Royal Heist by Lynda La Plante Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lynda La Plante
and her own credit card with five thousand pounds’ spending money; she was seventeen years old and stunningly pretty, taking after her mother. Michael was the spitting image of his father, stocky, with dark eyes and thick, curly hair; he had been given the keys to a Lotus in a gold box; the car had been delivered to their home. He was nineteen and a first-year student of business studies at the University of Liverpool. He was very intelligent, and Liz doubted that a Lotus was the right kind of car for him; unlike his sister, he was quiet and studious. She worried about him much more than she did about her outgoing daughter, whose only real ambition was to be at the forefront of fashion and who was almost as obsessive about clothes as her mother. She could spend money just as fast too.
Liz knew that Michelle was spoiled, especially by her father, who doted on her. A good marriage with a nice, respectable boy was what they both wanted for her. At the moment, Michelle had a constant stream of boyfriends, all from wealthy families. Liz was determined, though, that her daughter wasn’t going to get pregnant and ensured that she took sensible precautions. This was their mother-daughter secret; she knew her husband would not approve of his princess being on the pill. She yawned and looked at the bedside clock. The red light on the phone was still lit, and Tony was supposed to be semiretired.
“Tony? What’s going on? Tony?”
“With you in a minute, sweetheart,” he called.
The phone pressed to his ear, Driscoll listened to the soft, clipped tone of de Jersey’s voice. The Colonel was the nickname he and Wilcox had given him, and only they used it. Driscoll’s heart was beating rapidly, and he had broken out in a sweat. He did not interrupt, just gave the occasional grunt to let de Jersey know he was still on the line.
“There’s nothing to be done before the Christmas break is over, but we’ll meet up after you get back,” said de Jersey. “The usual place, at the Ritz, but I’ll call again as soon as I have more details. Tony?”
“We’re due back mid-January.”
“Fine. I’ll contact James and pass on the news.”
“He’s in Aspen.”
“I know.”
Driscoll’s mouth was dry. “There couldn’t have been some fuckup, could there? I mean, are you sure?”
“Afraid so. David killed himself, that’s proof enough. It’s bad. I’ll need time to sort through everything. I am truly sorry, Tony. I feel it’s down to me, and I’ll try to think of some way to make good our losses.”
Driscoll closed his eyes. “I put all my eggs in.”
“We all did, but like I said, I feel responsible.”
“Hell, we’re all grown men. You never twisted my arm, but I would like to know exactly what’s gone down. We’re talking millions.”
“Try not to think about it. I’ll work this one out for us, and that’s a promise.”
The phone went dead, and Driscoll sat cradling the receiver in his hands. He was still unable to take it in. He had just lost his life savings.
Tony Driscoll had started out as a runner in Ronnie Jersey’s betting shops, but he was clever with his money. With the initial payoff from the Colonel, he had moved into the rubbish-collection industry, opening up big waste-disposal dumps and buying a fleet of trucks. In the mid-seventies he had married Liz, his secretary, and in the early eighties they had moved their children into a massive mock Tudor mansion just outside Guildford. Recently Driscoll had begun to play a big part in the local Labour Party, donating funds and attending functions. Driscoll glanced to the closed bedroom door. He still felt numb. He knew he couldn’t take part in another caper, not after all these years. His hand was shaking as he poured a shot of whiskey. He felt fear when he considered his agreement to meet up with the others. Whatever the Colonel suggested to get them out of trouble, he would refuse. He kept looking at the bedroom door, wondering how he
Liz knew that Michelle was spoiled, especially by her father, who doted on her. A good marriage with a nice, respectable boy was what they both wanted for her. At the moment, Michelle had a constant stream of boyfriends, all from wealthy families. Liz was determined, though, that her daughter wasn’t going to get pregnant and ensured that she took sensible precautions. This was their mother-daughter secret; she knew her husband would not approve of his princess being on the pill. She yawned and looked at the bedside clock. The red light on the phone was still lit, and Tony was supposed to be semiretired.
“Tony? What’s going on? Tony?”
“With you in a minute, sweetheart,” he called.
The phone pressed to his ear, Driscoll listened to the soft, clipped tone of de Jersey’s voice. The Colonel was the nickname he and Wilcox had given him, and only they used it. Driscoll’s heart was beating rapidly, and he had broken out in a sweat. He did not interrupt, just gave the occasional grunt to let de Jersey know he was still on the line.
“There’s nothing to be done before the Christmas break is over, but we’ll meet up after you get back,” said de Jersey. “The usual place, at the Ritz, but I’ll call again as soon as I have more details. Tony?”
“We’re due back mid-January.”
“Fine. I’ll contact James and pass on the news.”
“He’s in Aspen.”
“I know.”
Driscoll’s mouth was dry. “There couldn’t have been some fuckup, could there? I mean, are you sure?”
“Afraid so. David killed himself, that’s proof enough. It’s bad. I’ll need time to sort through everything. I am truly sorry, Tony. I feel it’s down to me, and I’ll try to think of some way to make good our losses.”
Driscoll closed his eyes. “I put all my eggs in.”
“We all did, but like I said, I feel responsible.”
“Hell, we’re all grown men. You never twisted my arm, but I would like to know exactly what’s gone down. We’re talking millions.”
“Try not to think about it. I’ll work this one out for us, and that’s a promise.”
The phone went dead, and Driscoll sat cradling the receiver in his hands. He was still unable to take it in. He had just lost his life savings.
Tony Driscoll had started out as a runner in Ronnie Jersey’s betting shops, but he was clever with his money. With the initial payoff from the Colonel, he had moved into the rubbish-collection industry, opening up big waste-disposal dumps and buying a fleet of trucks. In the mid-seventies he had married Liz, his secretary, and in the early eighties they had moved their children into a massive mock Tudor mansion just outside Guildford. Recently Driscoll had begun to play a big part in the local Labour Party, donating funds and attending functions. Driscoll glanced to the closed bedroom door. He still felt numb. He knew he couldn’t take part in another caper, not after all these years. His hand was shaking as he poured a shot of whiskey. He felt fear when he considered his agreement to meet up with the others. Whatever the Colonel suggested to get them out of trouble, he would refuse. He kept looking at the bedroom door, wondering how he