Chapter 9: Chapter 9: A much needed haircut
Acting on his suggestion she had also rung Nicholas Donaldson and he had proved as difficult to pin down as she had been for William. Her curiosity was threatening caution. Take it easy, be thorough, she told herself, and re-examined the scanty information contained in the file.
Gem had been founded by Ronald Patton and Geoffrey Davies. Friends from the days of the Iraq war. Both electronic engineers they had met and served together, remaining friends after returning and eventually going into business. They had established themselves quickly and within two years employed twelve people, spending much of their money on research and development, building a clientele in half a dozen countries, exporting the latest in medical technology, specialising in micro-processors for diagnostic equipment. Noel couldn't find fault.
Her thoughts jumped to William's new year's party and the retired American military she had met. After Iraq, what relationship had existed between the Americans and Gem's owners? And what sort of connection did they have with Gem now Patton and Davies were dead? Pakistan, one had said. What was an American doing visiting that part of the world with the way things were? Artefacts? Were they worth the risk?
And then there was Alexander Patton. The file said no more than William had already told her, that he had inherited his father's share of the company and had returned to Australia only weeks before Geoff Davies' death.
William appeared in her doorway. 'Have you rung Donaldson yet?'
She nodded, distracted.
'Well?'
'Oh, sorry.' She shook her head to clear it. 'I'm having lunch with him next Thursday. I'll put in a bit of thinking before then.'
William came in and sat down. 'We'll talk about it Saturday night. I'm not convinced it's a good idea.'
'You want me to stay, I want the account.' The ultimatum tumbled out. She hoped it sounded tough.
William leaned his weight on her desk. 'You want the account. I want you.' When it became clear she was not going to answer he straightened. 'Saturday.'
***
A taxi dropped him at the hotel, a block back from the Esplanade. He could have walked from the hospital if fit but as it was he already felt giddy in the new year heat and heavy humidity. Inside, gratefully drawing in air that didn't leave him panicking about drowning, he approached the desk from behind which a clerk, smart but casual in white shirt and dark trousers, surveyed him suspiciously. David didn't blame him.
'Good morning. Can I help you?'
David showed him the receipt.
The clerk looked inquiringly. 'You were a guest here, Mr ...?'
'Cameron.'
'Yes ... Mr Cameron. Would you like to re-register?'
'I paid for a week but didn't use it.'
The clerk drew up to full height. 'The hotel doesn't refund on the basis of guests not actually using the rooms.'
David was conciliatory. 'I was in a car accident and I've just been released from hospital. I was hoping you'd let me finish my holiday - if you have a room available.'
The clerk's gaze flicked over his untidiness with sudden understanding. 'I'm sorry, sir, I hope you're fully recovered. If you'll excuse me for a moment I'll speak to the manager.'
David leaned on the desk to wait. He needed a bed.
The clerk reappeared with a suited young woman.
'Mr Cameron, of course we have a room.' She beckoned a bellboy. 'Show Mr Cameron to 315 please.' She turned to David. 'We have your bag safely in store. Adrian will bring it up. I hope you feel completely well soon.'
His bag?
'Thank you.' His smile encompassed all three.
The room, when he was shown in, was spacious, fitted out in cane and jungle green. Needing water he found a glass in the bathroom and drained it quickly before bending over the basin to let cold water run over his wrists until there was enough to plunge his face into. He emerged dripping and rested his forehead between the taps, considering the bath from under his arm but not having the energy. Eventually he mopped dry.
The bellboy had deposited a khaki dufflebag without disturbing him. It contained a change of clothes: socks, underpants, a crumpled shirt, and a dilapidated toiletry bag containing everything to keep him from offending. Cheap brands. Stripped to his underpants he sat on the palm-fronded bedspread, one foot folded under him, the other on the floor and surveyed the bag's contents. There was also an envelope. The padded type you bought from a post office. About a dozen staples secured the flap. He ripped it open. Money fell out. New one hundred dollar notes. And a photograph. Of a man contorting himself into the driving seat of a BMW coupe, indicating height. He was lean but well-made and tanned with clipped dark hair. His face angled up as though looking at the photographer and he was smiling, eyes squinting in the sun. Life was good for some. Unless someone else wanted to get rid of them. He turned it over.
Alexander Patton. Written very neatly in black ink. He pictured the pen that had written it: tortoiseshell with gold bandings; the owner's name inscribed tastefully at the end, small letters flowing around instead of down the barrel.
He tapped the photo against his knee and turned to the money to count it. $7,500. No need to worry about living expenses for a bit. Tomorrow he would get himself some decent clothes and a haircut. He rubbed his whiskers. Get them tidied too. Then he would call on Noel Valentine.
It was evening when he woke to his stomach complaining about missing two meals. He ordered a hamburger with chips and a pot of coffee from room service then padded to the bathroom for a cold soak that would hopefully spark him into life. The bath was cool and the water cold as it crept up his body, his legs and arms dangling over the sides and his head flung back. Closing his eyes he felt his temperature drop as the water level rose. He would have stayed all night except for his stomach and the food arriving. After eating he returned to the bed and slept like an infant.
It was eleven in the morning of his second day by the time he had showered and drunk the coffee ordered from room service, and after making himself as respectable as possible walked to the civic centre, half a kilometre distant, for the exercise the physiotherapist had recommended. Some time later he found a hairdresser under whose expert hands he closed his eyes and thankfully rested.
'This has been burnt,' the young Italian with olive skin and enviable hair said, frowning above him.
'Fell asleep under a sun lamp.'
The hairdresser's reflection grinned, started to comb, and glanced into the mirror at the baby pink skin under his comb and scissors. The grin fell uncertainly. David winked and the hairdresser, still in doubt, gave his concentration to currying his client's hair and beard. David closed his eyes again and let him restore humanity.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone