Author’s Introduction.
When considerably younger, I read and thoroughly enjoyed the many works of Georgette Heyer.  completely new and colourful world of Regency Romance opened up to me, and I found the whole range of books delightful in the extreme.
One book, The Masqueraders, was to become my favourite, dealing with issues with which I could readily identify. It had everything one could want in a book: -
Wonderful characters, beautiful women, handsome heroes, nasty villains, duels by moonlight, deception, love and romance, highwaymen, heroic deeds and horse-back rides across open countryside. Good triumphed over evil, and true love prevailed. 
It also had a hero who spent most of the book dressed as a beautiful woman, and a heroine who appeared as a man.
I have planned for a long time to modernise the story, using those wonderful characters that Georgette introduced to me then. Now I feel I am in a position to fulfil that ambition, and if this turns out half as good as the original, then I will be well pleased.
I make no apology for lifting the book from the eighteenth century and plonking it into the twenty-first. I am probably breaching all manner of copyright laws, but I state now that although the opening of the story is based on that great book, by the very nature of the world we find ourselves, my story will be different, save some of the names and the fact that it takes part in London. Anyone who has read the original work will be able to see where I am going to end up, but hopefully not the direction I intend to take to get there.
My thanks to those who helped me edit, but mainly my thanks to the late, great Georgette Heyer for being such an inspiration.
Tanya Allan

Modern Masquerade

by Tanya.J.Allan

 

 

Part One

A Damsel in Distress

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, TowerBridge, The Tower, HMS Belfast, and there’s a tall ship on the river, don’t they look small from up here?”

“Yes, don’t they?” the girl said, smiling patiently.

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.

“Do you fly often?” Grace asked.

“Mmm, quite a lot.”

“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.

“We?”

“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.

“Is your father with you?”

“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.”

“Gosh, what a lot of travelling. But what about your poor mother?”

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

“But, you went to school here?”

“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.”

“You are British, though, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, but this is my first time here.”

“Oh, you poor dear.”

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.

“Have you a boyfriend?”

This time the girl chuckled.

“No, not at the moment.  I’m Katie, Katie Marriott.”

As the plane began to come in to land, Grace and Katie shook hands.

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

Katie smiled and glanced at her brother, who opened one eye and smiled at her.

“You are so patient,” he said, quietly.

She simply stuck her tongue out at him.

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

“Yes, but I’ll be glad when this is all over.”

“You and me, both!  But, he says we have to do it this way.”

“I know, but he doesn’t have to do it, does he?”

Peter smiled, glancing up the aisle.

“The papers are okay, aren’t they?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow.

Peter shrugged.

“If they’re not, we’ll soon find out, the hard way.”

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.

Grace looked so please as she unstuck her face from the window.

“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.”

“I live in Woking.  That’s in Surrey.”

“Oh, so not far.”

“No, my son will be waiting for me. He’s a chartered accountant!”

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.”

Katie smiled, saying nothing.

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.

“This is it, girl,” Peter said softly.

“Mmm, nervous?”

“Of course, aren’t you?”

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

“It has to work. Daddy’s plans depend on it.”

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

“If there is he’d have done it.”

“Yeah,” she said, entirely unconvinced.

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.

She let out a long breath, and then they moved off towards Baggage Reclaim.

“Shit, that was easy,” she said.

“They didn’t even look at the bloody things.”

“Just as well, really, isn’t it?”

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.

“She’s a sweet old thing,” Katie said.

“You in a few years?” her brother said, with his rich chuckle.

“Yeah, right!” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

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.

“What do you want to do first, food, shower or sleep?” Peter asked.

“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.

“Not much longer,” she said.

He laughed, shortly and with little humour.

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

“What’s normal?  I don’t think I know what I want anymore.”

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

“I won’t, and you can’t make me!” the girl said.

“You bloody well will!  You know what’ll happen if you don’t?”

“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.

Peter saw the expression on Katie’s face.

“No, Katie.  Not this time, please.”

Katie looked sharply at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

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

She smiled a wicked little smile.

“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.

“Shit!” he said, racing after her.

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 turned to the miserable girl.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

The girl looked up, surprise and hope flashed in her eyes.

“She’s fine, so fuck off, mind your own business,” the man said.

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.

“What are you trying to do?” Peter asked.

Katie smiled, holding up the man’s wallet.

“I’m not trying to do anything, I succeeded.”

“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.

She read some of the documents and plastic in the wallet.

“Howard Markham, and he comes from a place called Chigwell in Essex.”

“What are you doing?”

“Evening the odds.”

“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.”

“Remember Thailand, last year?”

“That was different,” Katie replied defensively.

“Was it?”

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

Peter looked at the wallet.

“Okay, you’ve started.  What’s the plan?” he asked.

Katie grinned and told him.

 

 

since 04/12/05