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Who Are You?: A life in danger. A race against time.
BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
Who Are You?
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2016
Cover design by Heike Schüssler © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Elisabeth Ansley / Arcangel Images; Shutterstock.com (sky).
Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780007503421
Version: 2017-10-25
Dedication
Man is not what he thinks he is,
he is what he hides.
André Malraux
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
About the Publisher
ONE
They were running late, as usual.
Before Jack, Margo’s life had been a model of organization. Reports were in before they were due, Christmas shopping finished by November. She was in her chair five minutes early for a meeting, ten minutes if the meeting was with the Senator.
But then, before Jack, she wasn’t really living.
She could have resisted this morning when he lured her back into that tangle of warmth and love. But what woman in her right mind would turn down an extra half hour in Jack McCarthy’s arms just to arrive at the airport with time to spare?
Certainly not Margo.
It was one of those typical Chicago winter days. The predominant colour was grey. The leaden sky was grey, the buildings were grey, spattered by salt and sand from the roads. Even the old snow was grey. An icy wind was blowing in off the lake and no amount of layering could keep the chill from biting into the bones.
But to Margo, snuggled next to Jack in the taxi, the world seemed painted in primary colours. She was oblivious to cold. She knew that in six hours she would be lying in the sun on the coast of Mexico celebrating what had been the happiest year of her life. If they didn’t miss the plane.
The taxi skidded to a stop at the terminal. Jack stuffed a handful of bills into the driver’s hand and they were out of the taxi instantly. They breezed through security and raced down one of the endless concourses for which O’Hare Airport was famous, suitcases careening behind them on tiny wheels.
Jack ran effortlessly, his well-travelled trench coat billowing behind him like a cape. Margo, on the other hand, was panting like a golden retriever.
‘So much for all that fitness training I’ve been doing,’ she gasped. ‘Who knew thirty would turn out to be the new ninety?’
‘Thirty never looked better,’ Jack answered. ‘But jogging on a treadmill is not the same as running in a heavy coat dragging an over-packed suitcase.’
He grabbed Margo’s bag and took charge of it without missing a stride.
‘Nothing in there but a few bikinis,’ Margo wheezed.
Jack winked at her. ‘Like I said … over-packed.’
Margo, doubling her effort to keep up, managed to sneak a peek at her husband as he ran ahead of her. As usual, a small thrill wormed its way straight to her core.
He had sandy hair that invariably looked as if he had just crawled out of bed, which in this case he had. His square jaw was interrupted by a cleft in his chin. He had a Roman nose that had been broken more than once and a thin white scar snaked its way from his ear to his throat. Battle scars from some undisclosed conflict, she guessed.
Rather than marring his looks, these imperfections somehow managed to make him more attractive. At thirty-six, he had a body that was steel-strong and his deep blue eyes held many secrets. Not from Margo. They had no secrets from each other.
The loudspeaker crackled. ‘Flight 363, non-stop to Puerto Vallarta, is now boarding at gate 57.’
‘That’s us,’ Margo said.
‘We have plenty of time.’ Jack slowed to a walk; they were almost at the boarding area.
Margo made a face at him. ‘If I recall, you are notorious for missing planes, trains and, most especially, ships.’
‘I may bend the rules a little now and then.’ Jack put the bags down and took her in his arms. ‘But you’ve never met a rule you didn’t feel like breaking.’
She laughed. ‘I break rules that are arbitrary. Being on time is common courtesy.’
He kissed her and they got lost in each other’s eyes.
‘Behave yourself,’ Margo said huskily. ‘We’ll miss the flight.’
‘If it’s anything like our first honeymoon, there’s no way I’m missing our second,’ Jack said, reluctantly letting her go.
Margo pulled off her ankle-length coat and shook her mane of honey-blonde hair free of her cashmere headband. She was willowy and tall, almost as tall as Jack. Her eyes were hazel with green flecks and she had an extraordinary smile that Jack insisted could halt traffic.
‘I won’t be needing these where we’re going,’ she grinned, putting her winter coat and scarf over her arm and taking her bag from Jack.
She was almost to the gate when she realized Jack was not behind her. He was still standing where she had left him, staring at his mobile phone.
She hurried back. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Fine. Everything’s fine. I was just shutting my phone off and ordering it not to ring for two weeks,’ he said lightly.
‘I’ll be happy to throw it in the ocean for you as we fly over,’ she replied, reaching for the phone.
Jack pulled her boarding pass from the pocket of his jacket. ‘You go ahead and get on the plane. I just want to grab a paper.’
‘I’m not letting you out of my sight.’
‘Have a little faith,’ he grinned, pressing the boarding pass into her hand. ‘There’s an article I need to read for work and there may not be internet on the plane.’
‘Work! There will be no working on this trip.’
Jack cupped her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. It was a look that held such love Margo felt unexpected tears welling.
‘This one last thing,’ Jack said. ‘Then I’m done with work. Finished. That’s a promise.’
He kissed her lightly, then took off at a trot in the direction of the newspaper stand, pulling his suitcase behind him. He waved without looking back and disappeared around a corner.
‘Do not miss this plane,’ she called to the empty corridor. ‘That’s an order!’
Margo felt a little shiver of something. Anxiety? Fear? She didn’t know. She shook it off and boarded the plane. Later, when it all had gone wrong, she would remember that ominous feeling.
TWO
Inside the 757 Margo handed the flight attendant her coat and scarf and took her seat by the window in the last row of the first-class cabin.
‘Can I get you something before we take off, Mrs McCarthy?’
‘Two glasses of champagne, please,’ Margo answered. ‘My husband will be here any moment.’
‘He’d better hurry. They’ll be closing the doors soon,’ the young woman explained as she placed the champagne on the table between the seats.
‘Don’t worry,’ Margo smiled. ‘He’ll show up just as the jet bridge is pulling away. He likes to live dangerously.’
Margo sipped her champagne mechanically, never taking her eyes off the door. Five minutes passed. Then, ten. He should be here by now. That feeling she’d had as she watched Jack walk away came back.
The purser was on the intercom now giving the usual prior-to-takeoff instructions. Margo dialled Jack’s mobile but the call did not go through.
The crew began making their final pass down the cabin, picking up glasses. Margo was on her feet. ‘My husband’s not here yet. You have to hold the plane.’
‘I’ll have the purser check with the ground crew,’ the flight attendant said. She gently urged Margo back into her seat. ‘Your husband probably thought you would wait for him out in the terminal.’
‘No, he didn’t think that! I’m getting off. Something’s wrong,’ Margo exclaimed.
She stood up again, scrambling to pull her bag out of the overhead locker as the purser approached, smiling.
‘Trench coat?’ he asked.
Margo was faint with relief. ‘Ancient trench coat. He never goes anywhere without it.’
‘He’s on the way down the jet way.’
Margo dropped into her seat and fastened the seatbelt. From where she was sitting all she could see of Jack was his rumpled trench coat as he bounded through the door. The crew hustled him into a seat in the bulkhead just as the door slid closed and the big Airbus pushed back from the gate.
‘We’ll move him back here once we’re airborne,’ the flight attendant said.
‘That’ll give me time to think up a suitable punishment for him.’ Margo smiled, shaky with relief.
Within minutes the plane was rumbling down the runway and lifting up into the lead-coloured Chicago sky. The moment the plane reached its cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign was turned off, Margo got out of her seat and headed toward the front of the plane.
She looked down at Jack, who had the nerve to be cocooned in the airline quilt, sleeping. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the head. ‘Were you trying to give me a heart attack?’ she whispered.
The man’s head emerged from the blanket and Margo froze. This wasn’t Jack. It was a stranger.
Jack was not on the plane.
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