“I still have a feeling that Don Pedro will try to exact the last possible ounce of revenge before he departs.”
“I don’t think he’d dare to go anywhere near the Barrington or Clifton families at the moment.”
“I wasn’t thinking about my family.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” said Cedric. “I can take care of myself.”
“Or even you.”
“Then who?”
“Samantha Sullivan.”
“I don’t think that’s a risk even he’d be willing to take.”
“Martinez doesn’t think like you…”
Monday evening
Don Pedro was so angry it was some time before he could speak. “How did they get away with it?” he demanded.
“Once the market closed on Friday and I’d left for Scotland,” said Diego, “someone began to sell a large number of Barrington’s shares in New York and Los Angeles, and then more of them when the market opened in Sydney this morning, finally getting rid of the last few in Hong Kong, while we were all asleep.”
“In every sense of the word,” said Don Pedro. Another long pause followed, and again no one considered interrupting. “So how much did I lose?” he eventually said.
“Over a million pounds.”
“Did you find out who was selling those shares?” spat out Don Pedro, “because I’d be willing to bet it’s the same person who picked mine up this morning at half the price.
“I think it must be someone called Hardcastle, who was on the line when I interrupted David Alexander.”
“Cedric Hardcastle,” said Don Pedro. “He’s a Yorkshire banker who sits on the board of Barrington’s and always backs the chairman. He’s going to regret this.”
“Father, this isn’t Argentina. You’ve lost almost everything, and we already know the authorities are looking for any excuse to deport you. Perhaps the time has come to drop this vendetta.”
Diego saw the open palm coming, but he didn’t flinch.
“You don’t tell your father what he can and cannot do. I’ll leave when it suits me, and not before. Is that understood?” Diego nodded. “Anything else?”
“I can’t be absolutely certain, but I think I spotted Sebastian Clifton at King’s Cross when I got on the train, although he was some distance away.”
“Why didn’t you check?”
“Because the train was about to leave, and—”
“They’d even worked out that they couldn’t go ahead with their plan if you didn’t get on The Night Scotsman. Clever,” said Don Pedro. “So they must also have had someone at Glenleven watching our every move, otherwise how could they have known you were on your way back to London?”
“I’m certain that no one followed me when I left the hotel. I checked several times.”
“But someone must have known you were on that train. It’s too much of a coincidence that the very evening you travel on The Night Scotsman, it’s an hour and a half late for the first time in years. Can you remember anything unusual happening during the journey?”
“A whore called Kitty tried to pick me up, and then the communication cord was pulled—”
“Too many coincidences.”
“Later I saw her whispering to the chief steward, and he smiled and walked away.”
“A prostitute and a steward couldn’t hold up The Night Scotsman for an hour and a half on their own. No, someone with real authority must have been on that train pulling the strings.” Another long pause. “I think they saw us coming, but I’m going to make damn sure they don’t see us coming back. To do that, we’ll have to be as well organized as they are.”