An Honorable Surprise Read online

  “So you made it? I thought you might bunk off!”

  “How do you do, Mr Henty,” Tamara said formally, smiling. “You need to know that I always keep my promises! I obeyed your bidding!”

  Tamara had enjoyed the trip to the airport in the executive limo that had drawn up outside her apartment an hour or so previously. She had been living in a different world when she was last chauffeured to a waiting jet, and she tried not to think about the bitter sweet memories that the ride to Sydney International Airport reminded her of.

  Instead of following the standard departure terminal signs, her car swung away from the main highway along a perimeter road that led to that part of the airfield which handled the private jet traffic. There was a smart, single story terminal, and Tamara saw Simon as soon as she walked through the automatic doors into the cool reception area.

  “Got your stuff then?”

  She looked at him, taking in his crisp dark blue shirt, pale chinos and expensive loafers. “I think I should be checking that you’re all organised,” she replied. “Passport? Visas? Money? Toothbrush?”

  He burst out laughing. “God, you’re worse than my P.A! Yes, yes, yes and yes. And I’m assuming you’re sorted as well.” He turned to speak to an official who was checking their travel documents. “Thanks, Mike. Everything you need is here except for - “

  “My passport?”

  “Thank you, Madam. We will be able to sort this quickly and then you can make your way to your jet. It’s your usual crew, sir,” he finished, to Simon.

  Tamara mentally ticked the boxes as the strolled into the VIP lounge. She was looking forward to seeing how well her company delivered. Reception had been good and the paperwork handled professionally. Looking through the smoke tinted glass she could see the Gulfstream executive jet that would be their magic carpet to Italy. Luxurious, fast, and hideously expensive, it was exactly the type of aircraft leased by people like Simon.

  An attractive stewardess approached and shook hands with them both. “Welcome back, Mr Henty, and can I welcome you, too, Ms Tremaine?” Another box ticked.

  “Are we ready to go?” asked Simon.

  The stewardess looked at him adoringly. “Follow me, Sir. You can meet the flight crew on board.” Simon seemed unaffected and smiled politely.

  Does he always have this effect on women?

  “Did you sort out the menus?” Simon whispered to Tamara as they walked across the hot tarmac towards the dazzlingly white corporate jet, the heat waves dancing off the asphalt.

  “Your usual requirements, sir,” Tamara said noncommittally, glancing at him.

  He laughed, and held her arm lightly as they walked towards the aircraft steps. Tamara unexpectedly found herself enjoying his physical proximity; Simon was a man used to giving orders, and for a brief instant she wondered whether she might actually enjoy the next ten days.

  The stewardess led them along the thick carpeted aisle to the main seating area. “Your baggage has been loaded,” she told them, “and I’m told we’ll get clearance in about twenty minutes.”

  “Mmm - it’s plain, isn’t it?” Tamara joked as they walked into the spacious main cabin with its reclining leather armchairs, veneered polished tables and video screens.

  Simon looked at her in surprise before he realised she was teasing. “What do you mean?” he began, and then burst out laughing. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s insanely over the top but it is going to be a long flight.”

  Tamara knew there were luxurious changing and shower facilities on board, and the rear third of the fuselage had been configured to accommodate Simon’s security and business team .

  There was a low hum from the rear of the cabin. Tamara turned and saw the shimmering sunlight outside was being silently folded away by the passenger steps rising and closing into the fuselage.

  “Can I serve any refreshments? We’ll be serving lunch shortly after we’re airborne and reached cruising altitude.”

  “No. I’m fine,” Simon said brusquely and sat down. “Oh, er - “

  “Thank you, but no,” Tamara told the stewardess. “Maybe later.”

  “There’s plenty of seating choice,” Simon said. “The configuration is for four main passengers, so you can take your pick. Everyone else is squeezed into the back of the plane.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “Well, I need people from the office.” He looked at her. “Is that a criticism?”

  “No, just a query. But then, I was thinking about the cost.”

  “Tamara - for the next ten days - I don’t want you to think about cost. That’s my affair. Your affair is to help me spend my money enjoyably. It’s taken me a lot of effort to get to where I am, and I intend to enjoy myself. Oh - and I want you to enjoy yourself too,” he ended lamely.

  “That is so convincing, Mr Henty,” she said half mockingly.

  “And for God’s sake, stop referring to me as Mr. Henty. It’s Simon. And that’s a client request, ok?”

  Tamara was spared continuing the conversation as the rising whine of the jet engines indicated they were about to taxi. A pilot in a white shirt with shoulder flashes sauntered towards them from the cockpit. “Welcome back, sir. We’re cleared for take-off, and we’ll be getting to Italy in three legs, with brief stops at Singapore and Abu Dhabi. The trip looks good, we’re flying above any turbulence so just have yourselves a good time.”

