What were these feelings he was having? Was he jealous? He resisted the idea. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the way it made him feel to be around her again.

She must be asleep now. He imagined her lying on her bunk, just a few feet away below deck, with her hair spread out on the pillow.

He smoked more cigarettes and sipped whisky from his flask, and forgot the rise and fall of the deck under his feet.

He barely noticed the growing storm until the Isolde lurched into a broach that made him stagger. The waves were roaring in with fierce intensity. The yacht hit another crest, climbed steeply and her bows crashed down. A wild turmoil of water and foam blinded Ben for a few seconds as he hung grimly on to the rail. His cigarette fizzled out and he threw the soggy stub into the sea.

In the cabin below, Leigh was tossing and turning restlessly in her bunk, trying to relax her mind. But it was no use. She couldn’t keep Ben Hope out of her head. What was wrong with her?

She checked her watch and saw that it was almost four in the morning. She wrapped herself in a blanket and went to make herself a coffee. The yacht was lurching and it was hard to walk.

Chris heard her moving about and came out of the master cabin, looking bleary-eyed and pale. As she drank her coffee he checked the computer for the latest Met Office weather report. ‘This blow should be over soon.’ He shot her a wild look. ‘Where’s your Major friend?’

‘Leave it alone, Chris. Isn’t he in his cabin?’

‘His door’s open. He’s not in there.’

‘Oh, right. And you thought he was in with me. You really don’t trust me, do you?’

Chris grunted and headed up to the deck. As he opened the hatch, a lash of spray caught him in the face and he spluttered. He cleared his eyes, shook his head and watched across the deck. Ben and Mick were working together, silently and doggedly, their oilskins glistening with rain. The Major seemed to know what he was doing, Chris thought. He swore under his breath, slicked back his dripping hair and went below again.

Halfway down the companionway steps, Chris had an idea. The Major was out of the way. An opportunity. He sneaked past the doorway of the saloon and quietly slipped into the open door of Ben’s cabin. He shut it carefully behind him and bolted it, then looked around the room. He lifted the green canvas bag down from above the bunk and started undoing the straps.

Chapter Twenty

Vienna

That evening

Kinski was pacing up and down in his living room. His nerves felt like broken glass and he could feel a migraine coming on. His hands shook violently and his stomach churned.

Where was she? Who had taken her? Was this a reprisal for someone he’d put away? He thought of some of the cold bastards he’d dealt with over the past few months. Ran through their names and faces in his head. He knew what they could do to her. He’d seen what they could do.

If they harmed her he’d kill them. Kill every last one. Kill everybody.

He fell into an armchair with his head in his hands, crying and trembling. Then he paced again and slammed his fists into the wall until they bled. Max the dog watched him nervously from his bed in the corner.

The phone rang and he leapt at it. This was it. Ransom demand. He lifted the receiver with a shaking hand.

Somebody trying to sell him roof insulation.

‘Fuck you.’ Kinski slammed it down.

He was startled by the noise outside of a car pulling away, then a moment later he heard the doorbell. He raced to the door and ripped it open just in time to see the black Audi speeding away down the street. He didn’t get the registration.

Clara smiled sweetly up at him from the doorstep. ‘Hi, Daddy. Hey, Maxy.’ The big dog had jumped out of his bed and was all over her, licking her face, wagging the stump of his docked tail. She turned her face away from him, laughing as she trotted into the house.

Kinski pushed Max away. He threw his arms around Clara and clasped her hard against his chest.

‘You’re crushing me.’ She wriggled back and looked at his face, puzzled at his expression. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Where have you been?’ was all he could say.

He sat her down in a chair and made her tell him everything. She didn’t understand why he was so upset, what the big deal was. Franz was nice. He said he was a friend. A cop, like her dad. Dad had asked him to look after her for a while. They had ice-cream in a nice café. Franz was funny He told her stories that made her laugh. No, he didn’t touch her. He never touched her at all, except to take her hand to lead her into the café. No, she didn’t remember the name of the café or the street where it was. It was just a café somewhere. What was wrong?

Kinski listened to all this and his head hung lower. ‘What does Franz look like?’ he asked. He tried to keep the fury out of his voice.

She shook her head, as though it was a silly question. ‘He’s big like you but not so fat.’ She giggled.

‘This is serious, Clara.’

Clara brushed back wisps of sandy hair and looked serene. ‘He’s old. He must be forty. Probably even more.’

‘OK. What else?’

‘He has a funny ear.’

‘What do you mean, a funny ear?’

She made a face. ‘Kind of horrible. Like it was chewed up or something.’

‘Scarred?’

‘I asked him what happened to it. He said a big old parrot landed on his shoulder and tried to pull his ear off. He acted it out. It made me laugh. I liked him.’

He wanted to slap her. ‘Don’t you ever do that again. I mean it, Clara. The only car you get in is our car or Helga’s. Do you understand?’

She lowered her head, sniffed and wiped away a tear. ‘Yes, Daddy.’

The phone rang again. Kinski answered it on the second ring.

‘Herr Kinski?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Just listen.’

‘OK, I’m listening.’

‘This is a warning. Stay away from the Llewellyn case.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Next time that pretty little girl of yours won’t be coming home smiling.’

Kinski bit his tongue and tasted blood. The line went dead.

Chapter Twenty-One

Eve checked her makeup in the mirror and sprayed a little perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. He had her wearing the long blonde wig today. She made a couple of little adjustments to it. Perfect. She emerged from the ensuite bathroom wearing just her silk underwear, and went into the walk-in wardrobe. The racks of expensive dresses had all been tailored for her.

A voice spoke out of nowhere. She knew that the speakers were all around the room. ‘The black one’, said the voice. It was impassive and controlled.

Eve reached over and took down a Chanel dress, beautiful, black velvet. She hated it, just as she hated all of them. She turned round and held it up against her slender figure.

‘No’, the voice said. ‘The satin one.’ Eve calmly replaced the dress, slid the hangers along the rail and took down the low-cut satin dress. One of his more recent gifts to her.

‘Put it on’, said the voice in the same unemotional tone. She did as he said.

‘Now the pearls’

She turned away from the racks of dresses. On the opposite wall of the huge wardrobe was an antique glass-fronted cabinet lined with blue velvet and displaying a row of open jewel boxes with glittering gold chains and diamond necklaces. She drew out the long string of pearls and placed it over her head. It hung low down between her breasts, cool against her skin.

‘No. Double them up’, the voice said. ‘And put on the matching earrings.’

She obeyed mechanically.

In another part of the house, Werner Kroll reclined back in his padded chair. He sat with his hands on his lap, his tie as straight and tightly knotted as always. His eyes were fixed on the flat-screen colour monitor in front of him. She turned round to let him see her, the way she knew he liked. He nodded approvingly. ‘Good,’ he said into the microphone. ‘Now go to the room.’ He reached out slowly and pressed a button on the console in front of him, switching cameras. He watched her come out of the bedroom, walk down the long corridor and climb the stairway.