel had carved my flesh open and cracked my skull that caught her eye, or that I sat quietly watching her, frankly admiring her beauty, amused by the murmur of excitement that ran through the restaurant in Capri.

She turned and saw me, smiled, and walked over, much to the dismay of would-be suitors who were left standing at the bar with their mouths open.

“Carlo tells me that the Fountaine Pajot Sanya 57, is yours.” Her New England accent surprised me as I had assumed her to be European.

“It is.” I stood and indicated a seat for her to sit down, which she did with the elegance and assurance of a Royal Princess. “My name is....”

“Thomas Gunn,” she interrupted easily, smiling. “I do my research, something my father taught me was very important.”

“Then I am at a disadvantage, Miss....”

“Sutton. Julie Sutton.”

“And your interest in the yacht?”

“Purely selfish. I was looking for a private charter for a week or two and Carlo said you were available.”

“Carlo said that did he?”

“He did.”

“And how much did you pay Carlo to ensure I was available.”

She laughed quickly, a musical sound and mischief in her eyes. “A lot. Too much. Money is not the issue, my privacy is. And I like adventure. You seem to fit the description.”

“I wondered why I suddenly had no business this week.”

“You are available then? As I said I will cover whatever you lost on your previous charter.”

“If you have done your research then you know money has no interest for me. I'm sure Carlo told you that too.”

“He did. But I like to pay my way.”

“Privacy does have a price.”

“I see we think alike.”

We fell in love on the second day and sailed to Gozo, where we stayed, anchored in a solitary bay for six months. Julie refused all work, much to her agent's frustration, and I had little to do anyway during my extended convalescence, until the real world crashed our paradise.

J
ulie squeezed my arm
, snapping me back to the present and my duty as host as some of our guests were leaving.

With most of the people gone, I cornered Adrian again and told him that I would be down at Head Office some time during the week to make a start on learning the business.

“I want to know everything about this micro-electronics factory in Belfast before any more decisions are made,” I told him firmly.

“But there are still some negotiations to be completed, and other formalities. I really think they ought to be dealt with now, not later,” he said in a tone that implied I should let those who know about these things get on with it.

“No. Under the circumstances I'm not rushing us into any decisions.” I took vicarious pleasure watching him squirm.

“If you insist,” he said stiffly and walked out to his waiting car.

“You seem to have ruffled his feathers a bit,” said Julie, standing beside me. “Something tells me you are not going to have an easy time with him.”

“I don't trust him.”

“Is that why you're goading him? Or do I detect a spark of interest in the Group?” She was laughing at me again.