This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

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This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don't read it.

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Synopsis.

Peter and Katie Marriott are returning to the UK after a lifetime abroad. The brother and sister are simply acting on their father's directions. He has a plan, and intends joining them a little later, but they have to fulfil certain obligations prior to his return.

However, whilst at an airport hotel, the pair become entangled with a shady character who is intent on seizing the assets of a beautiful but somewhat scatty heiress, Letty Greyson. Using quick wits and dubious skills, they manage to rescue the girl and return her to the bosom of her family.

However, the attractive Katie and handsome Peter are not quite what they appear.

Grace Lumsden simply adored aeroplanes. At eighty-six, she'd only been flying for the last seven years. Her husband, Harold, had passed away before they could fly to New Zealand to visit their married grand daughter.

Grace had seen Harold buried, and then flown out on her own. She had been hooked by the travel bug, so now was spending her children's inheritance by flying abroad at least six times a year. With family and friends in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and North America, she was making up for lost time, aware, no doubt, that her remaining time was somewhat limited.

This trip was insignificant compared to many she'd undertaken, as Paris was a simple hop, skip and jump for her. The Woking Ladies French Circle visited the French Capital every year in the spring, spending two nights at a small hotel, and enjoying the galleries and cafés before flying home again.

Grace was watching London grow as the Airbus approached Heathrow from the East. She pointed out the landmarks to the young woman sitting next to her.

“There's the Dome, Tower Bridge, The Tower, HMS Belfast, and there's a tall ship on the river, don't they look small from up here?”

She was a pretty girl in her early twenties. Long fair hair, falling in cascades down across her shoulders, accentuated her fine slender figure. Wearing a chic burgundy skirt, pale silk blouse, with matching jacket from one of the finest French designers, the girl exuded charm, breeding and a fair degree of wealth.

At first, due to her colouring, Grace believed the girl to be foreign, from Scandinavia or northern Europe. However, she dispelled this as soon as she spoke, for her precise Queens English accent reminded Grace of the late Princess Diana. The two gold rings she wore on her right hand contained substantial stones, one with amethysts and the other blue sapphires, which matched her eyes. She wore a single gold signet ring on the little finger of her left hand, on which a family crest had been engraved. The diamonds and sapphires in her earrings glinted, as she swept her hair away from her face with beautiful slender hands, with long varnished nails.

“I do love it. I quite forget how old I'm meant to be,” Grace said, smiling like a little girl.

“My father keeps us busy. We've lived abroad for most of our lives. In fact I was born in South America,” the girl said.

“My brother, Peter, and I. Our father has travelled quite a bit on business, so we've never really been anywhere very long.” She inclined her head to a young man sitting on the aisle seat next to her. He had his eyes closed, and Grace assumed he was dozing.

He was a good-looking young man, clean-shaven with darker hair than his sister. It was cut quite short, yet he looked much the same age as his sister, was a few inches taller, and seemed generally more substantial than the slender girl.

“No, he's still in the Far East, Japan, I think. He's concluding some business, and hopes to join us in a few weeks after travelling through to Switzerland.”

“Mummy died when I was born. Peter is a couple of years older than I, so we never knew her.”

“No. Papa believed we should receive whatever education was available wherever we happened to be. He taught us a lot, but probably not what the powers that be would approve of. I don't think we've done too badly, I can speak more than six languages and don't feel I've missed out.”

The girl smiled. It was a lovely smile, reminding Grace of her own grand daughter. A pretty girl's smile could lighten up a room, and this girl was just like that, as she was transformed into a beauty when she smiled.

“This is the bit I love!” Grace said, squashing her nose up against the Perspex of the window.

“Are you okay?” he asked, both eyes open, and an expression of mild concern on his face.

The plane was on the ground, and the purser was welcoming everyone to Heathrow, telling them how cold and wet it was, which anyone with eyes could see for themselves. April could be a delightful month, or it could be shitty. At the moment it was the latter. Katie looked past Grace's grey hair to the grey and drab outside world. Rain lashed the window, and visibility was poor.

What she'd told Grace was true, she'd never been to England before, now silently hoping that she might finally find a home here. Peter had been quite young when their parents had left the UK, so even he couldn't remember anything about the land of his birth.

“There! That was wonderful. They are so clever the way they land these things. Tell me, my dear, have you far to go?”

“We are staying with friends in London, but they are away until tomorrow. We're booked into a hotel here at the airport for tonight. We've been travelling for nearly thirty hours, so we felt it was wiser just to have a rest and travel into London tomorrow after the rush hour.”

Katie smiled, watching the other passengers become restless as the plane taxied to the gate-room. The plane almost taxied for a longer period than it had just flown, but much to everyone's relief, it finally reached the gate-room and the extended gantry was attached to the front door.

