Smile of the Tiger.
2.
Friday, November 20th, 1987.
It was eight-thirty in the evening and Harry and Dempsey were dining at 'Romano's' in Knightsbridge, their favourite Italian restaurant.
Sitting opposite them was one of Harry's close friends, Angela, and her boyfriend Ollie, their relationship having come on in leaps and bounds since meeting in the summer.
"Are you looking forward to Arabella's wedding, Harry?" asked Angela.
"Yes, very much." she replied. "They marry at eleven, then it's back to Hartley Hall by midday for the reception which goes on until the evening. Guests who weren't invited to the wedding arrive for a buffet with a live band and a disco afterwards. I shall be smooching with his nibs here, 'till he can't stand up!"
"Be careful what you wish for, honey." replied Dempsey, smiling. "No doubt I'll need some energy for later."
Harry didn't answer, just levelled her cool, seductive gaze at him, slipping off her shoe and rubbing her foot up and down his leg under the table.
"Where's everybody staying over night?" asked Ollie.
"Jonas has hired the whole of 'The Grange Hotel', plus all the rooms in 'The Mason's Arms." replied Harry. "We're staying in the house, though."
"There's a treasure hunt on the Sunday morning, isn't there?" asked Angela. "We're all in pairs, Ollie, so you'll have to get your thinking cap on."
"Yes and a dozen bottles of Crystal champagne for the winners, too." said Harry. "The runners up receive a bottle of 1945 Niepoort Vintage Port too."
"Crumbs!" exclaimed Angela. "Old Jonas isn't holding back is he. The whole thing must be costing a fortune!"
At Hartley Hall, Lady Arabella Cosgrove-Hartley was talking to her mother, Annabel.
"Mummy, I'm going into town tomorrow morning to do some shopping." she said. "Would you like to come with me? We could have afternoon tea in 'The Ritz' afterwards"
"Oh darling, I wished you'd told me earlier." replied Annabel. "I've arranged to play golf now."
"Oh well, never mind." said Arabella. "I'll see if Rupert wants to meet me then."
Rupert was relaxing in his penthouse apartment in Chelsea when her call came through, enjoying a glass of whisky whilst reading 'The Times', Gustav Holst's 'The Planet Suite' playing softly in the background.
"Hi Bella." he said, putting his paper down.
"Hello darling." said Arabella. "Fancy meeting me for tea in 'The Ritz' tomorrow at say three-thirty?"
"Love to." he replied. "What are you doing in town anyway?"
"Well if you must know, now that Mummy can't come with me, I've decided to look for something to wear for our wedding night." she whispered sexily down the 'phone.
"Oh really." he replied, instantly aroused, then whispering equally sexily. "I don't want to rain on your parade, but I'd rather you wore nothing on a our wedding night."
"I can assure you, darling, it'll leave very little to the imagination!"
In his study, Lord Jonas Cosgrove-Hartley's telephone started ringing.
"Yes?" he answered, sharply, his concentration disturbed. "Jonas Cosgrove-Hartley, who's this?"
"Ah, one of your partners, Lord Jonas." said a foreign, friendly sounding voice.
"Partners? I don't have any partners!" he replied, irritated. "What are you taking about, man?"
"You pledged a quarter of a million pounds to get our scheme off the ground." said the voice, then turning hard edged. "Where's our money!?"
"Who is this!?" demanded Jonas. "Speak up, man!"
"My name isn't important right now. Like I said, I'm one of your partners. We haven't actually met but I've been fully briefed by my team."
"Have it your own way! Look, I've studied your scheme since." replied Jonas, exasperated. "And it's fraudulent. It all sounded quite attractive when I spoke to your, er, colleagues, initially but after further consideration, I've decided against. Sorry. Now, I'm busy. I suggest you find another mug!"
"I really wouldn't take that attitude with me, Lord Jonas." said the voice, now turning sinister. "We've already set the ball rolling, based upon your verbal agreement. We, and you, I might add, stand to make many millions. We aren't prepared to stand by now and watch it crumble because you've had an attack of conscience!"
"Just what are you saying?" replied Jonas, now alarmed at the threatening tone that had replaced the friendly one earlier.
"Pay up, sit back and watch your investment increase at least ten fold or..." the voice paused.
"Yes? or what!?" demanded Jonas.
"Or you'll wish you had!"
"Are you threatening m..." The telephone went dead the other end.
"Bloody imbecile!" swore Jonas, angrily, but nevertheless, couldn't dismiss a feeling of foreboding.
Jonas had effectively verbally agreed to, what would become famous decades later, as a Ponzi scheme.
The cartel, his so called partners, was basically ahead of its time.
Initially, during the conversation, it had been explained to him that operations would commence as legitimate investment vehicles, such as hedge funds.
But, as he delved further at a later date, he realised that a hedge fund can degenerate if it unexpectedly loses money, or simply fails to legitimately earn the returns promised, or thought, to be expected, and the promoters, instead of admitting their failure to meet expectations, would fabricate false returns and, if necessary, produce fraudulent audit reports.
Quite understandably, he was horrified and swept it from his mind. Now it had been brought back in sharp focus and he wasn't altogether sure what to do about it.
Whenever Dempsey woke first, he always raised himself onto one elbow and looked down at the sleeping Harry, usually having to gently disentangle himself from her.
