Don't...Don't You Want Me?

I suggested he pass the possibility of all the other artists who were intimidated into performing at her Bar put together a class action and sue Valerie for non-payment of performance royalties.

But, I disclosed to Bobbie, "We are reluctant to do so because my close connection to Valerie would only cause us necessary publicity, in your and other artists' cases, that would not be an issue. But in the end, it's your choice."

Before he left our table, he told us of some news he heard on the London grapevine. It appears that Ted Been, a songwriter of some obscurity, ended up a cripple after getting caught in bed with the mistress of an underworld gambling boss. We mumbled our dismay.

Every free weekend during Helen's pregnancy, we headed to the Villa, where she could relax getting away from the business activities. She was now doing all the accounting for the Hazelhurst Private Girls School, the Estate and looking after our investments.

Aunty B turned out to be a god-send making our stays even more relaxing. Dad and Mum had already been holidaying there for the past week.

Stephanie heard me discussing upgrading internet services to each apartment with the local IT company representative as we walked around the property. I insisted on hardwire 100 megabit connections for each building, allowing for multi-media entertainment services and full wireless coverage for mobile phones, tablets and laptops.

Nine-year-old Stephanie had been trying to follow us around discreetly. Then, jumping into the conversation, she said, "Excuse me, all my friends are using Apple TV for movies, and we should subscribe to Netflix and the Disney Channel." I looked at the rep and said, "out on the mouths of babes."

A couple of days later, my Dad approached me with a proposition. The gist of it was, he and Mum were fed up with living in a bustling London suburb and wanted to move to the coast.

He suggested, "Your Mum and I would like to move down here; how about we purchase one of the apartments?"

We all sat around the dining room table discussing its merits.

Helen suggested, "Either buy an apartment or rent it."

Then Helen pointed out, "We are not looking to make money on you settling here. But we don't want legal entanglements with different people owning apartment buildings."

So I made a suggestion, "How if Dad pays a nominal rent every three months, much like house rates?"

We all agreed, and Helen wrote up a simple contract to that effect and got Aunty B to witness it. A short time later, they put their home on the market.

********

Sometime later, Helen read a small story in the Times. Valerie Stein was being sued for an undisclosed sum by a group of artists who claim to have been intimidated into giving a public performance in her Bar & Grill.

Helen and I turned an unused barn into a modern recording studio called Hazlehurst Studios with the Earl's permission. We hired Bob, EMI's top audio production engineer with a huge wage increase and a company car. Bob insisted we employ a Soundcraft analog forty-eight channel audio production desk and use Pro Tools digital software for the final mix-down to digital storage. The whole studio system would be on a private network and not connected to the internet for security reasons - a separate WiFi system for other devices allowing for internet access only.

We paid a visit to the Villa for a weekend getaway. By now, my Dad and Mum had been living there since Christmas - their house was yet unsold. Mum and Judith (Aunty B) got along like mother and daughter. They cooked, shopped together, walked the cliffs trails and played cards, just to mention a few of their activities.

However, it appeared Dad was missing his workshop. He pulled me aside and made a proposal.

"Son," he said, "Can I cover in the open carport and build a small workshop attached to the back garage, so I dabble with my woodworking?"

"Dad," I replied, "draw a floor plan, and I will get the architect to produce a detailed plan for a builder to follow, and the local council would approve."

I went on saying, "Don't skimp on the floor plan and then complain later you'd wished it was bigger."

Happy with my suggestion, he replied, "I'll cover all the costs of construction."

Not willing to argue with him, I agree.

One sunny morning sitting on the Villa forecourt overlooking the ocean. While browsing the Times newspaper entertainment section. I came across an interesting article.

'After many months of legal haggling, the case between Subway Bar & Grill for non-payment of royalties to unnamed singing artists was settled - out of court.' The news story also stated, 'Valerie Stein had sold the once-popular Subway Bar & Grill and had disappeared'. Reports suggest Ms Stein may have moved to California, USA.

Unbelievably in the same edition of the paper in Death Notices 'The once-popular lead guitarist Bill Wild dies of a drug overdose. His funeral...'

Back at the Estate, there was a small celebration for Hazelhurst studio's first birthday. Later, Helen informed me the studio recording company was getting a good return on our investment with many local and international artists doing recordings. While I still earn commissions to write music and lyrics (with Helen's help) for other artists. I regularly stand in as a session musician simply for enjoyment.

