Jigsaw Lovers (2 page)

He knew, although he didn’t know why, very early on in the relationship that there was something very special between them. In fact one evening he had asked her to marry him. She had turned him down saying she was far too young to even consider such a ridiculous request.

He asked her a second time just before she left Cape Town to go and work in London for six months.

She looked at him with her head on one side; they were sitting on the bed. She said quietly and sincerely,

‘That’s the second time you’ve asked me to marry you, and for a second time I’m going to say no.’

‘Why?’ he asked, his tone full of disappointment

‘Because I’ve got things to do. But if you take me to some exotic and romantic location, such as Victoria Falls, when I return, and ask me again – so long as you’re on bended knee, I won’t say no a third time.’

He spoke to her on the telephone two days after she arrived in London. He told her how, after only two days, he was missing her terribly, how he loved and adored her. She replied that if it was any consolation the feelings were reciprocated.

For the first time he was experiencing the meaning and the excitement of loving and being loved equally in return. He had never been happier, or felt so good and elated, for no apparent reason, in his entire life.

A week later he received a telephone call to say that Victoria had been crossing the road in Piccadilly, when she had tripped and fallen in front of a bus.

She was dead.

These two episodes taught Ian Hamilton a lesson which, once learnt, he never forgot. It taught him that love is a very powerful emotion but an even more powerful weapon. A weapon that could be wielded for good or evil purposes, and that against it the strongest defences invariably crumbled, no matter how hard they tried to resist.

To deny love when it is sought is to inflict the most sure-fire and exquisite torture imaginable upon the seeker of affection.

To set out to create a situation whereby an individual becomes smitten by another and falls wholeheartedly in love with them, and then to orchestrate the permanent separation of the two lovers, takes a very special type of mind. It is a mind that has been racked and hardened by loss itself. It is a mind that has suffered, and knows the ultimate overwhelming agony of loss, and desires to create a situation which causes this very special type of pain. It is a mind that is perverse to even contemplate the agony that is to be inflicted, let alone revel with delight in the planning and execution of such actions, since it knows first-hand how dire the consequences will be.

It also takes a mind that believes it has been sufficiently wronged that any course of action is justified in order to seek retribution. Devastating retribution out of all proportion to the original wrong.

This was the way Ian Hamilton’s mind was working approximately five years after he had become a freelance consultant. Five years of brooding, contemplating and refining a scheme of retribution that would be catastrophic and ruinous to the perpetrator of the original wrong.

And now for the first time he had the means to achieve his ends. He had the resources and the connections, to bring his thoughts and plans, his dreams, of the previous few years to fruition.

For Ian Hamilton was an exceedingly rich, embittered man, who was possessed of a desire for vengeance, a vengeance that he was determined to exact in full, many times over.

‘Good morning, Miss.’

‘Morning Dennis.’

‘You’re looking radiant again, today, Miss.’

‘You’re such a good person to meet first thing. You make a woman feel really special.’ She blew him a kiss, as he rushed to open the door for her.

The sixty-five year old doorman blushed at the familiarity. She wasn’t like the other stuck-up residents that lived in this apartment block. She was a real lady. She always had time to say something to him. The others either ignored or pretended not to notice him.

It was because of this that Dennis had a somewhat paternal attitude towards her. In his eyes she could do no wrong, and he was more than willing to run little favours for her. Every Saturday morning he would supervise his grandson as he cleaned and polished her BMW. His daughter spent two days a week cleaning and tidying her flat, and although he had never set foot inside it himself, he was aware of all of its contents. He knew she had shelves lined with books, in languages other than English, that there were paintings on the walls, fine rugs on the floors, and a collection of many different bottles of wine. He knew she had a computer and that she wrote articles for a magazine in America. She must write very well, for it seemed she earned a lot of money, if all the beautiful things she had were any indication to go by.

It was not only her possessions that were beautiful. Diana Johnston herself was beautiful. She was twenty-five, with silky ash-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a slim, trim figure that made other women envious, and stunning legs, with delicate small ankles and petite feet.

Whenever she walked down the street, she was aware of the stares and admiring glances she was attracting from every man that caught sight of her. She was used to it, and had long ago learnt how to exploit it.

Men were overwhelmed when they first caught sight of her, and had been known to profess love after only thirty seconds’ conversation. She seemed to be the typical young, successful, beautiful business women, and she had an array of material attributes that backed-up that impression. There was the expensive car, the cellphone, the designer flat and wardrobe, which, coupled with her natural assets, made most men find her overwhelmingly and irresistibly attractive.

She told those that asked that she was a freelance journalist writing articles on London life and fashion for publication in overseas magazines. This wasn’t true. She had never written a single article that had been published, although she did have a file of clippings, with her name in the by-line, to satisfy the curiosity of those who were persistent about reading some of her work.

The reality of what she did to earn a living would, in fact, have made exceedingly interesting reading, were she ever allowed to commit it to paper.

She was a leader in her field with very little competition at the level at which she worked. If asked, she herself would be hard-put to find a suitable word to adequately describe her chosen career.

