The Devil You Don't: A Zoe Thriller, #1

By Charles Heath

Is Zoe the devil in disguise?

John Pennington believes he has found the woman of his dreams, Phillipa Sternhaven, and prior to the wedding he is taking her to meet his Grandmother, the family matriarch.

He has also promised an old school friend, Sebastian, that he would do a favour for him when he visits Rome, testing a new and unique software program with incredible possibilities.

Suddenly the wedding is off, and he is on his own heading to Geneva.  After a chance encounter with the mysterious Zoe on the lake steamer 'Savoire' his life takes a sudden turn into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That 'small favor' suddenly becomes a life changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follows.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged out of the doldrums and into an adrenaline charged life and death situation, where it may have been wiser to stay with the 'devil you know' rather than opt for the 'devil you don't'.

Will he survive, or has he a little of the 'devil' in him too?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Heath
• Release date: Aug 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994359728

Book preview

One

Zoe, just one of many names she had available to her, and the one in the passport she held in her hand, sat in the Raffles Lounge at Singapore Airport, waiting for her plane to depart.

Job done, money in the bank, she was treating herself to a first class ticket back to London, and then on to Paris, her current home base.

She had completed the last of her quota of assignments for the year and it was only July.  It was unprecedented, with demand higher than usual.

It was her second time through Singapore in three months, and although she had used the same name, she was a little on edge.  She had been careful to ensure she had left as small a footprint as possible this time, but she was always mindful of the authorities, and not setting traceable travel patterns.  At least, outside the United States, it was not so bad.

She took another glass of champagne, Bollinger, and sipped it. It was just the right temperature for her; very cold.

Yes, perhaps a silent toast.  Another successful assignment completed, her sixty fifth in 12 years.

Her phone, sitting on the table next to her seat, vibrated indicating an incoming message.

She glanced at it, considering who it might be.  It should not be another assignment.  She’d sent the completion message, and advised her employer she would be unavailable for at least a month.  She was looking forward to a few weeks of rest and recreation on the island of Santorini.

She ignored it.

Three minutes later her phone vibrated again.

She glared at it, cursed, and then picked it up.

It was a message from Alistair, her employer, Call me.

She put the phone down.  No, she muttered under her breath.  Not this time.  Usually when she said she was taking a break, he left her alone.

Another five minutes passed before it vibrated again.  She closed her eyes and tried to ignore it.  She was not going to call him.

No need to call, he had broken one of his rules, never to send requests over the text message system.  Are you available for a short term assignment for a special client, usual fee?

The problem wasn’t going to go away by just ignoring it.  She sent back; No.

Two minutes later she received another text, the phone vibrating again, and this time it elicited a glance from the man sitting next to her.  The Armani suit told her he could be a problem.  She glanced at her phone, I would regard this as a personal favour, double fee

Despite her usual calm demeanour, she audibly sucked in her breath.  No usually meant no, and she sent back, Double No.

It was ten minutes before the phone vibrated again. The man in the seat beside her gave her another sideways glance.  She glared back at him, and he casually got up and moved to another section of the lounge.  Good riddance, she thought.

Alistair’s message read, An assignment mix up has left me without an employee in position.  You are closest and can reach the destination in the allocated timeframe.  I am offering quadruple the usual fee for the inconvenience.

A million dollars!  It was usually 250k or 500k if the conditions were difficult, or set up was lengthy.  This was apparently neither.  A thought occurred to her; what if everyone else had turned this down?  It might be not worth pursuing, particularly if it was someone like the US President, or another Head of State.  Better to be careful.

She sent back, Depends on target.

He returned, almost immediately, Not well known.

Still cause for concern, but it alleviated some of her fears.  The fee was enough that she could take a longer holiday and stay first class.

She texted Alistair, Send details.

Then she finished the last of the champagne and stood.  They were calling her flight.  It seemed the man in the Armani suit was also travelling to London.  Perhaps she might get to know him, unleash some of her charm.  She smiled to herself at the memory of her last conquest.

On the way to the boarding gate the phone vibrated again.

The details.

A male face flashed up on her screen, not all that old, perhaps mid to late 30’s, in a pinstripe suit and bowler hat.  British, he looked like a public servant.  Name: John Pennington, familiar for some reason.  She had seen him before, but couldn’t quite place where.  She took another long look at the man who would be her next target.

What on earth did you do that it’s worth a million dollars to kill you, she asked herself.  Then dismissed the thought, he was a target for a reason and she didn’t need to know why.

She quickly checked flights to Geneva on her phone, found one was leaving in two hours from a different gate, and headed to the airline’s lounge to make the arrangements.

