Letter from a Stranger by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

retire after all?” Michael sounded surprised. He stared at his old friend, who had not yet reached retirement age. “I hope you mean it, Charlie!”
    “I do. Scout’s honor and all that stuff. You’re looking pleased.”
    “I’m thrilled. How come you changed your mind? You were so adamant when I was in London two weeks ago.”
    “I know I was, and I did mean it. But I got talked out of it by our Scottish friend. He made good sense.”
    Michael beckoned to a waiter, ordered English breakfast tea, one with milk and the other with lemon, and once alone again with Charlie he added, “I’m glad Alistair did a number on you. I can’t tell you how essential you are to us. But then you know that.”
    “I do, I suppose. Which is why I changed my mind. Got to do one’s duty, protect the lands of the free and the brave.”
    Michael leaned across the table. “I’m glad I didn’t bring a farewell gift for you.”
    “Yes, it would have been a waste of money.” Charlie placed a cigarette lighter on the table and a packet of cigarettes. “I know you like a smoke now and again, have one of mine, Michael. It’s your favorite brand.”
    “Thanks, I will.” Michael took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth and brought the lighter to it. “It’s in the packet, correct?”
    “You’ve got it right.”
    After taking several puffs of the cigarette, Michael stuck it in the ashtray to burn away, picked up the packet of cigarettes and put it in his jacket. He then pushed the lighter across to Charlie, who slipped it in his trouser pocket.
    “I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid,” Michael now announced, focusing all of his attention on the Englishman. “Those birds we spoke about when I was in London, I’m afraid they may be delivered to someone else.”
    “The pheasants?” Charlie raised a brow. “Damn and blast, and we were promised that wouldn’t happen.”
    “C’est la vie,” Michael murmured, grimaced, shook his head. “Some people are untrustworthy.”
    “Any chance of a diversion?” Charlie asked.
    “I’m working on it. That, or perhaps extinction. I do believe those pheasants in particular have to be off the market … permanently. ” When Charlie didn’t respond, Michael exclaimed, “If you can tear your eyes away from the blonde, I have a bit more news for you.”
    “Oh, sorry. I couldn’t help admiring her when she stood up, quite the leggy colt, isn’t she?”
    Michael simply smiled, and said sotto voce, “Stay close to our contact, make sure he understands we’re now all behind him.”
    “I will.”
    The waiter arrived with the large pot of tea, and Michael and Charlie immediately started to talk about Wimbledon and tennis.
    *   *   *
    The two men walked through the gardens of the hotel, heading in the direction of the marble Çiragan Palace, a rococo building which had been in ruins for years until it became part of the new hotel. Now it had sumptuous suites, private rooms for special events, and a traditional Turkish restaurant, yet it had not lost any of its nineteenth-century charm.
    Michael Dalton and Charles Gordon had been associates and friends for many years. Michael knew that underneath that English “old school tie” exterior Charles presented to the world was a man of integrity, steely determination, and dependability. He ran the bank his grandfather had started in 1903, and which his father had brought to prominence; Charles, a financial genius, had only made it more prosperous than ever over the last twenty-five years. He was now fifty-nine, but looked so much younger.
    The bank was a client of Dalton Incorporated, and Michael’s company handled all security matters for the bank and its top-level personnel. Charles and Michael had developed a special relationship over the last seven years, and exchanged a great deal of vital information about many other things, not always to do with the bank. Rather, these matters related to events which affected and often changed