Roskov, Book 8, page 7
I told him, ‘You can build a villa on condition that it can be rented out through us, not for anyone to live in all year round.’
He was keen for that aspect, income as well as capital growth.
I asked, ‘What do you know about the winter holiday trade there?’
‘Many old ladies from Paris, many European, they go to Corsica yes. They sit in nice hotel and talk, drink coffee. Always so annoying … because many have a small dog.’
‘Groups of them can rent out our villas in the winter – with their small dogs.’
‘Yes, many there, they come from Norway and Sweden, away from the snow for these old people.’
Boarded again, it was just an hour’s flight, the rich French citizens and the old French citizens not interested in bothering me, the flight smooth enough for my back.
At the airport, the local police were now taking no chances with my safety, and we had an escort, Bill and Ted flashing badges and greeting their fellow officers.
Minibuses boarded, we set off around the bay and south in brilliant sunshine, twenty minutes to reach the new holiday village - now an ugly building site, cranes seen in many places.
At the hotel, I stepped down to find a commercial guard stood observing us, the man in his thirties and armed with a pistol, Michelle stood waiting with a welcoming smile and a clipboard. We had the use of a two-bedroom villa for five days, she informed me, then we’d have to be in the main villa.
Stood there, next to the main villa, I could now see the completed staff rooms, partly sunk in the ridge, and each appeared to be quite small, ten rooms in a line.
But they were the same colour and style as the main villa, so they blended in well enough, they were not an eyesore. I asked Michelle about them.
‘One room for me if I stay late, a few pool boys, duty chefs, and the night security guy. He does long shifts, sleeps just six hours between them, then he has four days off – saves driving to where he lives, which is more than an hour away.’
‘And the function room?’
‘We have it open for guests now, and some sit and read in the day, coffee in the mornings - some lunch, drinks at night, and we get about eight in at night usually.
‘We had a group of twelve guests together, and they used it each evening, and then we had a group of ten and they booked it – food and drink.’
‘Good, it’s getting some use.’
‘We’ve done three weddings already,’ she proudly stated. ‘Just the one mishap.’
I waited as she looked sheepish.
‘Horse got the wedding cake, so we refunded them, but they loved the horses so they didn’t complain. Too much.’
French police escort thanked, golf buggies grabbed, luggage piled up on the back, and Michelle escorted us to the villa – a short drive down to the Frieda Villa, Bill and Ted to be in the main building.
Inside the villa, I claimed the smaller room, case opened on the bed and left, the kettle knocked on as Carter walked in dressed in summer whites.
‘Saw you arrive,’ he began.
My mother greeted him like a long lost son, soon a few questions of “Are you eating properly?” that embarrassed him as I laughed at him.
Sat with cups of tea, we were like a family as we chatted, Bill and Ted finding us and sent down to the nearby pool bar, because from there they could see the villa door – and any deadly assassins approaching that door. I told them to run a tab on the Villa Frieda.
Carter had been using a visiting massage lady that normally serviced the needs of elderly guests, and he had been enjoying two massages a day and three swims, plus several long walks. He had also been feeding the injured turtle in the Rock Pool but had not tried the horse riding.
‘Getting bored yet?’ I asked him.
‘Hell no, just getting into the swing of it. And I had a look at the plans for next door, picked a plot to build a villa on, half a million all in – land and building and furniture.’
‘You told them I agreed it?’
‘Yeah, and they all wanted to know about the plane crash and the baby, so I had a meal out with the builders. Had a look at the cave diving as well, and the plans for the deep rock pool.’
‘I’ll go through it all while I’m here, but next weekend is the opening of the new club in Copenhagen, then I need to be in New York, so … whether I like flying or not … I have a few planes to catch.’
‘Be OK,’ he assured me. ‘Crashes are rare, and the flights to New York never crash.’
After fifteen minutes he led us down and past the pool bar, a few guests sat there and smiled at, Bill and Ted following on behind us, and we ambled down to the beach, two couples seen on the sand. It was warm, but it was not hot today, not July-August hot thankfully.
At the water’s edge we stood peering out at the waves crashing over the distant breakwater before we ambled slowly to the concrete terrace, an old couple sat there and greeted – after they had gotten over the shock of seeing me.
Back up at the pool bar we sat, and ten minutes later I recognised a former French president, now with his wife and a bodyguard.
Sat near us, I waved and bowed my head. He took a moment to recognise me and then greeted us in broken English. He was in the Gun Room, and he sung its praises in both French and English.
Sat there, the men enjoyed a cold beer, my mother trying a banana split, talk of Trevor and his ex-wife.
Carter told us, ‘His ex-wife hated him, poisoned the daughter’s mind; she won’t be losing any sleep over his death.’
I nodded. ‘Did you ask about the planned villas in here?’
‘They were due to build four, but on the far side, up from the stables, plenty of room, a view of the golf ranges below them. I told them you agreed for me to fund one, and they said they’d make five.
‘One for you, one for Jenny, one more for Jacqueline, one for Rolf and the last one for me. But the one for Rolf is for some old guy they said -’
‘Stan probably.’