It would take a little longer to get home this time, but it would be worth it.

Two

Phillipa Sternhaven was the sort of woman who, in one moment could literally take your breath away, and in the next, have you cursing every bone in her body.

As I glared at her across the hotel room where she was putting the final touches to her hair, in preparation for the short trip to the airport, I had to wonder what it was I saw in her.

I’d known her for fourteen months.

I’d met her in a nightclub or a bar; I was not sure what to call it, on a wet miserable night.  The only reason for going in there was to wait till the rain stopped.  She’d been with friends; they had been obnoxious, and when one chap had enough, he threatened to hit her.

I was not the gallant gentlemanly sort, but I foolishly told him to back off.

Instead he hit me.

She took pity on me, and over the next few months, our paths kept crossing.  It didn’t take long to discover we moved in the same social circles.

After a year it was a case of familiarity breeds contempt.

A month had passed since we decided to get married.  It was her father’s idea.  Before that neither of us had considered it.

When I told my parents, they said I was too young.  I was 36. How could anyone consider that to be too young?

When I told my Grandmother, she wanted to know who the lucky lady was.  When I told her, it took her less than a week to have the family investigated, coming back with ‘you are making a mistake, a big mistake’.  The family was not in Debrett’s.

Did you look at the guest list, she asked.  She was still trying to make her hair perfect.  I thought it was.

Yes.  What else could I say?  It had 500 names, mostly her side of the equation, about 450 more than I'd planned for. We’re going to have to change the venue.

I realised the moment I said it, it would be like a red rag to a bull, but when I looked, she was still tugging at a loose lock of hair that wouldn’t go into place.

Didn’t daddy say that might be the case a few weeks ago?  It was spoken in her offhand manner, but it was a statement laced with menace.

He had, I remembered the conversation as if it was yesterday.  I ignored it at my peril, knowing despite my efforts to keep my preferred church, the one where all my forebears had been married; it was going to be a losing battle.  It could only hold about 150. And, it had never been on their preferred list of venues.

Westminster Abbey is not available, I said, then instantly regretted it.  It was meant to be a joke, but I think we were past the joking stage.

If looks could kill, well, there was a fate worse than death.

If all you are going to do is make a joke of it, perhaps we should call it off.

I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t see it coming.  There had been hints, in different variations, over the past fortnight.  I knew her father had been in her ear again, about making a splash in the society pages.  For them it was about making a statement, not about getting married.  Sternhaven was always looking for ways to ‘advertise’ the name.  His industrial interests were flagging.

A wedding of some magnitude would raise the family profile.

Is that what you want, or what your father would like?

I stopped what I was doing, which was reading the paper, that’s how long she was taking, and looked at her.  There was a childlike innocence in her expression and manner, but underneath that amazing exterior there was, at times, a heart of stone.

Again, I had to wonder why I was doing this.

Does it matter? she said. She stopped tugging at the lock of hair, and gave me one of her disdainful looks.

It was, I could see, the calm before the storm.  I was getting better at predicting the weather.

We are not having these difficulties without reason.  Daddy seems to think we may have rushed into the wedding.  He thinks we should wait a few months.

Until autumn. She had always wanted an autumn wedding. And her father had always planned to float one of his companies on the stock market in September.  It would be a wedding that would bring the name Sternhaven into the public eye.  His publicists would make sure it happened.

I asked again, Is that what you want?

She went back to fiddling with her hair.  Perhaps I do.  We don’t seem to be able to agree on anything, so maybe it’s time to take a step back.

By coincidence, it was exactly what I was thinking.  I put the paper down and stood.

I’m going to the airport.  I can see you have a lot to think about, so let me know if you are coming, or staying.  Either way, I’ll wait till the last boarding call.  If you don't come by then, I guess that will be the end of it.

The wedding, the relationship, everything.  I was surprised that I could be so cavalier about it, but over the last few weeks she had begun to show her true colours, taking the spoilt rich girl act just one step too far.

You mean us?  Over?  She looked surprised.

If that’s what you want.

I don't know what I want.

No, you don’t.  It’s usually what your father wants.  Harsh words perhaps, but true.  It had always been what ‘Daddy’ wanted.  If I don't see you at the airport, Phillipa, I guess this is good bye.

I turned, and walked out of the room.  I would not forget that look on her face, one of pure astonishment.  I was not sure what she had hoped to gain, but I don't think it was what just happened.

Every other time I had backed down and acceded to her wishes.

Not anymore.

I’d barely made it to the hotel foyer when my mobile phone rang.

No prizes for guessing who it was.

Yes, Mr Sternhaven.  We had not reached a point where I could use his first name.  He was very free in using mine.

