A Life Singular

A Life Singular Synopsis

What do you do when you lose the one who gave your life meaning? You write about it. You tell the world how amazing it is to love and be loved by someone so special, what love helps you achieve and how it makes you stronger.

Jeff Diamond had built a life of influence, adulation and wealth by making the right choices for the right reasons. He lived by the law of reciprocity, a lesson learned on the streets as a teenager with nothing but an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Plagued by the scars of a violent childhood, he created his vision and fought for it. And once he no longer needed to fight for himself, he fought for others.

When Jeff’s dream girl was taken from him and their children by the ignorant act of a jealous misfit from his own home town, the millionaire realised just how far he had come. Why had he succeeded when so many like him fail? It wasn’t complicated. The secret lay in the endless pursuit of love and wisdom; life’s two magic ingredients.

Now Lynn was gone, he resolved to use his remaining days to account for their life in a way that would inspire young people to make his type of choice rather than García’s. Then, after their story was written, he would be free to go after her, to begin the whole incredible journey over again.

Everyone has a life singular: one; unique; extraordinary.

A Life Shattered

Lynn and Jeff celebrated the latest landmark in their youngest family member’s journey to adulthood on the 15th of February 1996, less than a week after her birthday. She had arrived at the restaurant on Beaconsfield Parade in her own car, brandishing her brand new driving licence and a large floral bouquet for her mother.

‘Let me see!’ the proud father fuelled her excitement, taking the plastic card from her waving hand and examining the photograph. ‘That’s not you. It’s a fake.’

Kierney stuck her tongue out and snatched the licence back. ‘It’s not! It’s real,’ she insisted, passing it to her mother for verification. ‘Let me see yours. Let’s see if your photo looks like you.’

Her dad obliged, removing his wallet from his back pocket. It was a humid summer’s evening in Melbourne, and the famous family had risked a table outside in the restaurant’s casual dining area overlooking the bay. Other patrons sat nearby, doing their best to ignore the celebrities, who in return were doing their best to be ignored. Somehow, neither party ever quite succeeded at this game, and certainly not in their home town.

Before handing his own licence across, the forty-three-year-old looked at the mug-shot which was now over five years old. He held it up to his cheek for the women to adjudicate.

‘Which me do you prefer? The 1990 model or the current model?’

His wife smiled, adoration gleaming in her blue eyes. ‘The current model, of course. Distinguished and sophisticated.’

‘Grey and wrinkly,’ Kierney countered, eager to examine the detail on her dad’s licence and comparing its format to her up-to-date version.

Jeff scoffed. ‘OK! I know who’s paying for dinner tonight. Somewhere between the two responses would’ve been nice.’

While waiting for their drinks to arrive, Lynn telephoned Jet in Cambridge for Kierney to pass on her good news. He didn’t answer, so they left a quick message and focussed on the menu. One after the other, they imparted their own driving test memories and shared the feeling of elation each remembered on passing.

‘Sounds like being able to drive legally on our own was a long time coming for all of us,’ the sportswoman reflected, turning to her husband. ‘Do you remember those lessons you gave me out on the deserted roads near the airport?’

‘Yep,’ Jeff nodded, scowling at a rare unhappy memory. ‘In our blue period, you mean. We were so damned short-tempered with each other…And then, after all that, your first licence was your Californian one.’

‘That’s right. My God! That test was absolutely pathetic!’ Lynn laughed, casting her hand around as if describing an open space. ‘Here’s a car park. If you can drive once around without hitting any other cars, you pass.’

‘Wow! Was that it?’ Kierney yelped, astonished. ‘Were you driving for ages before you got your licence too, Papá?’

Coughing and gazing around to check no-one could overhear, the comic answered. ‘Um, yes, Your Honour. I bought an old wreck of a car when I was sixteen, but I didn’t drive it much. Couldn’t afford the petrol. Still an amazing feeling to finally get my licence though. Proof that I was a bona fide citizen, I guess.’

The teenager smiled. ‘Yeah! That’s exactly how I feel too. A passport doesn’t make you autonomous, because I’ve had one since before I could walk or talk. At least with a driving licence, it proves someone thinks I’m responsible enough to be in charge of my own actions.’

‘Listen to us!’ her mum chuckled. ‘We’re all so similar. It’s fascinating how being responsible’s so much part of our ethos. Other people shirk responsibility until they die.’

