A Chance in a Million, page 1
A Chance in a Million
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Newsletter
About the Author
Also by T.A. Williams
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
To my wife, Mariangela, and Christina, my daughter, but, above all, to my new granddaughter, Iris. I look forward to taking her to the magical city of Venice some time in the future.
Prologue
It was the silence that so often brought it back to her.
She was lying on her bed, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. All sound disappeared and the only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. She was awake enough to know she wasn’t quite asleep but her subconscious was yet again taking her down memory lane and she was powerless to stop it. The bedroom around her disappeared, to be replaced by bright sunshine and the all-too familiar vision of dust and devastation that had once been the quiet suburbs of Fallujah.
The events of that afternoon once more took shape in her head. She could actually feel her fingers returning to the shallow depression in the sandy earth that she had been painstakingly excavating, spoonful by spoonful, for what seemed like an age. Lying out here in the baking sun she was bathed in sweat, but she knew from experience she would have been sweating from the tension even if the ground below her had been frozen.
She inched her fingertips into the soft soil again until they landed on the unmistakable feel of electrical wires and confirmed that she had found what she had been looking for. Turning her head gingerly to the left, she called over to Mark who was dealing with an unexploded bomb in a crater twenty yards away from her.
‘I’ve got it, Mark. It’s definitely an IED.’ She tried to keep her voice as low as possible to avoid startling him.
She saw his face emerge from the crater, his cheeks bright red and running with sweat.
‘Need a hand?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m all right. Just thought you should know.’
‘Okey dokey.’
He didn’t wish her luck because that was something they never did. This was their job and, if they did it right, there would be no need for luck. That was what they had been taught and they respected the tradition, but both of them knew it wasn’t true. In this line of business, they needed all the luck they could get. He just gave her a smile and a little wave before ducking back down into the crater as she returned her attention to the landmine in front of her.
With infinite caution she continued to remove the earth, scoop by scoop, until the top of the device was clearly visible. As with so many improvised explosive devices, at first sight it looked mundane, little more than harmless builders’ refuse. But by now she knew that this sort of home-made landmine was anything but harmless. She had seen the horrific results so many times already here in war-torn Iraq as people struggled to rebuild their lives after the bitter fighting had finally moved away, while the menace of unexploded ordinance remained an ever-present threat beneath their feet.
Inching herself forward on her elbows, she took a good look at the IED. Drops of sweat ran down her face and dripped into the dust beneath her but she didn’t dare move her arm to wipe herself dry for fear of sparking a detonation. After blinking to clear her eyes, she saw that the cable had been stripped at one end and the positive and negative wires were fastened to two harmless-looking pieces of wood, while the other end disappeared into an ordinary five litre paint can, the trademark on the lid still clear to see. From experience born of months of active service, she felt sure that this was no longer filled with paint but with home-made explosive laced with lumps of shrapnel, capable of destroying everything and everybody in the vicinity if it went off – starting with her.
She lay there and studied the problem now facing her. Under normal circumstances she would simply have retreated with infinite caution and then detonated it remotely and harmlessly, but in this instance she knew that was impossible. First there was Mark and his unexploded bomb to her left, while less than three metres away to the right was the wall of one of the last functioning hospitals in Fallujah.
She knew she had two choices. One was to crawl slowly backwards away from the landmine and take shelter while Mark finished defusing his bomb. She could radio for help, hoping the vibrations of heavy trucks on the nearby road wouldn’t trigger an explosion while they waited for the rest of their team to arrive. The other was to attempt to defuse it right here and now with the limited resources at her disposal. However, a sideways glance at the wall of the hospital, behind which she knew were helpless people, confirmed the fact that she didn’t really have any choice at all.
Taking a deep breath and moving deliberately and carefully, she stretched out her right hand towards the uppermost of the pieces of wood. Red electrical tape showed where the contact had been strapped to this primitive trigger, only separated from the other piece of bare copper wire by a matter of millimetres. The slightest tremor on her part and the device could explode with devastating results. She lay there for a full minute, doing her best to calm herself, before her training kicked in and she could almost hear her instructor’s voice in her ear.
‘You know what you’ve got to do, so don’t take all day. Just do it, Reed.’
As delicately as she could, she caught hold of the piece of wood and lifted it up and away from the other half. She set it down very carefully and then, with her free hand, lifted the plastic lid off the paint can and saw the other end of the cable disappear into the amorphous beige mush that could cause so much carnage. Resolutely, she gritted her teeth and began to pull on the wire until she saw the detonator gradually emerge – an unremarkable little black package with an ordinary Duracell battery taped to the side of it. She disconnected the battery and tossed it away, laid the now disarmed detonator onto the ground alongside her and finally allowed herself to breathe again. She was just rolling over to give Mark the good news when she heard him scream, the sound now forever burned into her memory.