John, Phillipa tells me you just walked out on her.

Of course.  I hardly expect her to tell him the truth.

I just needed some fresh air, sir, and decided to go on ahead to the airport.  You know how she is before travelling.

We both did.  It was a trial, and he had admitted it himself.

You could be a little more sympathetic.

To be honest, sir, I’m just a little tired of her demanding ways.  Perhaps that came out a little harsher than it should as my reaction to Phillipa earlier, but it was annoying she would not fight her own battles, and always got her father to sort out the problems.

You and I both know she is a little temperamental.  I’m sure it can’t be that difficult to give a little ground.

I’d been giving ‘a little ground’ for weeks.  I may have given ‘a little ground’ had she not called her father.  Now, I'd decided to draw a line in the sand.

If she decides to come with me, then I will be happy to discuss the wedding and any other concerns she has, while we are away.  I have no problem with moving the wedding back to a more suitable date, or whatever it is she wants, but if she does not come with me, sir, there will be nothing more to discuss.  It is as simple as that.

I don’t like your attitude, John.  She has done nothing to deserve this.

I smiled to myself, imagining what the conversation was like between daughter and father.  I would be painted as black as the ace of spades.

I stepped out the front door, and could see my usual car waiting for me.  The chauffeur was standing by the car, door open.  He seemed relieved Phillipa was not with me.

Then I am sorry, sir, but I have given all the ground I’m prepared to give.  She cannot make up her mind about anything.  Perhaps, as she suggested, we need to take a step back and think about it.

She said that’s what you suggested.

Then sadly, sir, she has lied to you, and not for the first time.  I suggest you two sit down and work out what it is you want.  I’m sorry, but my driver is waiting.

I disconnected the call, and walked over to the car.

Jacobs smiled.  How are you today, sir?

Better.

And your friend, sir?  He always called her ‘your friend’, not Phillipa, or Miss Sternhaven.

Not today, Jacobs.

He smiled.  Today was going to be a good day.

I got in, he closed the door, and we left the hotel.

My phone rang twice on the trip to the airport.  The first was Mr Sternhaven, obviously upset at being disconnected.  I didn’t answer the call.

The second was from Phillipa.

I answered, interested to hear what she had to say.

My father says you hung up on him.  It was hardly her most conciliatory tone.  Perhaps he had asked her to call me.

He was being unreasonable.

You mean I was being unreasonable.

I sighed.  I wasn’t interested in prolonging the battle.  I’m over your attitude Phillipa.  You have until the final boarding call to decide where you want this relationship to go.  If you do not come, then I guess I will have to accept that it is over.  It is as simple as that.

I disconnected the call.

I could see Jacobs glancing at me through the rear vision mirror.

Trouble in paradise, sir?

He and I had a good working relationship.  I told him my problems, and he sounded sympathetic.

I get the distinct feeling the wedding is off.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing, sir?

I wasn’t sure.

It had been Phillipa’s idea to stay at a hotel near the airport, so we could travel together and not be late.  It was not her hair that was causing the problems.  It was the wedding, and it was us.  Things had been falling apart since the announcement of the ‘big day’.

I just chose not to acknowledge it.

We were supposed to go on a pre-marital ‘get away from it all to settle the nerves’ trip, including a few days in Sorrento with my Grandmother so she could get to know the prospective bride.  When I told her, Phillipa had groaned, and not without reason.  My Grandmother had hardly endeared herself to my choice of wife.

When Jacobs dropped me off, we shook hands, and he said, quite prophetically that ‘things happen for a reason, sir’.  I didn’t ask him what things, but I got the impression he thought I would be better off without her.

Now, in the Business lounge, waiting for the boarding announcement, I think I was beginning to realise he might be right.  What we had, to begin with, was great, but over time, with her parents, my parents, friends, and others, a lot of the gloss had gone.  Perhaps the final straw had been when I refused to move in with her.  I preferred my place, and she didn’t.

I picked up my phone and rang her number.  It rang out.

She was not answering my calls.  That was a bad sign.

Phillipa Sternhaven was the daughter of a self-made man, an industrialist who started with nothing, and was now one of the wealthiest men in the country.  His wife, Maryanne was timid, and he was a bully.  They had one daughter, Phillipa, and he doted on her.

I on the other hand came from a long line of Dukes, dating back to Henry the Eighth.  It sounded special, but it wasn’t.  Time and stupid ancestors had eroded the wealth of the family and now it was limited to a country seat, a house in London, and houses in Rome, Paris, and oddly, Venice.