‘Viva apathy!’ Jeff toasted, raising his empty beer bottle as their meals arrived at the table. ‘I hate the world but I can’t be bothered to change it, so I’ll just spend the rest of my life moaning.’

The trio swapped more automotive stories over dinner, laughing and joking like the tight-knit bunch they were. They made plans for Kierney to drive down from Sydney to meet them at Junior’s farm in Narrandera for the Easter weekend, which was the next scheduled Dyson shindig.

‘You can bring someone if you like,’ Lynn invited their daughter. ‘Are things OK with you and Dylan? You seemed a little distant on your birthday. Are you still going out with him?’

‘Yeah. Technically we are,’ the young woman confirmed. ‘I’d rather come on my own though, to be honest. I want to enjoy being en famille before getting completely dragged into uni’ life.’

‘Sure. That’s cool,’ her dad said, leaning over and kissing her temple. ‘It’ll be great to be together in the wilderness for a few days. Just us, as an antidote to all the madness. Bloody oath, we’re going to be so busy by then, angel. Shame Jetto’s not here. But hey, Kiz... Exactly what does going out with someone technically entail?’

Lynn grinned as she waited for the youngster to come up with a suitable retort, knowing how alike the two dark-haired Diamonds’ brains worked. It was proving more and more difficult to embarrass the children these days, given their rapidly increasing levels of experience with the opposite sex.

‘Oh, you know...We get cosy every now and again,’ the eighteen-year-old explained with a shy smile, ‘in a technical way. But then we do our own thing when we want to.’

Jeff shook his head. ‘That makes no sense at all, pequeñita, but I’ll let you carrying on living in your misguided reality.’

‘Oh, whatever, Papá,’ Kierney pouted. ‘I don’t meddle in you guys’ sex life, so I’ll thank you not to meddle in mine.’

‘Sounds like a fair deal,’ her mother agreed. ‘Did you want us to check anything out for you in Sydney this weekend?’

The youngster shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I can’t think of anything. I can ring you if I do. Are you staying at the Blakes’?’

‘Not tomorrow night, but at the weekend we are,’ Jeff answered. ‘We’ve got to help Celia convince Gerald to stop drinking.’

‘Oh, why? Is he sick?’

‘Yep,’ her dad nodded again. ‘The usual old people’s afflictions: blood pressure, heart problems… All sorts apparently. He needs to stop smoking and drinking so much.’

‘Unfair, isn’t it?’ Lynn added, gazing out across the bay. ‘You reach the autumn of your life, and your body starts denying you all the pleasures you’ve earned during the hard-slog years.’

‘Exactement,’ her husband agreed. ‘Still, it’s a choice. Keep going at the same pace so you go out partying, or slow down and gradually bore yourself to death.’

Kierney laughed aloud. ‘Yuck! Neither of those options sounds very appealing. Somewhere in the middle perhaps? Please give Uncle Gerald my best wishes.’

‘We shall. That’s kind, darling. Everything in moderation,’ Lynn offered, mimicking her own mother. ‘For all these new fad diets and ideas for healthy living, that old adage still works the best.’

‘Christ!’ Jeff exclaimed. ‘Enough of this sensible talk, Grandma. Between us, we sound like the Grim Reaper, warning everyone to steer clear of danger. It’s old man Blake’s choice, as long as he makes it knowing the likely effects on everyone and not just himself.’

The teenager’s mobile rang from inside her handbag.

‘That’ll be Jet,’ her mum assumed.

‘Hey! Thanks!’ Kierney exclaimed into the phone. ‘Yeah. It’s awesome! Thanks for ringing back. How’s things over there? We’re having dinner in Port Melbourne, on the bay. It’s very hot. Ha, ha! Tough luck!’

The handset was passed around each person in turn. Luckily, by this time, there were no other patrons around to disturb. The Trinity College undergraduate was envious of the summer weather and sorry to be missing out on their celebratory dinner. The new university term having started in earnest, his workload was mounting, already almost halfway through his degree.

‘See ya, son,’ Jeff shouted over the wind and traffic noise. ‘Talk soon. Have fun at the weekend and stay safe.’

Kierney slipped the telephone back into her bag. ‘So he bought that bike in the end. I knew he would.’

‘Yes,’ her mother replied. ‘He said he managed to negotiate the price down, so the guy must have been keen to sell it to him. Hope it’s not ready to fall to pieces.’