  He looked at Tamara quickly before walking back to the cockpit area, and she wondered what kind of ‘good time’ Simon had on other excursions in the Gulfstream.

  Within hours they were high above the Pacific. Simon was finding Tamara an enigma. She seemed comfortable with the trappings of wealth, and her simple yet elegant clothes smacked of designer label. He’d also expected her to withdraw into herself during the flight, but while she was a bit reserved, there was no hint of any animosity.

  In fact, she kept him busy with questions about his business, and he found her enthusiasm intriguing. Normally his female companions were awed by the private jets or helicopter travel, and spent their time surfing the satellite channels or drinking too much.

  Tamara was different.

  “So how did you get your first break in business, Simon?”

  It was question that he was often asked at business school seminars or industry conventions. Normally he had a practiced reply which avoided specifics, but for some reason he decided to be frank.

  “Some people achieve success because they inherit wealth and do something with it,” he said carefully. “In my case, I was forced to be successful.”

  Tamara was intrigued. “It sounds like there’s a story behind what you’r saying?”

  “Not really. My parents were normal, hard working Australians. We lived in the outback. It was hard. But they scrimped and saved to send me to college. I never realised the sacrifice they made.” Simon paused and gazed at the fleecy clouds below. “They went to town maybe once a fortnight. For some reason they got sucked into a meeting that was taking place hosted by a silver tongued investment broker. He was offering to make people rich. It sounded too good to be true, and, of course, it was. They poured what remained of their life savings into his pocket. He was a crook, of course.”

  Tamara glanced away, suddenly aware of an icicle of fear.

  “They were snared in a web of deceit, a massive fraud. The guy behind it was called Douglas Ahern. My parents lost everything they had worked for. I had to do something. And I’ve worked ever since to repay their debt.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “You must have heard of it? The Ahern scandal, about eight years ago. Everyone in Australia knew someone who was affected. The trial was in all the papers. He was found guilty, of course, but couldn’t face the life sentence that was evidently going to be handed down. He committed suicide,” Simon finished bitterly.

  “What - what about your parents?”

  “Not good. Mum is in care. Dad lives in a secure home. I truly believe the
ir world fell apart when they lost all their money.” He paused for a moment. “So… I had to be successful. I owe it to them.”

  Tamara felt sick, inwardly shaking.

  Simon leaned back in the exquisitely hand stitched pale leather recliner and glanced at Tamara. “Hey, are you alright? You’ve gone very pale!”

  “No, no - I just suddenly feel tired,” Tamara lied, her heart hammering, wondering how Simon would react if he knew the daughter of the man who had brought his parents to ruin was sitting opposite him. She had changed her name to avoid the stigma that accompanied being the daughter of a fraudster, but she lived her life under the threat of exposure.

  “Time to pack it in, then,” Simon yawned. “We’ve got several time zones to get through anyway. See you in the morning - or evening, whatever it is.”

  But despite the luxury jet’s opulence, Tamara did not sleep easily even though the passenger seats reclined so far back it was as if she were in a decent sized bed, and she could only doze fitfully as their jet bore them effortlessly toward Italy.

  ***

  Tamara had been dreaming. It was that dream. She didn’t have the dream so often now, but she still awoke unsettled - and sad.

  It always began the same way: Tamara was a small girl again, playing with her parents. She was in the living room at home, and she felt indescribably happy. Her mother was laughing, and her Daddy was stroking her hair, and calling her his special little girl. She had the intense feeling that the moment would never end, that she would be happy for ever after, like the endings of the bedtime stories which her father read to her when he got home from work.

  But then, the dream changed: she was elsewhere, and she had grown up. Everything was different now. She was dreaming that she was alone, standing in the vastness of the Australian outback. She was desperately searching for something, but Tamara didn’t know what it was she was looking for. She knew only that she had lost something so precious that she might never be fully herself again until she found it.

  And then, just when she realised that she was never going to discover her goal, the dream ended. She would wake up, knowing she wouldn’t get back to sleep again.

  It was the same when she woke up on the flight feeling thirsty and dehydrated..

  Tamara ordered black coffee, and sat disconsolately gazing into the darkness as the Gulfstream cruised high above Asia.

  It had been the same when her mother had telephoned. Tamara was getting dressed when the phone rang. She’d known instinctively before she heard her mother’s voice that something must be wrong, but she couldn’t believe any more disaster could strike her family. But to be called at this hour meant that there was another crisis.

  “Darling? I don’t know how to - “

  “Mum? What is it? What’s wrong?” Then, “Is it Dad?”

  “Darling -” And her mother had burst into tears.

  “What’s happened? What’s going on? MUM?”

  Douglas Ahern had been found dead in his apartment. He had taken an overdose.