To him, she always looked at her most beautiful and tantalising then, her hair all tousled in sleep and her lips eminently kissable. And whenever he slowly lowered his lips to hers, she'd invariably wake up and fling her arms round his neck, pulling him to her, before pressing her body into him, her message unmistakeable.
This morning was no different.
At the end of the summer he'd not renewed the rent on his apartment and had moved in permanently with her. They were effectively a married couple in all but the certificate. And the actual wedding of course. But neither of them were in any rush to make it official, for now.
"What would you like to do today, darling?" she asked, flushed and happy from their lovemaking.
"It's a bright day, princess." he replied. "We could wrap up and go for a stroll in Regents Park, then lunch in that French bistro we found the other week. Whaddya say?"
"Yes, that'd be lovely." she replied, glancing at the bedside clock. "It's ten now. If we just have some toast and coffee, then get ready, we'll be thoroughly walked and hungry by lunchtime."
"Yep, sounds good to me." he said, smiling.
"I love you." she said, then pushed him away playfully and slipped out of bed, throwing on her dressing gown and making for the kitchen.
Dempsey showered, then walked through to join her, wearing a pair of boxers, a towel draped around his neck, his hair still half wet, half dry.
"Come here you hunk." she said, putting her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. She'd never felt such passion for a man, her love for him deep and fulfilling.
As far as Dempsey was concerned she made him feel as though he could walk on water.
Arabella, meanwhile, was in Soho, visiting numerous shops that sold sexy night wear, together with erotic accessories. She'd waited a long time to marry Rupert and was going to make their wedding night one he'd never forget.
It was approaching eleven o'clock when the man following her radioed his location to his accomplices by way of a walkie talkie hidden under his heavy winter coat.
Minutes later a dark blue Bentley Turbo R glided into the narrow one way street and cruised up alongside Arabella when she stopped to look in a shop window.
In a flash the rear door opened simultaneously as she was grabbed and bundled into the car, chloroform forced over her nose rendering her unconscious within seconds, the door closing quickly, its black glass hiding the brief struggle inside from any prying eyes.
Without rushing, the car continued to cruise to the end of the street, then, once on the main road, accelerated away.
Dempsey and Harry had thoroughly enjoyed their winter stroll through Regents Park and were looking forward to their lunch. Harry was looking especially stunning in a brown and white, full length faux fur coat with a hat to match (nothing would induce her to wear real fur) Dempsey in a beige full length, double breasted camel hair overcoat.
As they crossed the road to hail a taxi, the sound of air horns made them swing round. Pulling into the kerbside was Rupert in his recently acquired Aston Martin Vantage Volante, hood down and looking the part in a cap and sunglasses.
"Harriet, James!" he called. "How the devil are you both?"
"You look like the cats got the cream." said Harry, admiring the car. "What a beauty."
"Say what's under the hood?" asked Dempsey, admiring its gleaming black paint and cream leather.
"6.3 litre V8. Pushes out 450 horse power."
Dempsey whistled. "Must go like a stabbed rat!" he said, grinning.
"Hasn't Prince Charles just bought one of these, Rupert?" asked Harry.
"Yes in Balmoral Green." replied Rupert, then laughing. "Hugo is spitting feathers. He's always wanted one, but his father won't let him."
"I don't know, you two and your rivalry." chuckled Harry. "Where are you off to anyway."
"I'm meeting Bella in the Ritz this afternoon." he replied. "Just thought I'd give this a spin, then garage it back at the flat and cab it."
"Arrangements going to plan for the wedding?" asked Harry.
"Yes. Although I don't get too involved." replied Rupert, grinning. "Best to leave all that to Bella and her mother! Anyway, must be off. Good to see you."
He fired up the car and they watched as it growled it's way back into the traffic.
Rupert cruised around for a while, thoroughly enjoying his new car until, somewhat reluctantly, he headed back to Chelsea and parked it in his garage for the day.
Hailing a cab, he returned to central London and 'The Ritz' and made his way to the 'Palm Court'. It was three fifteen, so he whiled away fifteen more minutes people watching.
When three forty-five came and went, Rupert was feeling a little anoyed but when four o'clock came and went, he started to feel alarmed.
Arabella was never late, she always had to be on time whatever the occasion. He left his seat and went to the foyer, finding an available telephone in the numerous booths on offer.
Calling Hartley Hall, Jonas's butler, Watson, answered.
"Watson." said Rupert. "It's Rupert. Is Arabella there by any chance?"
"No sir." Watson replied. "She left about ten o'clock this morning and we weren't expecting her back until about five this afternoon."
"And she hasn't called either, obviously."
"No sir." confirmed Watson. "I'll see if his lordship has heard from her. One moment, please."
After a few minutes, he was back on the line.
"No, his lordship hasn't heard anything either."
"Alright, thanks Watson." replied Rupert. "She must be running late for some reason. Goodbye and thanks."
"You're welcome, sir. Goodbye"
Rupert went over to reception and briefly explained his problem, asking that they come and find him in the 'Palm Court' if Lady Arabella Cosgrove-Hartley should telephone."
All he could then do, was wait.
At four-thirty Jonas's telephone rang.
"Yes?" he answered. "Jonas Cosgrove-Hartley. Who's speaking?"
"Lord Jonas." said the same voice as earlier. "We have your daughter. She's unharmed and will stay that way, just so long as you do exactly as you're told.