‘And they’re building up near where the portakabin was, same like above the main villa, like staff rooms.’
I nodded. ‘This place will be done soon, then we’ll concentrate on the holiday village and the villas. I’m looking forwards to next year, a nice private villa with its own large pool, deck to sit on and to look out, catch the sunset.’
I sipped my beer. ‘How’s Michelle treating you?’
‘Fine so far, but it started off with talk of the plane crash and the baby, then I mentioned the money and building a villa, so now she treats me more like a boss than staff.’
‘You’ll be a rich investor, so … more like a boss, yes,’ I told him. ‘And if you have an apartment and rent it out you’ll have money for life. You’ll be driving a posh car soon.’
‘Was thinking about one, yeah.’
‘We’ll find you some work, but not security work, you’re a manager not an underling.’
‘What work?’ my mother asked.
‘In the new holiday village,’ I told her. ‘Some management position.’
‘Head of security,’ my father suggested.
I began, ‘There would be two guards here, a rotation of maybe three or four over there, so that’s five to start with, a guard up the deep rock pool, so that’s six. Do you speak any French?’
‘Did it in school, and the Army, so I can get by. I’ll study more while I’m here, practise it with Michelle maybe or the pool boys.’
My father noted, ‘So Head of Security, six men or more under you. If the rich people rent out villas they’ll appreciate seeing guards around with dogs.’
‘Do you like dogs?’ I asked Carter.
‘Had Alsatians when I was young, I can get one again, keep it here.’
‘Sounds like a plan then,’ my father approved. ‘You’d have the security covered, jeeps and dog patrols, but crime here is very low anyhow. But … would there be a place that me and your mother could use, just for us?’
‘We can build a small villa somewhere, you can design it, there’s land near the caretaker’s place. Do you want to be isolated, or close to humans?’
‘Close enough to humans, not isolated,’ my father responded.
‘You’d be a five minute walk to here, ten minute walk to the new place,’ I told him. ‘Sea view.’
‘Sounds great. Villas here are nice, but we’d like a place to store our stuff and … not clean someone else’s hair out the shower.’
‘I’d hope that the cleaning staff here do that, but I know what you mean.’
‘Places are always spotless,’ Carter told my father.
I asked Carter, ‘Does the old caretaker actually do anything?’
‘Yeah, the grounds, the grass, they clean the glass walls; he organises the men. Said they would paint some walls in spring. He walks around at 6am and has a look to see what needs doing, while the guests are asleep.
‘That beach over there, that looks good now, guests from here wander that way sometimes, it’s all cleaned up as good as this place. But the back of it is all dug up, going to be a promenade a mile long, council will pay much of it they said because it will have public access.’
I nodded. ‘The road, the beach and the outdoor pool will be under the care of the local council, road signs and upkeep – that sort of thing.’
‘And the villas?’ my father asked.
‘Will be on private property, private access roads, the council’s involvement won’t go up the valley. And nearby I’ll build a three-phase nursing home because we have the investors falling over themselves to be involved, same design as in Leicester but with a sea view.’
‘The sea view will make the difference,’ my father quipped.
‘I’d build it on a slope, that way to have a sea view for most of it. Hope to start it soon, but Leicester is supposed to be the test bed for it.’
‘Will you take legal action against The Telegraph?’ my father broached.
‘They got raided by the heavy mob, someone arrested for involvement in the child sex ring, so right now they’re losing readership.’ I took out my phone and called Miles as they listened. ‘What’s happening with The Telegraph?’
‘Halford was been arrested and charged, three other men arrested and let go on police bail, passports handed in, and the BBC news has murdered the paper. Their circulation will fall this week, that’s for sure, and a number of top journalists have quit, some I know personally.’
‘Let me know what happens, I’m in Corsica.’
‘Better weather than here, that’s for sure.’
‘Book finished?’
‘With the editors now.’
Phone away, I told them, ‘The Telegraph is in crisis mode, men arrested for links to the sex ring, journalists quitting as a result. And … there may be many more men out there that knew Roger Pearson, a grudge against me.’
I recalled a number, my Deputy Editor. ‘It’s Ricky, I’m at the hotel in Corsica. Listen, contact all estate agents in Leicester - be sneaky if you have to, and draw up a list of all house sales after Roger Pearson was exposed, then investigate the men selling those houses, where they went and who they now associate with. Get private detectives on it, spend some money.’
‘You think they were linked to Roger, and want back at you?’
‘It’s a possibility, yes. If three men fled – without their wives but now meet in secret somewhere, I want to know.’
‘I’ll make a start.’
‘Don’t print anything yet, but if you find someone that’s dirty then crucify them – but tell the local police the same day.’
‘The man that shot at you is pleading guilty, and they say he sits crying all day. His wife kicked him out, accused him of child sex with Roger Pearson -’
‘Did he deny it?’
‘No, he’s said nothing, but he pled guilty to killing your bodyguard.’
‘Investigate around the edges, see if he’s guilty, talk to his friends and neighbours. And his ex-wife, offer her some cash – she probably hates him. How’s circulation?’
