he found it. He knocked and walked in.There was a door to his right which was closed and another to his left which was open.
Through the open one he could see a desk and a young woman seated behind it. Early thirties. Shoulder- length auburn hair. Attractive. She was dressed in a dark two-piece suit and highly polished court shoes.
There was another door behind her. Also closed.
The office was airy and brightly decorated. There were leather chairs along two walls and a low table in the centre covered with orderly lines of magazines. Doyle noticed copies of GQ, The Face, Maxim, Vogue and Cosmopoliton.There were even editions of the NME and a number of film magazines.
The secretary smiled at him and motioned towards one of the leather seats.
‘Would you like a drink, Mr Doyle?’ she asked. ‘Tea, coffee?’
Tea, thanks. White. One sugar.’
‘I’ll bring it through,’ she told him. ‘Mr Cartwright is ready to see you.’
No hanging about
Doyle stood back up and followed her through to the door on the other side of the narrow corridor. She knocked once then entered.
As she did, Brian Cartwright got to his feet. He extended a hand, which Doyle shook, surprised at the power in the other man’s grip. He ran appraising eyes over Cartwright who was immaculately dressed in a dark-blue suit and black roll-neck sweater.
Thank you, Julie,’ said Cartwright.
‘I’ll bring you a coffee through,’ the secretary said as she stepped out of the office.
‘She looks after me,’ Cartwright said smiling.
He was an amiable man. Late forties.Wide-shouldered and thick-necked.
Doyle took a quick look around the office. It was high-ceilinged. Recently decorated. A small flight of steps led up to another smaller area where Doyle could see a sofa, a television and a video recorder.
There were several framed photos on the walls. He recognised one or two of them. Film stars. There was one of Robert de Niro.
‘Some of our clients,’ Cartwright said, noticing his interest. ‘We look after all sorts of people. Pop stars, actors, politicians, businessmen. You name it.’
Julie returned with their drinks, set them down and left, closing the door behind her.
‘I understand you’re looking for a job, Mr Doyle,’ Cartwright said, sipping his coffee.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Jonathan Parker. Your old boss. He had your file biked over to me. He didn’t think you’d have much in the way of a written CV.’
‘He was right. How do you know him?’
‘I used to be a Special Branch officer. We’ve known each other for years.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘I retired. I was hurt in a car accident. The money I got went into this business.’
‘You’re obviously doing all right,’ Doyle observed, looking around the office.
‘I employ the right people. And I’ve got a very good accountant.’ Cartwright smiled.
Doyle managed a grin.
‘Jonathan seems to think you’d be suited to this line of work,’ said Cartwright. ‘Do you?’
‘Look, I appreciate you seeing me but don’t give me a fucking job out of sympathy. Just because Parker
binned me off doesn’t mean I need help from his friends.’
‘You arrogant bastard,’ said Cartwright.
Doyle shot him an angry glance, surprised when the older man held his venomous gaze.
‘It’s you who needs this job,’ Cartwright reminded him. ‘You’re the one on the scrapheap.’
‘I’ll find work somewhere.’
‘Doing what? What kind of work can you do, Doyle? Remember, I’ve read your file. Who’s going to employ a man as potentially unstable as you?’
Doyle got to his feet.
‘Sit down,’ Cartwright snapped.
‘Fuck you,’ Doyle rasped.
‘Face it, you’re low on options. You’re not in a position to dictate what you want. Not any more. If I can help you I will but it’s got nothing to do with favours or sympathy. My motives are purely selfish. If I didn’t think it was worth seeing you, you wouldn’t be here now.’
Doyle sucked in a deep breath and slowly sat down again.
Cartwright reached into his desk and pulled out a file. ‘I won’t bother reading this back to you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you know what it says anyway.’
‘I’m not very good at this interview shit,’ Doyle told him. ‘I suppose I’m out of practice. I didn’t think the day would ever come when I’d have to do one. I thought I’d be dead long before that.’
‘Well, you’re not dead, you’re here. So let’s get down to business.’
They offered you retirement twice,’ said Cartwright, flicking through the file on his desk.‘Why didn’t you take it?’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Doyle asked him. ‘You could have been living off your invalidity pension from Special Branch now.’
Cartwright smiled. ‘You’re right,’ he acknowledged. ‘I chose to use the money to put into this business. I built it up from nothing to what it is now.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw a gap in the market and, if I’m truthful, I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the rest of my life, getting under my wife’s feet.’
‘Join the club.’
‘You’re not married, are you?’
Doyle shook his head.
That’s probably just as well,’ Cartwright told him. ‘Security work is no job for a married man.’
‘What about you? You’re married.’
‘I own the business. I can go home every night if ! have to. The people who work for me can’t.’
‘Where do you get your people? Are they all cast-offs like me?’
‘I’ve got ex-coppers. Ex-army. Even a couple of guys who worked as mercenaries in Kosovo for a time.They all know how to handle themselves should the
situation arise.’
Doyle eyed him indifferently.
‘I know you can look after yourself, Doyle,’ Cartwright said. ‘But the question with this job is can you look after someone else? Would you risk your life for a total stranger, one you might not even think very much of, just for the money?’
‘I haven’t really got much of a choice, have I?’
‘You can walk away now if you want to. No one’s forcing you to take a job here. No one knows if you’ll even be capable of doing it. What do you think this job entails?’
‘Making sure the wrong people don’t get hurt. The ones who pay for that privilege.’
‘I know that if you’re looking after one of my clients and someone has a go at them then you’ll be able to do the job. I know they’ll be safe under your protection. What I don’t know is whether or not you’ll be able to cope with the other side of the business.’
‘Like what?’
‘You have to be a diplomat in the security business, Doyle. Melt into the background. Be courteous at all times.’
Doyle raised an eyebrow.
‘Do as you’re told,’ Cartwright continued. ‘It must be a while since you did that.’ He smiled.
‘I could try.’
‘If I employ you, the way you act and behave reflects upon my business and reputation. One mistake and