  The newspaper headlines screamed at her from every news kiosk as Tamara walked to work next day. “Disgraced Finance Chief Found Dead!” “Multi-Million Fraudster Commits Suicide!” “Trial To Be Adjourned.”

  The next few weeks were nightmarish. Journalists were door stepping he mother’s house; Tamara disconnected her landline but they somehow found her cell phone number.

  “Miss Ahern ? Will you be giving the money back? What about the pensioners? How do you feel?”

  How could you, Dad? How could you have put us through this? You bastard….. Oh, Daddy……..

  And then she wept, crying for the father she realised she had never known, grieving for the loss of all that she had believed rock solid.

  The enormity of her father’s embezzlement unravelled as the trial had progressed. The lifestyle she never thought of questioning because it had been the backdrop of her life since she could remember, turned out to be built on lies and deception.

  At first she joined her mother in the courtroom, requesting compassionate leave from work. But the weeks dragged by, with endless details of intricate financial arrangements and descriptions of fake invoices - it was more than Tamara could take.

  She hardly glanced at her father, sitting between his lawyers. He never made eye contact with her, and seemed to concentrate on scribbling notes or staring fixedly in front of him.

  He committed suicide before being sentenced - but the nightmare was only just beginning because Tamara and her mother discovered that they owned nothing. They were hounded from their home. They were penniless.

  “Are you sure you’re OK, Mum?” Tamara had asked on that fateful evening when she phoned, as she did every week.

  “Yes, darling, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Take care of yourself.”

  Mum always said that: ‘Take care of yourself.’ But she aged terribly after Dad’s death, and Tamara wished she could scoop her up in her arms. Then they could both disappear to an exotic island and escape the aftermath of the family disintegration. Tamara managed to find a housing association who had a tiny apartment for her mother, and it was the caretaker who had phoned saying that Mrs Ahern wasn’t answering her calls.

  A year to the day, Tamara’s mother had followed her husband’s suicide, her life drowned by the ever rising tide of threatened class action litigation, the trauma of the discovery of her husband’s crimes, and the shame at losing everything that she had thought was secure.

  Tamara was on her own.

  Chapter 6

  “What are you reading Simon?”

  He had been buried in financial spreadsheets for the last hour, and had only picked at the exotic seafood salad that was served. Tamara noticed Simon worked throughout the journey, either using the plane’s on board internet link, or disappearing to the rear of the aircraft where there was a boardroom and he could talk to his staff.

  “Uh? Oh - company stuff. Boring I’m afraid. Sorry, I’m not being very good company, am I?”

  Tamara was determined to show an interest in his business and wanted him to explain the key role hedge funds played in modern financial systems, and how his company had made such strides in global dominance. “We were in the right place with the right product,” he finished. “That’s probably the root of every business success. I wish I could take more credit for it.”

  “But hedge funds such as yours earn ridiculous amounts of money for, well, for what? Financial companies don’t get a good press, do they?” Tamara asked.

  Simon frowned at her. “Listen, Tamara. Let’s get one thing clear. My work is not sleazy. I’m not a crook. I work damn hard and if I earn a lot of money, well, my clients earn a helluva lot more than I do.”

  Tamara looked across the table at him quizzically. “How can you say that?”

  Simon sighed. “OK, let me give you a Hedge Fund 101 introductory course. Let’s pretend you’re my client, right?”

  “Fine,” Tamara said disinterestedly.

  “Right. Let’s say you’ve made your fortune and you’re not satisfied. You want to make more, but you can’t do it yourself. You go out and you hire someone. You hire me.” Simon reached across and took two cookies from the plate that lay between them. “Now, I know you’re going to be a demanding client. Every day when I wake up and go to the office, my purpose is to put your money to work, because the more I make for you, the more I get to take home. So I make a deal with you. I say to you, ‘Look, you’re trusting me with your money. It’s a risk. But let’s try and sweeten that risk, ok?”

  Simon took the cookie and broke it into pieces. “So, this cookie represents your money. Let’s pretend it’s a hundred million dollars. Whatever happens, you get to keep the first 4% of whatever I make for you. So - here’s your original investment,” said Simon, sliding one of the cookies across the table to Tamara’s side. Then he broke a small piece off the second piece and handed it to her as well. “And that’s 4% of the profit I’m making for you. I’m going t
o pretend I do really well - and look, I often do! - And I double your investment. I’ve already given you 4% of your 100% profit, which leads 96% - that’s ninety-six million - to be split between us. The deal we agreed is I get 25% and you get 75%.”

  Tamara watched as Simon carefully crumbled the rest of the cookie into two unequal parts, giving her the larger one. “OK, there you are. The net result is I walk away with 24 million dollars, and you get the 4 million as well as the 72 million which was the split we agreed. Which gives you a grand total of 76 million dollars.”