But we were not rich, and my father had a full time job keeping the family estates afloat.  Beyond my formative years being spent in boarding schools, and a remarkable lack of interest or love from my parents, I had to battle my own way in the world, and what fortune I had, I had earned myself.

When I first met Phillipa’s father, he was very pleased she had found herself an antiquity.  I wanted to believe he was referring to the title.  That initial enthusiasm faded when he discovered the title didn’t bring with it the sort of wealth he was hoping would shore up his industrial empire. I knew he was having second thoughts about the marriage, and chose to ignore that omen too.

When I heard the pre-boarding announcement I went to the service counter to enquire if Phillipa had checked in, and once again the answer was the same; no.

All attempts by me and the airline had failed to contact her.

As I turned away from the counter to start walking down to the departure gate, my phone beeped with the sound of an incoming message.

Phillipa had finally decided to text me.

I pressed the appropriate button to display the message on the screen:

Sorry.  I can’t do this anymore.  Please cancel the holiday.  I think, also, we should cancel the wedding.  It is too soon, and there are too many obstacles.  Perhaps we should not see each other for a few weeks so we can both consider our options.  Phillipa.

A minute later another text message arrived:

I have considered my options.  I do not think any purpose would be served by staying together.  I hope you find someone more appropriate.  Phillipa.

I wondered what she meant by ‘appropriate’.  I pressed another button, and the messages disappeared.

Breaking up by text message?  I thought that was something the male did.

Something wrong, sir?  The girl on the counter had seen my surprised expression, or perhaps one of disappointment.

No.  I turned back towards her.  Ms Sternhaven is not coming.  No point telling her the embarrassing truth.

Will you still be travelling sir?

No need to think twice about that.  A few historical highlights, and then I would go and sulk at Grandmother’s in Sorrento.  There were worse places I could be miserable.

Yes.

Relieved that this problem was resolved, she moved on to the next passenger.

Down at the gate I stood in line with several other business class passengers waiting my turn.  I gave my boarding pass to what looked to be one of the cabin staff, a pleasant middle aged lady with a name tag that told me her name was Tricia.  She smiled, said all the right welcoming phrases, and sent me on my way, joining the rest of the passengers heading down the air-bridge.

That walk to the plane was one of the longest of my life.

By the time I sat in my seat, and noticed the empty seat next to me, the reality of what had just happened sunk in.  Over a year of my life had just disappeared into thin air.

I shrugged.  They were serving champagne.  Tricia had come back to the plane and it looked like she would be looking after the business class passengers. She handed me a glass, smiled, and moved on.  Perhaps if I drank enough of it I would be able to forget about Phillipa and her pretentiousness. I took a sip and leaned back in my seat.  I didn’t think there was enough champagne on this flight to drown my sorrows, and with all the new regulations, it was probably not a good time to try.

At the very least, I knew grandmother would be pleased.  She hadn’t considered Phillipa or the Sternhaven’s as suitable even though she would have tolerated them for my sake.

I couldn’t remember if I’d told my parents, but if they had known, on the two obligatory visits in the last year, my father’s birthday and Christmas, neither had mentioned it.  Perhaps I should pay them a surprise visit when I returned.

I was expecting a quiet journey where I could enjoy the in-flight service, and check out the entertainment system.  It was not to be.

The airline, living up to its slogan ‘we care’, had offered an upgrade from economy to business class to a middle aged lady in a business suit.  She styled herself as the new Maggie Thatcher, with the same hair and manner.

She had Tricia running after her, and then, after Tricia achieved the impossible, complained about the service, the airline, and something else totally irrelevant.  She looked down on me as if I was vermin, but I translated that as her expecting me to give up the window seat.  The glare, and the lack of communication, and the fact I heard her asking Tricia if she would ask me to move, made me all that more determined not to.

Tricia, clearly embarrassed to do so, asked, and I politely declined.

Tricia then had to go to her seat for take-off.  As the plane left the runway, on that first sharp ascent, and seeing the terrified look on my fellow passenger’s face, I told her the next time she wanted something from me, to ask me to my face.  I also said, in my most menacing tone, that I would be formally complaining to the airline about her attitude towards the cabin staff.  First Phillipa, now I was faced with a woman who reminded me of what Phillipa might be like in twenty years time.  If I wasn’t pissed off before, I certainly was now.

It helped take my mind of Phillipa, and it gave me a focal point to channel my anger.

The fact she tried to engage the man in the seat opposite her in conversation told me I'd made my point.  He was too polite to ignore her, and I couldn’t help but overhear that her name was Hermione and she worked for some ‘important’ Government department.

She tried to start up a conversation with me, but I just pointed to my headphones and pointedly ignored her.  I felt sorry for the man in the opposite aisle.

