The Trespass

Chapter 1





Simon Dracup’s head ached as he walked briskly along the hotel corridor. Surely it couldn’t be true? Perhaps his grandfather had invented the whole thing. But why do that? It had to be genuine. He tutted with irritation. No point in speculating now – he needed to study the diary in depth before he jumped to any conclusions. The phone was ringing as he swiped the key card over the lock and pushed impatiently into his room. He threw his overcoat onto the bed and made a grab for the beeping instrument.

“Dracup.”

A woman’s voice said, “Where have you been?”

Dracup felt his hackles rising. His ex-wife’s directness still rankled. “Give me a moment.” He thumbed the phone onto speaker and shrugged off his jacket. The diary was still in his inside pocket. He fished it out and placed it carefully on the bedside cabinet. Unremarkable in appearance, but the contents, if factual, were no less than mind-blowing.

“Are you there?” Yvonne’s voice barked through the speaker. “Are you coming on Saturday? What do I tell Natasha?”

“If you’d let me –”

“She has to have continuity. She’s only eight years old and it’s been difficult enough with –”

“Now listen,” he heard himself shouting; Yvonne never failed to light his touchpaper. “I will be there at 9 a.m. That’s nine in the morning. I will return her at 4 p.m, afternoon, GMT, Okay?”

“There’s no need to shout, Simon. I can hear you perfectly well.” Yvonne’s voice spoke evenly across the miles.

“Tell Natasha I love her. I’ll be there.” He felt his eyes prickle and bit his lip angrily. “How is she?”

“She’s fine. She gets on so well with Malcolm. They’re real buddies.”

“That’s great.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m her buddy too. And I’m also her daddy.”

“Yes, well. You should have thought of that before –”

There was a soft but clear knock on the door. Dracup swore under his breath. “Just a minute; there’s someone at the door.”

“Oh, yes?”

The ambiguity in her tone was not lost on him. “For heaven’s sake, Yvonne –”

“I’ll see you at nine on Saturday then.” The line went dead.

The soft tap came again.

“Yes. All right. Just a second.” Dracup strode to the door and yanked it open. A tall man in a dark suit stood on the threshold. His face was sallow, saddened by drooping eyelids and matching downturn of mouth. In the eyes, however, Dracup discerned a keen intelligence.

“Mr – Professor - Dracup?”

“Who wants to know?” Dracup asked, more aggressively than he’d intended.

The visitor smiled thinly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything? I left my card with reception – James Potzner.”

Dracup fished the card out of his trouser pocket. It read:





James Potzner

US Embassy,

Grosvenor Square,

London





“Well. What do you want?” Even as he phrased the question he knew the answer. It was in the buff envelope on the bedside table: the diary.

“If I may –” Potzner took a step forward.

Dracup hesitated. Hold on, he told himself, it might not be anything to do with the diary. Then why this sense of foreboding? Well, if he was right Potzner could at least answer his questions – and he had plenty of those. He stood aside to let the visitor in. “Of course. Be my guest.”

Potzner entered the room and walked to the large picture window. The lights of Aberdeen winked in the failing light. “You know, you have a great view here.” He admired the scene for a moment, then bent over and flicked a button on the bedside console. The electric blinds folded the view away. “Can’t be too careful.” Potzner offered a smile and lowered himself smoothly onto the two-seater settee.

Dracup frowned. The diary had been a strange enough addition to his day. And now this stranger settling into his room like an old school friend…

“You don’t have something to –?” Potzner made the shape of a glass with his hand.

“Of course. Forgive me. What can I get you?” Dracup fumbled with the cabinet doors under the TV until he found the minibar. “There’s coke, white wine, gin.¬” He peered at a label. “Scotch –”

“That’s the one.”

Dracup poured himself a gin and tonic and sat on the edge of the bed. “So what can I do for you, Mr Potzner?”

“I’ll give it to you straight, Mr Dracup. You have something we need.” Potzner took a pull at his Scotch.

Dracup’s heart skipped. “Need? That’s a strong word.”