I was in the recording studio when Bob waved frantically at me through the double glass windows. He came dashing in, handing me my mobile, saying, "It's Stephanie..."

I'm sure I had a look of confusion on my face which soon changed to alarm when I listened to Helen's frantic voice over the phone.

I dashed out and headed for my car and drove over to the Hazelhurst school. I met Helen at the main reception area of the school. She had been crying and leapt into my arms, sobbing when we met. Hugging Helen, I looked between her and William, Syliva and some young woman sitting crying her eyes out. I didn't know who to speak to first.

William quickly explained, "Helen's ex-husband, Rupert arrived with a fictitious note allowing him to pick up Stephanie from school. Marie over there (pointing to the young woman still crying) took Stephanie out of class so he could take her with him.

Holding out the note, I quickly read, it was a simple request.

'TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. I THE UNDERSIGNED GIVE PERMISSION FOR RUPERT, STEPHANIE'S FATHER, (MY EX-HUSBAND) TO PICK HER UP FROM SCHOOL TODAY, WEDNESDAY THE 16TH OF MARCH FOR A FAMILY EMERGENCY', the signature looked somewhat like Helen's by wasn't.

William then told me he had called the police. Looking at the sobbing young woman, William said, "Marie, stop crying and go make us a pot of tea and bring it to my office." So we all adjourned to the headmaster office to await the arrival of the police.

The police Inspector finally arrived and asked questions. The Inspector suggested Helen and I head home in case Rupert calls the home phone. As we were about to leave, Helen's mobile rang.

She looked at the caller ID and said, "it's Stephanie calling," Helen was about to answer when the Inspector said, "answer the call and put it on hands-free. Everyone keep quiet."

Helen pressed the green button, then the speaker icon, saying, "Stephanie, where are you?"

Rupert's voice came through the tiny speaker, "Hi Helen, long time no speak. Stef's with me we're taking a little holiday. Now listen up, I need some money quickly and quietly, don't call the police. Helen, this is between you and me; when I get hold of the money, you can have Stef back, okay?"

Helen, between sobs, replied, "you haven't hurt, have you?"

"Of course not; she's my daughter, you silly bitch. Now just listen, I need million pounds, in hundred-pound notes. I know you can afford it with your singing career, so don't quibble. I will call tonight at nine pm to give more details." Then Rupert hangs up.

The Inspector announces, "there is nothing more we can do now. Go home; the police will be in attendance tonight at nine pm to listen to his call." Then, pulling us aside, he quietly asks if we can get that type of money if needed? We confirm we can, but it may take a while.

We only just arrived home when her mobile rings, Stephanie's number again. Helens answers, "Rupert, what do you want now?"

He replies, "I guessed the school would call the police. You owe me my share of the apartment for the divorce settlement. I figured that was around a million, okay."

"Why aren't you still in jail?"

"Got out early for good behaviour," Hmmph mumbled Helen.

"I want my daughter back, you bastard," Helen states in a harsh voice.

"Listen bitch, I have gambling debts that if I don't pay, I'm a dead man. You gotta have plenty of money, and you owe me." Comes his reply.

Helen suggested rather than cash, "I'll pay the funds directly to the gambling syndicate?"

"No, I need the cash, NOW."

"Alright, Rupert, you have the upper hand. I'll go along now - can I speak with Stephanie?"

Stephanie answers with a strong voice, "Hi Mum and DAD! I'm good; we just had McDonald's, and my ex-father is taking us somewhere for the night, so all's well. Please just pay him off, so I can come home."

Helen replies, "yes, darling keep warm, stay safe; we love you..."

Rupert interrupts, "Okay, are you ready for instructions?"

"Yes," replied Helen.

Rupert carried on. "A million pounds will weigh some twenty pounds. It should all fit into a backpack in a pinch. I'll call and give you the drop location tomorrow around three pm. That should provide enough time to get the money." The call goes dead.

Helen called the Inspector and related Rupert's latest demands. He will be there at three tomorrow. An all-points bulletin had been dispatched for both Rupert and Stephanie. But the Inspector didn't hold out much hope.