Almost simultaneously a massive explosion picked her up and threw her against the wall of the hospital, cracking her skull and spraying her with shrapnel. She found out later that this tore a vicious gouge across her right thigh, just missing the main artery. The blast also broke most of her ribs and punctured her lung. They told her that only the fact that the bomb had been buried in the crater had saved her from instant death.
Mark didn’t stand a chance. The dust slowly began to settle around her and she lay there, barely conscious, staring in disbelief at the huge hole in the ground where he had been only moments before. Her hands, rock-steady up to now, suddenly began to shake.
A car in the street outside her window hooted its horn and the noise broke the spell, tearing her away from her recurring nightmare, but as she opened her eyes her hands were still shaking. It took her a few moments to get her bearings and realise that she was no longer in Iraq, but safely back home in the UK.
It took much longer before the all-too familiar shaking stopped.
Chapter 1
‘Your name is Jane Reed, Captain Jane Victoria Reed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you are twenty-nine years old?’ Mr Gordon Russell, of Barnett and Russell Solicitors in Temple Chambers, London, rattled off the questions and she answered equally formally.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You used to be in the army?’
‘Yes, sir.’
For the first time he looked up from the file on his desk. ‘Captain Reed, you have an impressive CV. First degree in mechanical engineering, six years in the army, including two tours of active service. What regiment were you in?’
‘The Sappers, sir, the Royal Engineers.’
‘What? Bridge-building and so on?’
‘I was in bomb disposal and mine clearance, mainly training local troops in how to go about it.’
‘Remarkable.’ His bushy eyebrows arched upwards. ‘That sounds like a very demanding job. And now you’ve obtained a Masters in Creative Writing from the University of Cambridge.’
‘That’s correct, sir.’ She wasn’t sure whether she really needed to keep calling him ‘sir’, but some habits were hard to break.
‘Can I ask why you decided to leave the army?’
‘A combination of things. I was involved in an incident that resulted in my being injured, but most of all I needed a change, and I’ve always wanted to write.’ There was so much more she could have told him about weeks in hospital, followed by long months of convalescence, Post-T
‘I see. So why do you feel you would be suited for this position?’
Jane had been preparing for this question ever since reading the advert.
‘The advertisement mentioned a famous author looking for a PA. I love writing and can’t imagine anything better than being able to work alongside a successful writer. I believe my military background makes me a very organised person, and I must confess that the idea of moving to Italy has considerable appeal.’
He leant forward on his elbows. ‘How well do you speak the language? That is fairly fundamental.’
‘Quite fluently really. My mother’s originally from near Milan and she usually speaks Italian to me and my sister. I’m maybe a bit rusty now but it’ll soon come back.’
‘I see. And your command of the written language?’ He selected a sheet of paper from the file and handed it across to her. ‘Can you give me a translation of this, for example?’
She took it from him and studied it. It was an official-looking document granting permission for the renovation of a dilapidated oak door dating back five hundred years. Interestingly, the document was on City of Venice headed paper and she felt an immediate surge of excitement. The advert had only mentioned Italy, not a specific place. After giving him a quick oral translation – it wasn’t particularly complicated – she queried the document’s provenance. Venice would be amazing. Her spirits leapt as he confirmed it.
‘You will have noticed that the position would involve you working principally in Venice. This is a residential position and you’d find yourself living right in the heart of the city. Might that pose any problems for you?’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘None whatsoever. In fact, it sounds wonderful.’
‘Do you know the city?’ Seeing her shake her head. Mr Russell allowed a little smile to spread across his august features. ‘Then you will have a treat, a thousand treats, in store.’
She noted with interest his use of the future, rather than conditional tense. Might this mean he was going to offer her the job? She concentrated hard as the interview continued for almost another half an hour and when he finally drew it to a close, she saw him sit back and utter the words she had been dying to hear.
‘Captain Reed, I’m pleased to say that I’m convinced you are the best candidate for this position and on behalf of my client I would like to make you a formal offer of employment.’ The smile reappeared on his face. ‘Do you feel able to accept or would you like time to think about it?’
‘Thank you so much, Mr Russell. I would be delighted to accept although I do have a few questions.’
The smile didn’t leave his face. If anything, it broadened. ‘Excellent and, yes, I’ve been expecting you to ask quite a few questions. I imagine top of the list is the identity of your new employer.’
‘Indeed. Can I assume she is a household name?’ All it had said in the advertisement had been world-renowned author.