Some, if they found out what she did, might consider her to be a prostitute. In the broadest sense of the description this might be true, but she didn’t actively solicit or accept payment for sexual services. Quite often sex played a part in what she was expected to do, but the person who was benefiting from her talents in this direction was not the person paying her. She was normally given an assignment with an end objective, and if, in order to achieve that objective, she had to sleep with someone, then she did. The people she slept with on these occasions would never have believed in their wildest imaginings or dreams that she was going to bed with them for any other reason than that she actually wanted to.

More often than not this was the case, for her assignments frequently involved her associating with men who were prominent and powerful; men who held high positions in industry, business, and the political arena. Such men attracted and interested her. She found their company, their experiences and their conversation stimulating, and they were more than flattered by the attentions of such a beautiful, sophisticated and intelligent young lady.

It was an ideal combination which James’s organisation had used and exploited successfully on many occasions.

James, whom she only knew as James, was her employer. He was the one person from his company that she had seen and had any dealings with. He had said that they were a firm of specialist private investigators. She had never asked but she was convinced that there was a lot more to the company than she had been told. She had felt that from their very first meeting, but she also sensed that it would be wise not to ask too many questions. She was given a set of instructions and an objective. It was not for her to question or concern herself with the reasoning behind those given aims.

She had been living in Clapham North, in a street which had been missed by the trend of gentrification, which had transformed other roads in the area.

James had come to her flat, which was little more than a glorified bedsit, one evening, two years ago.

‘My name is James,’ he had said as she let him in and closed the front door.

‘James?’ she asked.

‘Yes. James. Just James. That will be sufficient for the purposes of our relationship. James is all you need to know me by.’

‘And what would you like to call me, James?’ Her voice was well educated and refined.

‘I would like, if I may, to call you Diana.’

‘Diana. Yes, that’s a nice name. The huntress of classical mythology.’

‘I would like to refer to you as Diana Johnston, in all our dealings together. Is that alright with you?’ he asked as though seeking her approval, but expecting a yes answer. It was part of his opening approach that he had used frequently.

He was in his mid-thirties, rugged and wiry in appearance, well spoken and well dressed, in a woollen three-piece suit with silk tie. He looked slightly out of the ordinary in relation to the men who usually frequented this part of town, and who had bought her favours, recently.

‘That’s quite all right, James.’ She understood his need for anonymity. He probably had a wife and family at home. As for calling her Diana, she assumed he had a fantasy for a girl of that name.

She offered him a drink which he declined. She was about to go through the routine of what she could offer and for what particular price, but he held up his hand to stop her.

‘Miss Johnston, I’m not what you think I am.’

‘No, of course you aren’t, but don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I never kiss and tell.’ She giggled playfully at her joke.

‘You misunderstand me. I have a business proposition to put to you.’

‘Of course. Isn’t that why you’re here?’

‘The reason I’m here is that I represent a company which is interested in purchasing exclusive rights in your, how shall I put this? particular business.’

A worried look crossed her face. She had heard stories from other girls as to how the gangs demanded protection money. She had hoped that by keeping a low profile she would have been able to avoid this unwelcome attention, but obviously not.

James, noticing her look of concern, tried to put her at ease.

‘There’s nothing to worry about. I’m not here to threaten you or anything like that,’ he said reassuringly, ‘I merely wish to see if you would be interested in working on a full-time basis for my company. If you are, in principle, then I will provide you with more details as to what I propose.’

She relaxed a little and poured herself a drink. ‘Well, although I did choose to lead this existence, it isn’t exactly the life I’d envisaged for myself,’ she admitted, ‘so I’m all ears. Tell me what it is you think I could do for you.’

Although James had read the reports that his team had prepared for him about her, and had studied the photographs and videos that they had taken, he was quite unprepared and amazed at how beautiful and enchanting she actually was, face to face.

He had made it a rule, long ago, never to mix business and pleasure and had always adhered to it. On this occasion, however, the thought went through his mind that maybe he was being too hard on himself. It remained a thought, for after a moment he shook his head, smiled inwardly and regained his latent professionalism.

James was responsible for the recruitment, vetting and training of suitable women and also, increasingly these days, men, into the organisation. One of their usual lines of recruitment was to answer advertisements in the personal columns of the evening newspapers, what’s on and so-called speciality taste magazines.

They had been doing this now for over five years and had a considerable data base of the various services that were on offer. They could find someone suitable for virtually any occasion or situation that might arise, anywhere in the world. It had proved to be very useful for their main-line business activities.

One of James’s operatives would make an appointment for a massage or sauna or whatever was being offered, and afterwards file an in-depth report on the visit. The report would cover such aspects as how attractive the person was, hygiene of the establishment and the person, drug use, intelligence, character traits, discreteness, tastes catered for, and the likelihood of the company being able to recruit the individual, and if so, for what particular activities.

If these initial criteria were satisfactorily met, then James would pay a visit to the person in question, and make an assessment of them himself. Depending on the outcome of this and his own report was whether they would be asked to work for the company or not.

Diana’s advertisement had appeared three weeks earlier in an evening newspaper. It had been spotted as a matter of routine, and someone had been dispatched to sample the services on offer. As soon as James’s operative had met Diana he knew that he had found an exceptional young lady. She was obviously new at this business and her modesty was an unexpected bonus. His report had been acted upon immediately. People had been assigned to follow and observe her every movement, whilst others found out everything there was to know about her from the day she was born. This information was then condensed to one page and sent to James for his final decision. He had been very interested and had arranged the meeting that was now taking place.