His thoughts are interrupted by a call from reception. ‘Someone here to see you, sir.’
‘Who is it?’ Ted asks.
‘John Burnley.’
He starts. He hasn’t seen or heard from John Burnley in many years. They’d worked together when they both started off in their early twenties selling securities in the same large firm on Wall Street, a long time ago now. They’d lost touch. What’s he doing here now? And then Ted remembers the attorneys’ warning. People will come out of the woodwork, they’d said, asking for money. That’s probably why Burnley is here. He’s heard the rumours, seen the stories in the news. Ted should turn him away. John had always been a charmer, a glib salesman, and not one to hesitate to cross an ethical line. Then Ted remembers that he has murdered his brother.
‘Sir?’ the receptionist asks.
‘Send him in,’ Ted says.
When John Burnley swans in, older, but with his familiar grin, and holds out his hand for a firm shake, he seems genuinelyhappy to see him, and Ted almost falls for it. John is blond, with all-American good looks, and sharply dressed. He’s not from the same background as Ted. He’s had to make himself from scratch, hasn’t had Ted’s advantages. He’s always known exactly who he is, whereas Ted is just finding out. John looks like he’s done well for himself, Ted thinks, assessing the Rolex watch, which, from this distance, could be a good fake, and the designer suit, which clearly is not.
‘Please, sit down,’ Ted says after they do the slap on the back that accompanies the handshake, and gestures for his visitor to take a seat as he slips back behind his desk. And because he’s just decided he’s going to give notice that very day, he puts his feet up on the desk, displaying his handmade Italian shoes. ‘You’re looking well, John,’ he says.
‘Thanks. Trying to stay in shape, you know,’ John replies, modestly patting his trim middle.
‘You married?’ Ted asks. He sees no wedding ring.
‘Oh, no, you know me,’ Burnley says, and gives a wolfish grin.
Ted remembers. John was always very successful with women and professed to see no reason to settle for just one. He hasn’t changed, then. He remembers John as someone who really only ever cared about himself. Perhaps Ted should be careful. ‘What have you been up to all these years?’ he asks, genuinely curious.
‘Oh, you know, business. Investments, mostly. Doing pretty well.’
Ted nods, not quite sure what to say. He begins to feel a little uneasy about why his old acquaintance is here and to regret letting him in. Ted had given in to the temptation to bask in his own success in front of an old friend. John must surely be awarethat he is probably coming into a lot of money. He decides to take control. ‘So why are you here now, John?’ he asks.
‘I wanted to offer my condolences, about your brother,’ John says smoothly.
Ted finds that hard to believe. ‘Thank you. But that can’t be the only reason you’re here.’
Burnley grins at him. ‘I have an opportunity,’ he says confidently, ‘that I think you’ll find very interesting.’
‘An opportunity,’ Ted echoes. The attorneys were right. It didn’t take long.
‘I have a fund,’ Burnley says, turning serious, looking directly into his eyes, ‘sure to double over the next five years. You could get in now, on the ground floor, make a bundle.’
John Burnley was always a bit slippery, Ted thinks now. He will look up what John’s been doing these last many years, as soon as he leaves. Maybe he’s heard somehow about Ted’s last disastrous investment and is thinking a fool and his money are soon parted. The thought stings. He feels the pleasant expression leave his face. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? You haven’t even let me tell you about it. It’s a sure thing.’
John smiles back at him but there’s flint in his eyes now. He doesn’t like hearing no. Ted remembers that about him too. Ted rises from behind his desk. ‘I’m really sorry, John, but I’ve got another meeting. Lovely to see you again, though.’
John rises, smiles his crocodile smile. He says, in his most charming voice, ‘Fine. You’ll regret it, though, I promise you that.’
Once he sees John out, Ted closes his office door, goes back to his desk, and googles John Burnley.
Chapter Twenty-Two
JILL IS ATthe gallery, dealing with a customer who is considering a painting, when the sound of the door opening makes her turn her head. She’s surprised to see Lara. She gives her a quick smile and turns back to the customer. Once she’s finished and the woman has gone, she approaches her friend, who has been quietly surveying the canvases on the walls, having, Jill knows, no intention of buying art. Art isn’t really Lara’s thing.
‘What brings you here?’ Jill asks.
Lara faces her and glances around the gallery as if to be sure they are alone, an odd gesture. ‘We need to talk,’ she says.
‘About what?’ Jill asks. She doesn’t like Lara’s body language.
‘Last night a man from the US Coast Guard came to our house and asked us questions.’