‘Yes, indeed. Her name is Lady Veronica Cooper. She instructed me that she didn’t want to broadcast her name until I’d found the best candidate for the position.’
‘Veronica Cooper…?’ Jane had to stop and think. She was a voracious reader and she felt pretty sure she would have recognised a world-famous name. Maybe this lady wasn’t as famous as she thought she was. She glanced up at the solicitor and saw him positively grinning now.
‘Unfamiliar with the name, Captain Reed? Then how about her nom de plume: Veronica Leonard?’
‘Wow!’ Jane had been expecting a reasonably famous name, but Veronica Leonard was one of the best-known romance writers of all time. Her numerous books had been translated into dozens of languages all over the globe and she had enjoyed celebrity status – and no doubt income – for many years now. ‘I had no idea of her real name.’
‘She was married to General Sir Peter Cooper.’
‘Was married?’
‘Sir Peter died two years ago.’
‘I see. And she lives in Venice?’
‘Yes, indeed. Now, what other questions can I answer for you?’
Jane produced a number of questions about pay and conditions as well as asking for more details regarding the exact nature of her duties. The solicitor was able to answer most without trouble and she was pleasantly surprised by the generous nature of the package, particularly as it would include free accommodation in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Her last question about exactly what the job would entail, however, was evidently not so easy for him to answer.
‘As for your duties, I’m afraid I can’t give you much detail. I asked my client to draw up a job description, but all she managed to produce was this.’ He reached for another sheet from the file. Although Jane couldn’t read it upside down, she could see that it was far from lengthy. He read it out to her.
‘Secretarial duties, including routine typing, mail, answering the phone, emails and other messages. General assistance with day-to-day life. Representation of VL at functions.’ He dropped the sheet back on the desk and caught Jane’s eye. ‘I’m afraid that’s all I managed to get out of her.’
‘I see.’ Jane smiled back at him. ‘So it sounds like I’m in for a voyage of discovery.’
‘Indeed. What I can tell you is that Veronica is a very honest, straightforward person. You can trust her implicitly. I’ve known her for almost forty years now and I have nothing but the highest regard for her.’ She saw him hesitate. ‘There is just one thing, though. I don’t think I’ll be infringing client confidentiality if I add that her husband’s death two years ago came as a massive blow to her and, entre nous, I imagine a good part of your job will be to help cheer her up, to provide support and encouragement. Do you think you can do that?’
Jane very nearly told him she could do with a bit of support and encouragement herself, but she decided not to say anything. The fact was that this would involve revealing much about her recent past that she was keen to keep to herself. Instead, she took a deep breath and did her best to reply in positive tones.
‘I promise I’ll try as hard as I can.’
‘Excellent, excellent. Now, as you know, this is a residential position. Could I ask if you’ll be alone or accompanied?’
‘On my own, sir. I have no partner.’ She almost added the word ‘now’, but stopped herself.
‘And when might you be available to begin?’
‘Whenever I’m required. Whenever it suits Lady Veronica… or should that be Lady Cooper?’
‘The correct appellation is Lady Cooper, but Veronica was never interested in her title. She’s a very down to earth sort of person, you’ll see. Now, I know she’s keen for you to start as soon as feasible. Would you be able to start early next month, maybe even as soon as next week? Monday will be the first of June or would you like more time?’
‘Next week would be fine. I’m back living with my parents at the moment so I don’t have any complications with tenancies or anything like that.’
‘Excellent. So, Captain Reed, can I take it that you accept the position?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m very happy to accept. Thank you.’
‘Like I said, Veronica hasn’t been herself recently, so you may have to tread a careful path.’ He shot her a little smile. ‘But after your experience in mine clearance that shouldn’t be a problem for you.’
‘Certainly, sir, and thank you again.’
They both stood up and shook hands again. ‘Good luck, Captain Reed.’
She almost saluted him, but just managed to restrain the instinctive response in the nick of time.
Chapter 2
Venice was unlike anywhere Jane had ever been before. She travelled in from Marco Polo airport in a vaporetto, one of the ubiquitous waterbuses that plied to and fro around the Venetian lagoon just like normal buses in an ordinary city. This dropped her at a landing stage just past the imposing arch of the Rialto bridge and from there she had to walk the rest of the way through the pedestrians-only area. The address she had been given wasn’t easy to find. All she had was Palazzo Morea, Calle dell’Asino, and the fact that it wasn’t far from the Rialto Bridge. Fortunately she had managed to locate the tiny alleyway on Google Earth the night before and put her military training to good use as she wheeled her suitcase across the flagstones, using glimpses of the sun between the buildings to maintain her bearings.