It was the signal for everyone to stand up at the same time, scrabbling for personal effects and hand luggage. Grace was interested to note that the attractive young couple simply sat and waited for the rush to subside. This was the mark of a seasoned traveller, as there was little point in rushing simply to wait at the carousel for one's bags.

They watched as most passengers were now standing, belaboured with their holdalls and other bags, waiting impatiently for those at the front to leave. Grace turned to Katie.

“This bit is such a scrum. It is my least favourite bit. I have to wait to last, as they provide a wheelchair for me. My hip, you know.”

At last the aisle cleared, and Peter stood, removing two matching holdalls from the overhead locker. Passing a smart leather coat to his sister, he asked Grace if she had a bag he could retrieve for her.

“No thank you, dear. I find it so much easier without bags. I just have my duty free gin!” she said holding up a carrier bag containing a litre bottle of Gordon's gin.

Katie stood up, folded her coat over her arm and slung her black leather Gucci bag over her shoulder. They preceded Grace out of the plane, noticing the man from Passenger Assistance with the wheelchair by the door. They walked slowly up the gantry and along the terminal corridor towards the Immigration hall.

“I've been shitting myself since Paris. This is mad, we ought to have our heads examined; it'll never work.”

“Daddy's an arse sometimes. There has to be a better way,” the girl said, with some feeling.

Katie's high-heeled boots made a clacking sound on the lino floor, and as Grace was pushed behind them, the older woman admired the girl's trim figure and fine legs. Oh, to be that young and attractive again, she thought, wistfully.

They reached the Immigration Hall and lined up with the other EU Nationals. As it was a Paris flight, most were in this line, with a smattering of other, Non-EU Nationals in the other lines. They waited patiently. Two Immigration officers were on the two sides of the channel, and as Katie and Peter approached with their British passports open, the officers hardly glanced at them. Katie was through first, joined shortly after by Peter.

Peter simply nodded, smiling. They both relaxed visibly as they joined the other passengers in the baggage hall. They last saw Grace as they were getting onto the Hilton Hotel shuttle bus. She was being helped into the front seat of a big grey Mercedes.

The Hilton is situated on the south side of the Airport, adjacent to Terminal Four. It is a large V shaped modern structure, with the rooms on the arms of the V and a vast glass wall closing the gap. A pool is at ground level on the inner side of the glass, with a pond with fountain on the outside of the glass giving the impression of one piece of water.

A stream of water trickled through the dining areas that were housed between the arms, creating a novel and pleasant atmosphere.

On checking in, they found their rooms reserved, and were given card keys for the doors.

“Enjoy your stay,” the disinterested young receptionist said, as she was already looking at the next guest.

“I don't want to sleep yet, it's only nine o'clock. A shower sounds good, but perhaps a bite to eat first.”

They went to the restaurant and ordered an expensive meal that was adequate, but hardly good value. However, they didn't care, as the Gold MasterCard their father had given them seemed to work without causing security alerts. They sat, sipping their glasses of a Cote du Rhone.

Peter looked tired, and Katie knew what pressure he was under. As the elder sibling, he felt responsible.

“He's been saying that for years. I'm tired, really tired. I just want to get back to normal.”

They shared the same weary smile, but were distracted by a couple arguing at the next table.

“You bastard, you utter bastard!” the girl said, and then bowed her head, obviously crying.

Katie glanced at her brother, and they watched as the tall, beefy looking man stood, grabbing the girl's arm, pulled her off towards the lift.

She was a petite, pretty, dark haired girl, a shade over five foot two, looking very young, not much out of her teens. She was dressed in jeans and a pale pink top. Her long dark hair framed her pale, heart-shaped face, and her big brown eyes were somewhat swollen and red due to the tears.

“I know that look, you can never resist poking your nose in business where a pretty girl is involved.”

“I hate to see bullies take advantage of us weak and helpless females,” she said

“Hmm, yeah right!” replied her brother, but saw, with some alarm, that Katie was already heading for the lift.

They shared the lift with the couple. The girl, silently sobbing, her head still bowed, while the man held her arm just above the elbow. His expression was one of arrogant complacency, and Peter noted the two white spots on his sister's cheeks. Katie was angry, and he dreaded to think what was going to happen next.

Katie looked as if she was about to hit the man. Peter almost reached out to restrain her, but as she drew back slightly against the door, he relaxed.

The lift stopped and the door opened. Katie deliberately brushed against the man as he passed her. Then they were gone and the door closed again.

“Katie, you'll screw up everything. What did you want to go and do that for?”

“Katie said nothing, simply removing something from her bag and placing it in the wallet.

“Katie, we can't afford to get involved, you know that. There's too much at stake.”

“What's at stake? He hasn't told us anything, not a fucking sausage. He commands this and that, and we leap about like trained poodles, but why, dear brother, why? For once in my life I'm doing something I want to do, and screw him.”