After service, a tray with food that looked interesting but I had no appetite for, I went up to the galley where Tricia was talking to one of the pilots.  I asked for coffee, strong, and lamented the fact I was sitting next to the passenger from hell.

Apparently Tricia knew her, and said Hermione had browbeaten the staff into giving her an upgrade.  She apologised for asking me to move, and I said she had been between a rock and a hard place, and that I was going to send a letter of commendation to her airline for exemplary service to her passengers.

When I finally went back to my seat, just before the plane landed, I'd elicited the details of Tricia’s personal life, that she had never married, loved the job she had, and generally never had any problems except for the odd passenger, including one Hermione, the passenger from hell.

On the ground, Hermione was one of those passengers who had to be first off the plane, out of her seat before the plane came to a stop, and pulling bags out of the overhead bin, not caring who she bumped, or who the bags fell on.  I remained in my seat and waited until she left the plane.

In fact I waited till all of the passengers had disembarked, and was lucky enough to leave the same time as Tricia.  She had a stopover in Geneva, she said, and we parted company at Immigration.  Airline staff went to a different queue.

By that time I was feeling better.  I had not had the time to mull over the loss of Phillipa, or what direction my life would now take.  Geneva awaited, and all its tourist attractions.

When I exited into the main concourse, I saw the names Pennington and Sternhaven on the chauffeur’s board.  Usually it was only my name, something else for Phillipa to complain about.

With few distractions on the drive from the airport to the hotel, seeing her name again reminded me of her and our time together, of expectation and disappointment.  I had hoped by marrying Phillipa, everyone would stop worrying about my life.

My parents were indifferent, and my mother perhaps out of politeness would sometimes ask who my latest ‘lady friend’ was, and once when I said I didn’t have a ‘lady friend’ my father asked, rather gruffly, ‘you’re not one of those sort are you?’  It showed just how fractured our relationship was.

My Grandmother had always expected me to marry the daughter of a Duke or an Earl.  She had no time for the Sternhaven’s of this world.  They didn’t understand the years of tradition bred into people like us.  We had titles, political entitlement, and, in our case, very little wealth.  Sternhaven himself had once remarked that the so-called aristocracy was only good for one thing, the scandal.  I hadn’t quite thought of us in that manner.

My friends, those of the old school tie, some of whom were equally ‘entitled’ also wondered when I was going to become ‘one of the boys’.  Most were men of leisure, living off incomes provided by estates that were thriving.  They were still sowing their wild oats, married or not.  I had never seen the benefit of living such a lifestyle, one that frequently ended up as a ‘scandal’. At least my name had not yet reached the papers in that context.

It was, as my Grandmother often told me, part of an ongoing battle, between, of all things, old money, like ours, derived through inheritance, and new money, wealth created by entrepreneurs, people like the Sternhaven’s.

And never the twain shall meet. 

Perhaps sub consciously I’d known all along that a ‘mixed marriage’ would never work.

I was still mulling over the differences when I arrived at the Grand Hotel Kempinski and checked in, the concierge seamlessly handling the baggage and the chauffeur whilst I went straight up to the Kempinski FloorTwo restaurant/bar to assuage my shattered ego.

A marvellously sympathetic bar tender poured four generous double scotches whilst I poured out the miserable story of my day, sighing at the appropriate times, and vilifying the villain, Phillipa, when appropriate.

I was still there, about two hours later, when Tricia, in civilian clothes, came into the bar, ordered a long scotch, and sat at the other end of the bar.  She looked dejected, almost teary, and hadn’t noticed me or anyone else.

It took ten minutes of internal debate before I finally slid off my seat and walked slowly over to her.  She looked up just as I arrived, and I could see the tear tracks down her cheeks.  Something bad had happened.

The airline didn’t fire you did they?

She smiled, but it was a sad smile.  No.  My boyfriend broke up with me.  He sent a text.

Her phone was sitting on the bar in front of her.

May I join you?  I asked.

She nodded.  I sat down and pulled out my phone.

It must be the day for it.  My girlfriend broke up with me with a text too.  I showed her.

She showed me hers.  It simply said, It’s over.  I’ve found someone else.

I didn’t see it coming.  I thought we were happy.  She drained the glass.  I’m going to get hammered.

It was an interesting expression.  I’d not heard it before.

Perhaps I shall join you.  I looked in the direction of the bar tender, and when he saw me, I asked for another round.  When he delivered them, I told him to put all our drinks on my tab.

I can’t ask you to do that?

"Forget it.  I have all this money, and now, no one to spend it on.  You brought a little sunshine into my life on a bad day.  If only I could do the same