The songwriter nodded, leaning back in his chair and savouring the small amount of wine left in his glass. Their son had been eyeing up a second-hand Triumph motorcycle since before the end of the previous term. If the bike were to break down, it would serve as a useful lesson in resourcefulness for a young buck unpractised in the art of caveat emptor, but he wasn’t game to voice this opinion right now. Lynn preferred less punitive learning devices, and all records indicated she was right. Both children were fully automated these days, self-sufficient and confident. Not a bad job done, he thought.

The handsome musician winked at his guardian angel. ‘We have no purpose now,’ he rued. ‘Parental pasture looms. Where shall we retire to, angel?’

‘No!’ the teenager cried out. ‘Don’t retire! I still need you.’

‘Eh? What total crap!’ her father objected. ‘Kizzy, you haven’t needed us since you were out of nappies. Get outta here!’

‘I have needed you. Just don’t go too far away then. Driving distance only.’

With dusk descending on Port Phillip Bay, Lynn went inside to pay their bill, and the threesome left the restaurant, crossed the road and walked hand-in-hand along the promenade towards Station Pier. The Spirit of Tasmania had docked in the last hour, disgorging its stomach contents onto the local roads.

Another, much larger ocean liner was moored alongside it, dwarfing the ferry that ran daily between Melbourne and Devonport on the apple-shaped island state to the south. Passers-by waved and shouted cheerfully to the famous family, receiving smiles and waves of acknowledgement in return.

‘Hey!’ Kierney piped up. ‘I forgot to tell you… You guys remember Youssouf Elhadji, don’t you?’

Her father turned and nodded. ‘Ah, yeah? Did he reply to your message?’

‘More than! He wants to record something new with me. And he’s become a Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF. Can you believe that?’

‘Wow! He’s not even thirty yet, is he? That is amazing. Well done!’ Lynn praised. ‘But when are you going to fit a recording session in with everything else?’

The proud teenager giggled. ‘Oh, I don’t know yet. July, probably. At mid-term break, depending on my exams. I could visit Jet and meet him in London. What do you think? I can hardly ask him to come here, can I?’

‘No. Not really,’ Jeff agreed. ‘London or New York. Or what about Paris? I’ll see if I can come with you.’

‘Thanks. I’m more interested in talking to him about the United Nations,’ their ambitious daughter explained, ‘so New York would be perfect. He could show me what he does there, if that’s allowed. I might even marry him.’

‘Oh, might you?’ her dad echoed in surprise, opening the passenger door for his wife. ‘No wonder you want to leave Dylan behind at Easter. I didn’t know you had the hots for him. Isn’t he already married? Technically?’

‘I don’t even know,’ Kierney swooned. ‘Most likely. N’importe pas.’

‘Right,’ Lynn smiled at the youngster’s free and easy attitude. ‘We’ll leave that one in your capable hands. See you at home.’

The parents drove off before their daughter pulled out of her parking space up ahead, not wishing to put any pressure on her early driving career. Jeff couldn’t stop himself from checking his rear-view mirror every few seconds, making sure the little silver hatchback with its red probationary plates was still following them. His dream girl caught his eye and scolded him gently. Letting Kierney spread her wings was truly the hardest thing for the doting dad.

‘Shit! I am so old,’ he groaned. ‘How can our little girl be thinking about getting married? It’s just not kosher, baby. Now I know how your parents felt.’

‘What goes around comes around,’ his empathetic wife sighed, stroking the tight sinews stretching along her husband’s left forearm as his hand shifted gear in the sleek, dark grey sports car. ‘My mum tried to tell me you’d behave just like Dad if you ever had your own daughter.’

‘Did she? When you were sick that day in our apartment? While I duelled with your father for your hand on the balcony?’

‘Yes. That fateful day,’ the beautiful woman confirmed. ‘I remember not being too convinced. I told her that at least you’d ask your daughter what she wanted first.’

‘No way! That’s not going to happen,’ her husband denied with a half-smile, shaking his head. ‘I’m going to put my foot down. No free thinking allowed ’til she’s at least twenty-five.’

‘Come on! You’d love to have Youssouf Elhadji as a son-in-law.’

The songwriter nodded, turning his head to the left and grinning at the wise woman. ‘I would so! Awesome!’

Lynn chuckled at his impersonation of their exuberant girl-child, lost in fond recollection of the head-strong beau who swept her own innocence away in a maelstrom of passion and nightmares.

After a few more minutes winding through Melbourne’s sparse evening traffic, the couple turned into the car park of their city apartment building. To their relief, Kierney pulled up behind them before the gates had fully opened, in her silver Volkswagen independence machine.