‘From when you got on the board of directors it’s double, advertising revenue well up, job adverts up. We now advertise for that insurance company and your loans company.’
‘Any issues for me to worry over?’
‘Not with the running of the paper, no, and you keep us supplied with front-page stories.’
‘I don’t fucking want those front-page stories, I want people alive and well and … I want less hassle for myself and … a quiet life.’
‘Not much chance of that, Boss, not much chance at all.’
Phone away, my parents had waited as they listened in.
I told them, ‘We’ll find any men in Leicester with a grudge, before they find me. Hopefully.’ I faced Carter. ‘Did you ask about a gun?’
‘Here it’s private land so I can carry a gun, same for next door, just need to register it.’
‘Get some practise in at some point, then we’ll get you a gun,’ I told him. ‘It will make this place safer. We’ll make you head of security, but – you know - you can travel as well, January will be quiet here so go to Asia maybe.’
After a large lunch and a quick sleep I went for a walk, Bill and Ted sat in the TV monitor room with our local French guard and able to see me wherever I wandered.
At the fence to the holiday village I peered across, the beach now looking very nice, two couples seen on it, the back of the beach cut up and the soil gone, a long shallow trench now being attended, a tarmac road already in place and it looped around, a large hole where the new lido would be.
From here, I could just about guess the positions of the foundations of the two apartment blocks from the positions of the various cranes.
Back on my own beach, I wandered along, the sounds of the gentle waves being very therapeutic, and I felt relaxed here, here being a long way away from mad gunmen in Leicester.
As I stared out to sea, what Rolf had said to me was on my mind - me being Robin Hood and fighting the evil system, not sat on a yacht. I did want to fight, and to fight hard, but in the past my concern for my parents had held me back.
Now that my parents were out of the UK that was less of an issue, and I had more experience now, more than when I started to investigate Roger Pearson. I had the newspaper, and I had my friends and contacts in both the intelligence services and the government.
But what if Bonza was shot, or my Deputy Editor? I sighed out loudly at a seagull, frustrated, and wanting an army at my disposal.
Stood staring out to sea, I knew that if did what my heart was telling me … then I would be criticised and attacked on a daily basis; doing good deeds came with a price.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around, but there was no one there. Puzzled, I returned to staring out to see, and thinking.
It was as Rolf had suggested, and ninety percent supported me, the one percent wanting to kill me. I had to look to the majority, not the loud minority, or the very dangerous one percent.
‘Hello,’ came a woman’s voice, and I turned to find a sexy babe in a bikini. ‘You were deep in thought,’ came in an American accent.
‘Sorry, lot on my mind. And … welcome to my hotel I guess.’ She appeared to be in her late twenties, but was quite tall, and with a great figure, a “fuller” figure and not a model figure.
‘We’ve been here four days already, my brother and me, we needed a break.’
‘American?’
‘We were born in Canada but we work Stateside.’
‘What do you do?’
‘You don’t recognise me?’ she teased.
‘Not in a bikini no, put some clothes on.’
She laughed. ‘I anchor a morning show, MSNBC, A Late Coffee. Politics and gossip and news, celeb guests.’
‘Did you hope I would come on?’ I asked.
‘Will you?’
‘I’m in New York next week, a walk-on with Jenny Patrick.’
‘We’re in Boston, short drive. And since I’m a guest at your hotel it would be rude to say no to me.’
I laughed. ‘Does this gig pay anything?’
‘Not much, I don’t have much of a budget. Celebs come on to promote their films and politicians come on because they love to promote themselves.’
‘And the topic would be…’ I nudged.
‘Up to you, but I think you have a lot to say.’
‘I do, yes. How long a slot?’
‘I could give you the whole half hour, and a free coffee.’
‘It would have to be last minute, confirmed when I know what Jenny Patrick’s schedule is.’
‘We can move things around, we often do, guests cancel at the last minute and we just talk about the news.’
‘It would be wise, before the show and after, that you not show any photos of us meeting here – people might think you got a massage.’
She smiled. ‘Could I … get one?’
‘After the interview, maybe. Before then it could affect our working relationship.’
‘Damn,’ she mock complained.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked with a smile.
‘Donna Curtiss, my brother is Phil.’
‘You holiday together?’
She lost her smile, a glance over her shoulder towards someone sunbathing on a towel, presumably the brother. ‘We work closely on the show, get on very well, and … his wife was killed in a car wreck, but … she took six months to fade. He needed a break and I dragged him along.’
‘He has kids?’
‘Two, back with our parents – who love them to bits.’
‘Tough break for him,’ I noted. ‘If something happened to the twins I would be lost for a while.’
‘So which girl are you with … exactly?’
‘Both twins, and sometimes Olesya, and sometimes Claudia.’
‘And Jenny Patrick?’ she risked.
‘She … gets a massage when she needs one. And if you ask me probing questions like that on the show, too probing, I’ll shout at you - live on air.’
‘We keep the show clean of course, and we usually agree questions before the show – that way no stumbling.’
‘Then I think I could do a show, but I’ll do my usual chat show guy first, or he’ll bitch and complain. With you … we can talk about other topics.’