********

We had settled Richard down for the night, but we were both unable to sleep. Helen had calmed down; she is only two weeks away from going into labor with our second child. It was stressful enough without the kidnapping. I made a pot of tea, and we sat on the lounge chair.

I said to Helen, "well, perhaps as we can't sleep, you can tell me about Rupert and yourself?"

Helen starts to tell me the sad story of her and Rupert.

At twenty-one, it was quietly suggested I marry Rupert Piddington by my parents and Rupert's, who were best friends, since school days. Rupert was a stock market analyst. She thought he was all she ever wanted. Handsome, kind, loving, social, well known, tall at six feet. He was a man about town with a promising career ahead of him.

They had been childhood friends, and she felt that was what the families expected. Soon after their honeymoon, they moved into an expensive apartment in west London.

Their families expected an 'heir' as quickly as possible, and thus twelve months later, they announced to much delight of both families they were expecting their first child. Their daughter Stephanie was a blessing and a curse; it seemed to put more pressure on their fragile marriage.

Over the next eighteen months, Rupert slowly started to put in late nights claiming work duties. He would arrive home with bloodshot eyes, dishevelled. I began to think maybe he was having an affair.

I was shopping for some clothes for Stephanie and was about to make the purchase when informed by the counter staff my credit card had exceeded its limit. I was thoroughly embarrassed, so I used her personal Hazelhurst credit card I still carried around in my mobile phone carry case.

I tried to call Rupert, but the call was diverted to his answering service. I waited impatiently for Rupert to arrive home that evening. It was nine in the night when all hell broke loose. It started when the doorbell rang, I opened the door, and two men pushed their way into the apartment. I shrieked in fright as the large man pushed me aside and entered.

I screamed, "how dare you, I'll call the police."

Without asking, the second, well-dressed man took me by the arm. I struggled but was unable to break free. Finally, he pulled me into the lounge room, and I was thrust onto a chair, commanding, "stay there."

As soon as he turned his back, I ran into Stephanie's room and picked her up and held her firmly in my arms, then retreated to the lounge to sit. Sliding my mobile phone out of my pocket, I attempted to dial the police emergency number. The well-dressed man exited the master bedroom, ripped the phone from my fingers.

Saying, "no police, where's your husband."

"At work," I replied.

"No, he ain't. He was fired a month ago?"

"You're lying. Why should I believe you?"

The other large man returned from the bathroom and said, "he ain't here!"

The well-dressed said, "when you see him, tell him we want our hundred thou, got it."

As soon as they left, I called Daddy and told him what had just happened. First, he asked if the baby and I were okay. I acknowledged they did not harm us. Then, Dad said to call the police, "tell them it was a home invasion."

Mum and Dad arrived just after the police had taken my statement. I gave my description of the men who claimed that my husband owed them money. I told the Inspector the well-dressed man had a scar on his left cheek in the form of a question mark.

The Inspector let slip 'Douche brothers'.

Mum rushed in at that moment, pulling me into a hug. I was still trembling and immediately burst into inconsolable tears. Mum ushered me into the bedroom.

My father told us later he asked the Inspector who the Douche brothers were. The Inspector replied they are known for their illegal gambling operation. The Inspector handed Dad his card and called if anything came up.

After the police left, Dad asked if I had called Rupert's parents. In all the madness, I had not. Dad made the call to update them of the night's events. He was on the phone with Malcolm (Rupert's father) for a good twenty minutes. Towards the end of the call, Dad was yelling down the phone and hung up in disgust.

It appears Rupert's family had known of his gambling addiction for years, believing marriage would cure him of his addiction. They had hoped family responsibilities might force him to rehabilitate, but it had only made it worse. And yes, he had been unemployed for the past month.

It appears Rupert had used up all his inheritance, gambling. His family were about to disown him. What made Dad so mad? They knew and didn't have the nerve to tell me.

I could not stay there another night, so we packed as much as possible into the two cars and drove back to their home. Mum drove my car as I could not stop shaking.

It was well after midnight by now, and I couldn't sleep, so Mum made us all a cup of cocoa. We all sat quietly, sipping hot drinks around the dining room table.

Then Dad had an epiphany. "Remember two months ago when your mother's pendant went missing. Mum only noticed the week after you and Rupert were visiting."

I groaned, "surely you're not saying Rupert pinched it."