***

‘Kizzy, we’re leaving,’ Jeff announced, knocking on his daughter’s bedroom door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes,’ the youngster called out, swinging her legs off the bed to meet her dad with a kiss at the door. ‘Right now?’

‘Ten, fifteen minutes, tops,’ the smartly-dressed businessman affirmed, his eyes alighting on a series of verses written on a single piece of paper. ‘What’s this? May I read it, please?’

‘A-course ya can,’ Kierney joked. ‘It was inspired by Auntie Lena, after that dinner we nearly didn’t share in Sydney last month. Hope you don’t mind the subject matter.’

The young woman disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her father hypnotised by a very adult song lyric which lamented the disdain often levied upon sex workers for taking cash for their time, as opposed to the jewellery, cars and comfortable homes that more refined gold-diggers were known to opt for. The words conjured up some callous images, making him shiver, particularly when he homed in on the unfeeling monotony of such a lifestyle.

If this song was his sister’s story, it was not one Jeff recognised. Had Madalena really opened up to this extent to her niece that evening? He doubted it. If she had, he was sure the teenager would have told him sooner. Throughout their very separate lives growing up in Sydney’s neglected western suburbs, the Diamond siblings had evolved into vastly different people as a result of the wounds inflicted in their formative years. The young lad had gained a surfeit of emotional intelligence, determination and self-awareness, whereas his older sister had closed her heart and mind to any outside influences, whether subconsciously or otherwise.

Deep in contemplation, the forty-three-year-old jumped as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, and he felt his daughter’s presence at his side. ‘This is really good,’ he said, flapping the page in front of her face. ‘I love the last verse, even though you shouldn’t be so cynical so young. Mamá’d try to discourage you from thinking this way, but I’m too much like you to get away with it anymore.’

Kierney giggled, accepting the lyric sheet back and placing it on the desk. ‘True, y gracias. Chip off the old block. I’m glad you like it.’

‘I do, baby. Very much. Pero digame... Did Auntie Lena really talk about some of those things? Like she longs to be touched by someone who cares? It just doesn’t sound like my sister. Are you sure you had dinner with the right whore?’

‘Papá!’ the teenager shrieked, slapping his arm. ‘I’m not that stupid. It’s not Auntie Lena’s story. We talked about working girls generalmente, and she told me stuff about people she knew. It was interesting, how different women deal with being a prostitute. That’s all.’

‘Cool. Good enough. But why d’you want to know so much about that seedy life?’ her father enquired, keen to lighten the mood before his departure. ‘United Nations lost its appeal?’

‘Perhaps!’ the young woman teased, batting flirtatious eyelids. ‘I’ll need some pocket money while I’m going through uni’. It’s the oldest profession, isn’t it? I was always told the professions are reputable careers.’

The rock star rested an affectionate hand on top of his daughter’s untidy mop of long curls and shook her head until her whole body wobbled. Laughing at the oldest trick in the book, she reached both arms around his waist for a hug. A few years ago, he would have held her at arm’s length while she tried in vain to punch his ribs with flailing fists, but she chose to cuddle into him these days. Kierney Diamond loved her papá best of all.

‘Enough with the smart remarks, hija mía. If you need pocket money to get through uni’, our combined songwriting careers must’ve definitely hit the skids,’ her billionaire father scoffed. ‘Mamá’ll bail you out. She’s good like that.’

Kierney smiled, chasing him back to the kitchen. ‘The last line did come from Auntie Lena though.’

‘Did it?’ he responded in amazement. ‘The “fine line” reference? I didn’t know she thought that way. Who was she referring to?’

‘Oh, no-one in particular. Maybe Michelle? She said that women who get married to rich men so they can have kids and nannies and never work again are selling sex just as much as prostitutes do, and I see her point. Is that mean?’

Jeff stopped and turned to this gorgeous creature who went out of her way never to hurt anyone, even with the truth. She knew the answer to her own question. He could see it in her big, brown eyes.

‘It’s a song, not an affidavit, pequeñita,’ he smiled, pointing to her heart. ‘As long as you understand that in here…’

‘I do.’

‘I know you do. And generally, for the record, I agree with you,’ the philosopher added. ‘It is a really fine line, as your lyric says. I suppose people can get addicted to jewellery shopping and being presented with a new car every year every bit as easily as they can get addicted to drugs and drink. Jacinta might fall into that category, and she’d certainly think we were being mean to say so. Tammy too, for that matter. They’re both pretty much ladies of leisure these days, courtesy of their husbands’ big, fat portfolios.’

