Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

everything in this world and I’d like to do something about it. Lemay had that look.

“The tall thin fellow beyond Lemay is Enrico Di Mena,” Morweena continued.

The man Morweena pointed out stood imperiously in the centre of the room ignoring most of the other guests. A stunning brunette posed by his side.

“He’s the eldest son of one of Italy’s largest clothing manufacturers. Enrico is the one driver you don’t have to worry about. He treats the races like a pleasure cruise. Twenty starts and he’s never finished in the frame. He just likes being part of the scene.” She looked to her left and suddenly her head whipped back. Her face darkened.

Kane followed her gaze. She didn’t look half so attractive when she scowled. He recognised the man who had caused the reaction. It was Graham Barrett. He sensed that there was a bit of history there.

“Who’s the blond guy over there by the balcony?” he asked.

“Where?” Morweena refused to follow his glance.

He held her shoulders and pointed her in the direction where Barrett stood nonchalantly sipping champagne and talking to a man dressed in an Arab dishdasha.

“That’s Graham Barrett,” Morweena said, turning slowly away from the direction in which Kane had faced her.

He could feel her shoulders tremble where he held them. There’s some history there, he decided. And history of the unpleasant kind. He stared at Barrett. He was better looking than the photograph in Europol’s dossier. His thin face was tanned and his blond hair was curly and worn fashionably long, reaching his shoulders. He could easily have posed as the quintessential English hero for some Victorian Boy’s Own paper or possibly the cover of a Mills and Boon romance novel. Kane was reminded of the engravings in the books he’d borrowed from the library showing a British officer standing atop a mound of Indian sepoys brandishing a fearsome sabre. At that moment, Barrett noticed Morweena and a smile played across his thin lips. He leaned close to his companion and said something into his ear before pulling him in their direction.

“Morweena, darling,” Barrett said approaching quickly. “How marvellous to see you. I’ve telephoned on and off over the last few months but you haven’t returned my calls.” He tried to put his arms around her but she slipped away from him.

“Oh, come now, Morweena,” he said. “We can clear up this misunderstanding.”

“There is no misunderstanding,” Morweena said quickly. “This is Mark Kane the driver of Dad’s new boat.”

Barrett ignored the introduction. He grabbed her elbow with his free hand. “Now see here, Morweena. You’re being bloody silly about this. Some of your things are still at the flat in London. Why don’t we talk things out? I’m sure we can get back on an even keel.”

Kane and the Arab took the role of spectators.

“Never,” Morweena hissed the word out. “And I would be grateful if you would remove your hand from my elbow before I’m forced to kick you in the balls and cause a scene.”

“Not until we’ve sorted things out,” Barrett said.

“Consider them sorted out.” Kane griped Barrett’s thumb and pulled it back sharply.

Morweena slipped out of his grip.

Barrett turned around, seemingly noticing Kane for the first time. “Why don’t you mind your own business, pal.”

“You’re the second person who’s said that to me this evening.” He was on the point of breaking Barrett’s thumb and the pain was evident in his eyes. “Why don’t you be a good boy and apologise to the lady. Also, I’m not your pal and my teammate is my business.” He bent Barrett’s thumb a little further. “Take my advice and haul your arse back to the balcony where you came from and continue your conversation with this gentleman.”

“And if I don’t?” Barrett’s thin lips were pulled back in anger.

Kane gave one last twist to his thumb before releasing it. He picked an empty glass from the tray of a passing waiter. “Then I’ll take this champagne glass and make you eat it.” He smiled at the thought. He didn’t have a degree in psychology but years of dealing with bullies had taught him how to read his men. Graham Barrett wouldn’t be back for a second helping. At least not until the pain in his thumb subsided.

“Isn’t this a bit undignified?” The speaker was the Arab who had been accompanying Barrett. The man spoke with a distinct British accent. He placed a restraining hand on his companion. “We are beginning to draw attention to ourselves and I’m sure nobody wants that.” He turned to Morweena. “Miss Penhalion a pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you, Sheikh Safardi,” Morweena said taking a deep breath. “I’m glad there’s at least one cool head present. Now, if you don’t mind, Mark and I will leave you.” She turned and walked away, closely followed by Kane.

“I’ll have that bastard,” Barrett said loud enough for the departing couple to hear.

“You and Barrett must have been pretty close at one time,” Kane said when he caught up with Morweena.

“Possibly my biggest mistake with men.” She took a glass of champagne from the tray proffered by a waiter and downed it in one gulp. Then she took a second.

“That bad, eh?” Kane said.

“The worst,” she said sipping at the second glass. Her face was burning. “I wish you’d broken the bastard’s thumb. And maybe something else a little more vital. I must have been crazy to have fallen for that pig. Everybody advised me against it but that probably only pushed me more strongly in his direction.” She tossed her head back. “It’s over now. I made a mistake but luckily enough I was able to get out of it.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot upwards and she smiled. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you don’t exactly strike me as the listening and sensitive type. And even if you were, I wouldn’t try a session of girl talk with you if you were the last man on earth. Let’s say that