The following day Dad called the Inspector and told him of the disappearance of the pendant. Dad suggested Rupert may have stolen it. He informed the Inspector it had been reported to the local police as requested by the insurance company. It was still missing.

Rupert wasn't a particularly smart crook; he was caught by the police exiting our apartment two days later. He confessed to stealing the pendant, which was recovered a week later, much to Mum's delight. I instantly applied for a divorce. He was to serve eight years, at Her Majesty's pleasure.

********

The following day, at ten in the morning, Helen contacted our bank manager and made the large cash withdrawal of a million pounds. We would be in at two pm to pick up the money. The manager rang back to confirm the withdrawal and Helen gave him the Inspector his number for collaboration.

The Inspector and officer arrived thirty minutes early. Our housekeeper made us all a cup of tea while we waited for Rupert's call.

Rupert rang at three. Helen was all business today, she put the mobile in hands-free mode.

Rupert's voice was audible, "Okay, are you ready for instructions?"

"Yes," Helen replied in a cold voice, "but before you ask anything, I want to talk with Stephanie, or I'll hang up, Rupert."

"Alright, I guessed you would want that."

The tone of Stephanie's voice surprised us, "Mum, I'm okay, just pay the bastard off, will you."

Rupert took over, telling us the drop location is in north London, Highbury Field Park, near the children's playground. Helen informed Rupert that her husband, Peter, will do the drop as she is very pregnant. Rupert objected. Helen said, it's Peter, or we get the police to do it your choice; Rupert grumbled and agreed, then asked for Peter's mobile number and promptly hung up.

The Inspector promised to be discreet; there will be a police presence, saying, "you won't know we are there."

With the money, I drove to meet Rupert at the prescribed location. Just as I was about to arrive, my phone rang. It was Rupert.

"Change of location, old man, meet me at the north end of the park by the public lavatories, next to the tennis courts." Then hung-up.

As I walked towards the toilet block, Rupert and Stephanie exited the ladies and approached me. I held the backpack out to Rupert and offered a hand to Stephanie.

Just then, two men walked around from behind the toilets as the exchange was taking place. Then, the well-dressed man yelled out, "Rupert, give me my money."

"Shit," Rupert yelled, thrusting Stephanie into my arms, grabbing the backpack and starting to run. The larger of the two men pulled out his gun and opened fire in our direction. The bullet caught Rupert in the back, but he still tried to run. I pushed Stephanie to the ground, and the next shot caught me.

My last thought was to protect Stephanie, so I fell on her. While lying on top of Stephanie, I saw police rush in from every direction. In the melee, the gunman surrendered, dropping the gun and holding his hands up. The well-dressed man ran over and attempted to pick up the backpack, but Rupert wouldn't let go, so the man kicked Rupert. Now with the backpack, he runs towards the road.

Stephanie from under me asked, "Daddy, why are you dribbling on me?"

I replied with a gasping breath, "I think I've been shot." Then I blackout.

********

Back home, Helen and Syliva had been waiting on tenterhooks for Peter's call confirming a successful exchange. When her phone finally rang, she answered, with bated breath, "Hello Peter, have you got Stephanie?"

Only to have the Inspector answer, "sorry Mrs Hollingsworth, Peters had been shot!"

Helen nearly fainted on the spot, dropping the phone, crying out, "Peter's been shot!"

Luckily, Syliva was next to Helen and lowered her to the lounge chair as she started sobbing into a handkerchief.

Syliva picked up the phone, asking in her best schoolmarm voice, "to whom am I speaking?"

Listens to the Inspector's response, then chastises him for his abruptness, reminding him Helen is a very pregnant woman. Finishing the conversation, Syliva replies, "we will be there as soon as possible."

"Helen, Peter's not dead, only wounded. An ambulance is taking Stephanie and Peter to St. Pancras Hospital. We must leave now."

Stephanie and Peter were rushed by ambulance to the hospital's emergency department. The doctors took Peter straight into surgery. Once it was established Stephanie is not injured, a nurse helps clean off some of Peter's blood on her face and in her hair.

Syliva drops Helen off at the hospital's emergency entrance while she parked the car. Helen found Stephanie sitting in the emergency waiting room. They both head to the surgery waiting area. They held each other weeping together until Syliva entered to join them. Helen's parents arrived to help console them. Peter's parents show up an hour later.