Kierney laughed. Her dad was referring to his long-suffering manager’s sisters, whom he had known since he was a boy. Michelle was her mother’s best friend from school, and she and the feisty Madalena had been bridesmaids at Lynn and Jeff’s wedding twenty years ago.

‘Michelle’s not part of the “thin line” brigade though,’ Jeff continued. ‘We shouldn’t discount unpaid work. Mish serves on a few non-profit boards, like Mamá does, and she takes care of heaps of our legal stuff pro bono. She actually works pretty hard, I reckon, but Auntie Lena wouldn’t understand that sort of work. You have to dig up roads or stand up all day as a supermarket checkout chick before Lena thinks you’re working.’

Kierney looked ashamed, causing her father to sympathise with her flourishing conscience. He didn’t need to labour the point. The pair walked into the kitchen where Lynn was clearing away their breakfast.

‘Buenos días, Mamá,’ she chanted, kissing her mother. ‘When are you back?’

‘Buenos días, darling. Tuesday, mid-morning. We’re planning to go straight to the house. What are you doing today?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ the eighteen-year-old frowned.

Jeff scoffed. ‘What? Question too hard? Come along, for Christ’s sake, get with the programme! Don’t you know the ins and outs of your diary off by heart by now?’

It was a running joke between father and daughter that her mum’s planning standards demanded much more rigour in comparison with theirs. Somehow, she was able to retain every appointment in her head, along with those of the rest of the family and even some of her friends too. Dark-haired Diamonds didn’t do detail, which was always a source of frustration for the super-organised, blonde beauty.

Kierney shrugged. ‘Terribly sorry. I’ll try to get all the spontaneity out of my system before you return.’

‘Good thing too,’ Lynn mocked, giving her daughter a hug. ‘Enjoy yourself this weekend, and don’t forget to ring if you want us to do anything for you while we’re in Sydney.’

‘I shall and I won’t,’ the teenager responded, making a swift scan of the kitchen. ‘What about here? Is there anything I need to do?’

‘Nope,’ Jeff shook his head. ‘Everything’s under control. Just drive carefully and don’t go getting married before we get back, OK?’

The women both laughed, sharing sympathetic glances at the uneasy father figure. After final kisses goodbye, Kierney stood in the hallway in her pyjamas until the lift doors closed on her parents, on their way to the airport yet again.

***

The commuter flight to Sydney was uneventful but crowded, and the Diamonds had been forced to hang back to avoid the throng at baggage collection. It took them nearly an hour to reach the rental car counter. Cathy Lane, their trusty administration wizard, had arranged an energetic Mercedes AMG sports car for the couple’s brief stop in Sydney, and it was husband versus wife to be the first to drive it.

The silver dart sped towards the Central Business District, weaving through traffic as best it could. The superstars were due to attend a charity luncheon at eleven-thirty, deciding first to check into their favourite boutique hotel, The Pensione on George Street. Jeff pulled into the semi-circular, covered driveway at speed, negotiating the curves expertly and coming to a halt centimetres from the kerb. The doorman was impressed, and then startled out of his wits when the passenger door opened and out stepped none other than Lynn Dyson Diamond.

The tall, elegant lady signalled to the valet that her husband wouldn’t require him to park the car. ‘He knows where to go,’ she told the open-mouthed fan. ‘He’s like a boy with a new toy in that thing. I’m sure he thinks it’s a go-kart.’

The stocky young man gave a tentative snigger and opened a door to one side of the revolving entry to let the sportswoman pass through into the lobby. As she approached the reception desk, she was greeted by a row of waiting smiles. The staff were eager to see their special guests again.

‘Welcome, Ms Diamond,’ the receptionist marked “Miriam” effervesced. ‘How are you today?’

‘Very well, thank you. A bit stressed. It took ages to get here from the airport this morning. Jeff’s bringing the luggage around from the car park. How are you all?’

Miriam swooned. ‘We’re good, thanks. And thank you so much for choosing to stay with us today, Ms Diamond,’ she added, dripping with sincerity. ‘It’s lovely to see you and your husband again.’

One half of the hotel’s VIP contingent was handed their keys and a pair of envelopes which had been delivered for the couple’s attention. She turned to watch the same doorman wheeling a trolley towards her, ready to transport the luggage up to their room. A telephone rang on the counter, and one of the other receptionists answered it.

