Lewis - Wicked Beauty

Contents

About the Author

Susan Lewis is the bestselling author of twenty-nine novels. She is also the author of Just One More Day and One Day at a Time, the moving memoirs of her childhood in Bristol. Having resided in France for many years she now lives in Gloucestershire. Her website address is www.susanlewis.com

Susan is a supporter of the childhood bereavement charity, Winstons Wish: www.winstonswish.org.uk and of the breast cancer charity, BUST: www.bustbristol.co.uk

About the Book

Tim and Rachel Hendon are riding high on an ideal marriage and growing political success. They have no idea that they are on the eve of a nightmare that is going to totally devastate their lives.

After a high-profile murder, Tims campaign manager Katherine Sumner has disappeared. Is she the killer? Or will the information she has on top government officials make hers the next body to turn up on the coroners table?

Certain that Katherine is alive and in hiding, acclaimed reporter Laurie Forbes joins forces with Rachel Hendon to search out the truth behind one of the worlds most secretive and dangerous organisations

Also by Susan Lewis

Fiction

A Class Apart

Dance While You Can

Stolen Beginnings

Darkest Longings

Obsession

Vengeance

Summer Madness

Last Resort

Wildfire

Chasing Dreams

Taking Chances

Cruel Venus

Silent Truths

Strange Allure

Intimate Strangers

The Hornbeam Tree

The Mill House

A French Affair

Missing

Out of the Shadows

Lost Innocence

The Choice

Forgotten

Stolen

No Turning Back

Losing You

No Child of Mine

Dont Let Me Go

Memoir

Just One More Day

One Day at a Time

For Pamela

Acknowledgements

I should like to extend my sincere thanks to Diane Bodle and Nicole OFlaherty who so very kindly guided me through the maze of political and parliamentary procedures. Also I warmly thank Jocelyn Jane, Nigel Legge, Tonks, Sharkey and the fishermen of Cadgwith who so willingly gave of their time and knowledge to help me create the fictional village of Killian. I hasten to add that the characters I have created are all fictional too.

A huge thank you to Julian Mounter, a treasured friend and expert pilot who helped me with the flying scenes, as well as lending considerable moral support. And to Nick and Monica who made our stay on Virgin Gorda so easy and pleasurable.

Prologue

The door of the small gallery opened, the overhead bell chimed and in swept the winds of change; the curious, capricious stalker called fate. The door closed, and in several different parts of the world the destinies of a handful of people who didnt yet know each other began their inexorable journeys towards the events that were ultimately to bind them together.

The owner of the art gallery, a strikingly handsome man in his late thirties, was watching his new visitors two grey-suited men with expensive raincoats and an air of mild self-importance that seemed to suggest disdain for the paintings they were viewing. The taller man wore horn-rimmed glasses and an expression of weary impatience. The others steel-grey hair curled over his collar, and flopped randomly over one eye, lending him a look that might once have been rakish, but had, in middle-age, deteriorated to merely unkempt. At first glance, the owner had assumed them to be interested buyers, or maybe rival dealers, but now he didnt think so. In fact, he was starting to become uneasy, for there was a discernible change creeping into the room that, whilst no more menacing than a sheathed weapon, seemed to discharge the same underlying potential.

The tall man was the first to speak, while taking a sideways look at a surreal interpretation of a human brain. I believe congratulations are in order, he commented pleasantly.

The owner stared at him, his dark, sunken eyes showing more wariness than surprise.

The man turned round and smiled, thinly. His voice and appearance portrayed culture and a high degree of education, though the look in his eyes suggested many darker shades of the image. Marriage can be a haven or a hell, he commented. In your case, Im sure it will prove the former.

The owner still said nothing, though alarm had punched him like a fist. Why mention his new wife? Were they about to threaten her in some way? Use her as leverage to make him do something illegal? The art world was a smorgasbord of criminal cunning; this wouldnt be the first such approach

It seems to be a good time for you, the tall man continued, turning back to the carefully selected display of figurative works by unknown artists. A new wife. A new client. He paused to scrutinize a circular arrangement of multi-coloured squares. A very important client, were told.

The owner heaved an inaudible sigh of relief. Of course, the client. He should have realized sooner, for such a man would naturally be of interest to anyone able to distinguish a Picasso from a Matisse, or even a gun from a sword.

A Modigliani nude, I believe, the tall man said.

The owner didnt confirm it; there was no need when they obviously already knew.

The other man suddenly spoke. You have pilot skills, he stated.

The owners eyes moved in his direction. Tension was building inside him, causing a small muscle to twitch in his temple. Yes, he had pilot skills, but he was suddenly wishing he hadnt.

This client, the tall man said, sliding his hands into his pockets and perching on the edge of a table. Hes an interesting individual, wouldnt you say? When he received no reply, he said, Wed like to know more about him.

The owner considered a facetious referral to a businessmens almanac, or the Internet, but as he was now beginning to get an idea of precisely who these men were, he held on to his silence.

We all need to play our parts, said the man with the silver hair. As your fathers son, Im sure you understand that.

There was his confirmation, they were who he suspected, and now he wished hed stayed at home today. But Im not my father, he said mildly, though fear was definitely starting to factor in with the anger and hostility now.

Appearing surprised the tall man said, There was a time when you were eager to follow in his footsteps.

I was much younger then. I know better now.

As though he hadnt spoken the tall man said, You received a good training. Your record in the field is exemplary, though not extensive, I grant you.

It was a long time ago, he protested.

It wont take long to bring you up to date. We need you to start building trust with your client right away.

The owner looked at him. He could and would protest some more, though he knew already that it would do him no good.

The tall man smiled again, showing his expensively capped teeth. It wont be difficult for a man such as yourself, he told him amiably. Educated, civilized, charming In fact, I can already feel my own trust starting to grow. He let the compliment bask in its glow of sarcasm, then said, If we begin now, it should all be over by the end of the year.

That had been three years ago and so much had changed during that time, the deception and duplicity had become so deeply ingrained in his life that it was his life. How gullible hed been back then, for hed truly believed it was all about art. How naive and shortsighted, when hed always known that nothing with these people was ever what it seemed, and now gone was the art dealer who got his kicks from mentoring; the amateur musician who liked to sing and fool around in the local pub; the new husband who couldnt get enough of his dazzling Titian-haired wife. He was different now in ways that often made him unrecognizable, even to himself, yet perversely, wholly irresistible to his wife. His only escape was the time he spent with her, when their passion burned even hotter than the early days, when, after only a month of knowing each other, theyd managed to tumble out of bed long enough to get married. Did she have any idea who, or what, he really was now? How his gallery had become a front for a whole other kind of culture that was as malign as art was benign? Did she even care? He doubted it, for the mystery of his sudden departures and frequently prolonged absences was as addictive to her as the erotic games they played were to him. She was a woman like no other as unusual as she was beautiful, as unconventional as she was unpredictable. He couldnt imagine ever loving or desiring another woman, but nor could he have imagined the events that were about to crash into their lives and change them as irrevocably, yet much more catastrophically, than that short visit to his gallery had, three years ago.