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* * *
When a letter landed on Virginia’s doormat the following morning, she recognized the handwriting, and opened it to find another envelope inside addressed to Miss Kelly Mellor, but with no address attached, just a scribbled note:
Please be sure Kelly gets this. It’s most important. Desmond
Virginia immediately ripped open the second envelope and started to read a letter Desmond had written to his daughter.
Dear Kelly …
* * *
Sebastian was just about to get in the lift, when Arnold Hardcastle came running down the corridor toward him.
“Haven’t you got a wife and family to go home to?”
“Good news,” said Arnold, ignoring the comment. “Mellor has not only agreed to see us, he wants a meeting as soon as possible.”
“Excellent. Hakim will be delighted.”
“I’ve already spoken to the prison governor, and he’s agreed that a legal meeting can be held in the prison at twelve tomorrow.”
“Hakim will want to be there.”
“God forbid,” said Arnold. “He’d probably end up strangling the man, and who could blame him? No, you should represent Farthings. After all, it was you he asked to see when he came up with his original proposal. I’d also suggest that Ray Brook be present, so Mellor realizes the bid’s serious. One chairman to another. He’ll be impressed by that.”
“That makes sense,” agreed Seb.
“Do you have anything scheduled for tomorrow morning?”
“If I do,” said Seb, opening his pocket diary, “it’s about to be canceled.”
* * *
Virginia had been in touch with Kelly Mellor’s mother, but she wasn’t at all cooperative. She probably thought Virginia was Mellor’s latest girlfriend. However, she did reveal that the last time she’d heard from her daughter she was somewhere in Chicago, but admitted she’d lost touch with her.
* * *
At eleven o’clock the following morning, Sebastian, Arnold and Ray Brook climbed into the back of a taxi, and Seb instructed the driver to take them to HMP Belmarsh. The cabbie didn’t look pleased.
“Not much chance of a return fare,” Arnold explained.
“Why so early?” asked Brook.
“You’ll find out why when you get there,” replied Arnold.
The three of them discussed tactics on their way to the prison, and agreed that their first priority was to put Mellor at ease and make him feel they were on his side.
“Keep mentioning Sloane and Knowles,” said Seb, “because I’m confident he’d rather deal with us than them.”
“I don’t think he would have agreed to see us,” said Brook as the cab left the city and headed east, “unless we were in with a chance.”
By the time the cab drew up outside the vast forbidding green gates of HMP Belmarsh, they each knew the role they were expected to play. Arnold would open the proceedings and attempt to persuade Mellor that they were the good guys, and when Seb felt the moment was right, he would make him an offer of £1.5 million for his shares. Brook would confirm that the money would be deposited in his account the moment he signed the share transfer and that, as a bonus, Sloane and Knowles would be sacked before close of business that day. Seb was beginning to feel more confident.
When the three of them entered the prison they were escorted to the gatehouse and thoroughly searched. Brook’s key-ring pocket knife was immediately seized. The chairman of Cook Travel may have visited almost every country on earth, but it was clear he’d never entered a prison before. They left all their valuables, even their belts, with the desk sergeant, and, accompanied by two other officers, made their way across the square to A Block.
They passed through several barred gates, unlocked then locked behind them, before arriving at an interview room on the first floor. The clock on the wall showed five to twelve. Brook no longer needed to ask why they had set out so early.
One of the duty officers opened the door to allow the three men to enter a rectangular room with glass walls. Although they were left alone, two officers stationed themselves outside, looking in. They were there to make sure no one passed any drugs, weapons, or money to the prisoner. Nothing gave the screws greater pleasure than arresting a lawyer.