‘Excuse me, Ms Diamond,’ Hannah called out, seeing the celebrity walking away. ‘There’s a phone call for Mr Diamond.’

‘Oh, OK. I’ll take it,’ Lynn replied, turning back. ‘Thanks very much.’

Miriam instructed her more junior colleague to transfer the call to a courtesy telephone in the lounge area, next to a comfortable leather couch. The reception staff watched their guest closely as she walked across the tiled flooring, self-assured in a tailored suit and high heels. It was the first time the younger employee had seen Australia’s favourite lady in the flesh, and she understood the others’ jealous awe at once. To think the Olympian was now forty years old! It was hard to believe the nineteen-sixties child-star had children already in their late teens.

Lynn Dyson Diamond was everything most women wanted to be: tall and slim, with shining blonde hair and a tanned, radiant complexion. In whispered tones, the receptionists remarked to each other that they had seen photographs of Anna Dyson’s wedding two years earlier, at which today’s guest had been the Matron of Honour. Despite their eleven-year age difference, one could scarcely tell who was the younger.

‘Please take a seat over there, Ms Diamond,’ Miriam invited, pointing towards the telephone. ‘The call will be waiting for you.’

The celebrity did as she was told, mouthing an inaudible thank-you. Lifting the receiver to her ear, she sank into the sumptuous cushions and crossed her long legs, at once stately and casual.

‘Hello? This is Lynn Diamond.’

A gruff, nervous voice snuffled at the other end of the line, asking again to speak to Jeff Diamond.

‘No, I’m sorry. Jeff’s not available. This is Lynn Diamond. Can I help you instead?’

But there was no further conversation. With the faintest of whistles, the celebrity’s head was whipped back against the wall behind the couch by an invisible force, and she exhaled suddenly.

Elsewhere, the reception staff continued about their day’s business. Nobody noticed the trickle of blood running down their attractive guest’s forehead, where a bullet had penetrated her skull. Her eyes were open and staring over towards the hotel entrance, as if searching for her husband. She was frozen in time while the world carried on as normal around her.

A while later, something made Miriam look up and check on the telephone call taken by her distinguished patron. She screamed at the top of her voice, causing everyone within earshot to stop in their tracks and follow her frightened gaze. Pandemonium broke out in the lobby as staff and guests cottoned on to the alarming incident.

Outside, Jeff reached the revolving doors leading into the hotel from the driveway, only to be bombarded by loud cries and the sound of a man shouting orders. With a suitcase in each hand and the parking ticket clamped in his teeth, he stopped to put the docket and receipt in his wallet, wondering what all the noise was for.

‘Everyone please keep calm,’ the hotel manager’s authoritative voice commanded, wild eyes looking from one side of the lobby to the other. ‘No-one leave the building, please.’

As the well-known musician grasped the handles of each bag to make his way through the grand entrance, a short, middle-aged man began to push the revolving doors from the inside. The natural leader stepped back out and met the other man as he was ejected into the open air, ending up face-to-face on the pavement.

‘Did you hear the instructions from inside, mate? We’d better stay inside. What’s going on, d’you know?’

Quite clearly agitated, the swarthy individual spat a few curt words at the songwriter. Confused for a moment, Jeff had trouble recognising the language as Spanish.

‘¿Qué dices, hombre?’ Jeff asked, towering over him.

‘Quería matarlo Ustéd, pero es mejor así,’ the terrified foreigner muttered under his breath.

The billionaire’s height and strength were too much for the smaller man to contend with, and he found himself being directed back through the revolving doors towards the commotion. A member of staff wearing a security guard’s uniform had been watching the pair and stepped in to take control of the fugitive from their impressive guest.

The linguist replayed the incoherent sentence in his head. What had this angry jerk said to him? Something about killing him but that it was better this way… What did he mean? And did “Ustéd” refer to an anonymous person inside the hotel or had he directed this statement to its intended object?

‘What’s happened?’ Jeff demanded of the man in uniform, beginning to panic as he saw a familiar figure walking towards him.

‘Mr Diamond,’ the hotel manager said in a weak, reedy voice, his face as white as a sheet. ‘Come this way, please.’

The hotel’s famous patron looked from the southern European man and the security guard to the smartly-attired manager whom he knew fairly well. He began to feel dizzy and nauseated. No, surely not…

‘Where’s my wife?’ he demanded. ‘Where’s Lynn?’