The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [8]
The bedroom door opened yet again and in came the three nannies and Kennedy-Jack. Sandy and Douglas rushed over to coo, the video back on. The baby was swaddled, his face all but invisible. That was one good thing at least. Stevie stayed in the shadows, watching.
‘We’ve been down at Lilywhites looking for those miniature golf shoes you wanted for KJ. Deadly cute! Then we took him to Hamleys. He loved that!’
The nannies had not been at the park at all. Kennedy-Jack’s parents had had no idea where their baby was. Stevie counted. There were now ten people in the room with Kennedy-Jack, and more in the suite outside. If the threat to the child was serious, this was a problem.
Household staff had to be vetted for any criminal backgrounds, or financial difficulties that might make them vulnerable. Perhaps some psychological evaluation for the nannies and the ‘manny’ . . . It would also have to be explained to Douglas and Sandy that they should take a close interest in the personal lives of those who worked for them, especially the live-in staff. Kidnappers often established personal relationships with assistants or nannies in order to get inside information on the family.
‘I’ll put a package together tonight and we can discuss your needs further, including specifics, when you feel you have the time.’
Stevie would suggest meeting at Hazard HQ next time. There might be fewer distractions.
Sandy put a hand on Stevie’s arm as she collected her bag and stood to leave. ‘You will help us won’t you Stevie? We’re terrified for little KJ. If people like the Beckhams have kidnap threats, well . . . Our baby is much more famous. Do you see?’
Then Stevie understood exactly the kind of package the Hammer-Belles wanted: non-intrusive, highly visible, very cosmetic, very expensive. Even when it came to peril, they had to be in more danger than all the other celebrities.
‘We will tailor our services to suit your specific situation and I hope you will be satisfied.’ She was well-practiced at sounding reassuring. ‘If security circumstances change, the contract has built-in flexibility to allow us to respond accordingly.’ In other words, if a threat actually became tangible, Hazard could quickly upgrade security.
Stevie shook hands with both Hammer-Belles. ‘Try to live discreetly,’ she added. ‘It’s really the best defence.’
As she was jostled through the suite door by a team of photographers from Hello magazine, Stevie marvelled at the winds of attention that were needed to fill the Hammer-Belle sails. It had been a charade, a waste of time.
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Clouds of drizzle swept over Green Park. Stevie hurried on past the wet pigeons, the slick bare trees, over the sleeping daffodils buried under the frozen earth. It was only three o’clock and it was gloomy, the day already dead.
‘Daylight never even made it today,’ she said aloud, startling the pigeon stuck to the rubbish bin. Looking down at her sodden ballet shoes, she began to regret her impulse to walk back to her hotel. The slimy black boughs dripped water down her collar and she drew her coat more tightly round her shoulders.
Two girls were sitting on a park bench in front of her. Stevie noticed them because it was odd weather for sitting out. Both were wearing skin-tight jeans, black puffer jackets and large hoop earrings. Their shoes were even less suitable than hers—patent-leather stilettos. They must have been sitting there a while because they were wet through.
One girl was talking on the phone. She had red hair and she was crying. Mascara and eye shadow had pooled in a bruise under each eye. Her friend had dark curly hair pulled high up off her face. She sat as still as ice, watching the girl on the phone. Even from a distance, Stevie noticed their nails, extraordinary talons, one set painted in fluorescent— almost ecstatic—yellow, the other pure white.
They might be strippers, thought Stevie, with those nails, those skinny legs and pale faces . . . As Stevie