Countdown to Terror

Chapter 16

 

She was stopped in her paranoia by the boss bidding her goodnight, along with other employees. By the time she had chatted and finished packing up, she had forgotten about the incident for the time being.

 

 

 

 

 

Amelia arrived in Russell Square mid-morning the next day, and the Gent ordered coffee whilst she freshened up. They caught up with gossip, and she volunteered her concern about her potential stalker, though on the evidence – or rather, lack of it as yet – she only her had intuition to go on. There had been nothing personal.

 

They arrived at the gallery at ten minutes past one. The lunch was limited to invitees only. They were welcomed by pink champagne, and lunch was a buffet affair served in an upstairs room. After short speeches, they plated up and mingled with the arty in-crowd. Willi Kissmer’s agent was a garrulous German with a comical English accent. Most of the other guests appeared knowledgeable, but he was out of his comfort zone and could only murmur and nod wisely at appropriate intervals. Amelia seemed to be gaining confidence by the minute as they wandered around commenting on particular pieces. Normal items appeared to be limited editions priced in excess of £500. He liked the look of a particular piece, only to discover it was an original, priced in excess of £5,000. On reflection he decided he didn’t like it quite that much.

 

At about three o’clock he felt Amelia suddenly freeze beside him. A man, impeccably dressed if somewhat dated, was striding purposefully towards them. In his early sixties, of average height but stocky, with steel grey hair and old-fashioned sideburns, he proffered a hand. Amelia declined.

 

‘Fancy you being here!’ he exclaimed in a far too intimate manner.

 

Ice-cool, Amelia responded, ‘Merely research, I can assure you, Mr...  Ahem.’

 

‘Oh, I was just passing on my way through London. Flight delayed until tomorrow. Are you and your friend here for long?’

 

The ice was not for melting. ‘My brother is here for a while; I have to be back in Cheshire tonight.’

 

With not the remotest gesture at the existence of Amelia’s escort, the man continued. ‘Hope this won’t delay the opening in Chester, then?’

 

‘Not at all,’ Amelia replied. ‘It’s still on schedule.’

 

‘Glad to hear it. Nice to meet you, sir, must be off. Bye now.’

 

With that he strode away in the same purposeful fashion as his arrival. Amelia was pale and trembling. ‘That’s him, that’s him. The man I told you about. Is he stalking me now?’

 

The Gent was concerned. ‘It was rather an odd approach. Is he always like that?’

 

Before they could talk further, Bertie the agent was back and the details of hosting art projects took over. As often happened with being a stranger looking in on other people’s livelihoods, it fell into the how could it be so complicated, category. He feigned interest until the two experts had concluded.

 

Bidding farewell to Bertie, Amelia announced, ‘Let’s finish up here and go find some coffee before I have to head off for my train.’

 

They were mostly silent on the walk back to the hotel, but once seated and with coffee there was no preamble to his comment, ‘I really think you could have a problem with that man. His whole demeanor was strange, and if you don’t put a stop to it he will go further.’

 

‘Oh, my God’ Amelia said in alarm. ‘What should I do, then?

 

‘I think you’ll have to inform the police, and what does your boss have to say about it? Is there CCTV coverage of the street?’

 

‘My boss just thinks I am imagining it all. The man seems to know where to stand just out of range of the CCTV... do you really think the police will take it seriously without something personal and more concrete?’

 

‘You will at least have it on record,’ he advised.

 

‘Yes, you’re right,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.’

 

With little time left and in view of her still-anxious state, he ordered a taxi to take her to Euston station.

‘Call me if anything at all happens,’ he said reassuringly as he waved goodbye from the entrance of the Imperial. He watched with a sense of foreboding as the black cab gingerly made its way round the central fountain and out through the archway into the London traffic