Secret Shepherd Read online

  It would be the middle of the night in Colorado. He wanted to call his friend Ben to warn him. He’d call when it was morning there.

  Paul dreaded the thought of telling Anne about the conversation. But if he didn’t, he’d be keeping two things from her... both breaching their solemn trust with each other.

  He sighed.

  Anne has enough on her mind with the baby due in about a month and those episodes of premature labor she’s dealing with, he thought. She’s doesn’t need more stress right now. Their solemn vow of honesty still weighed heavily on his soul.

  Chapter Eight

  Earnscliffe

  “You know Anne,” Paul said. “Ever since we volunteered at St. Mungo’s I’ve been thinking about what we discussed... that we have an obligation to help other people.”

  “Me too, my love,” Anne said. “I have an idea.”

  “I’m all ears,” Paul said, smiling.

  “It was obvious to me,” Anne said. “That most of those folks at the dinner really, really hated having to accept handouts. They and others deserve better. Paul, we have an opportunity to do something. Maybe not much, but at least something.”

  “Go on,” Paul said.

  “I’m convinced most people would jump at a chance to improve their lives, to get out of poverty,” Anne said. “My guess is that applies as well to people all around the world... in America, Asia, South America, Africa, the Middle East, Asia, you name it.”

  “Where are we heading with this?” Paul asked, chuckling.

  Anne allowed a thoughtful grin.

  “We talked about this Paul,” she began. “What if we found projects here and in different parts of the world... projects that will help people to improve their own lives... projects that just need a financial kick start at the right time? Think of all the hope we could bring to people. And what’s more, maybe some of the things that we do will even encourage others to do the same.”

  “I like that,” Paul said. “We’re small time compared with the foundation Bill Gates started, and the Aga Khan’s foundation. But maybe you’re right... maybe we can encourage others with more modest means like us to do the same. Besides,” he added. “All that money just dropped in my lap... our laps. As you know, my dad would have become the next earl if he and Mom hadn’t died in that plane crash at the ranch. They would have inherited all that money and property. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have them back. I wish you could have met them. They’d have loved you!”

  Anne smiled fondly at him.

  “What if we set up a foundation to finance those projects, using the cash and securities that my uncle left?” he asked. “We can keep the securities and properties he left us. The income from them alone is far more than we’ll ever need to live on.”

  “You’re really the one to make that call, my love,” Anne said.

  “Let’s do it,” he replied.

  “Okay… I’ve an idea for a name,” Anne said. “What do you think of Secret Shepherd?”

  “Brilliant!” Paul replied. “Brilliant! Done.”

  Chapter Nine

  Westland Place

  “Witherspoon here,” the burly solicitor’s voice barked out from his direct line.

  Paul chuckled.

  “Paul Winston, Malcolm,” Paul said.

  “Yes Milord. How may I be of service, sir?”

  “I wish to discuss two matters with you,” Paul replied. “One potentially is a rather unusual assignment, in the event I can interest you. As for the other, I’m in need of your counsel on a personal matter. When might we meet?”

  “At your convenience, Milord,” Malcolm replied with ill-concealed curiosity in his voice.

  “See you in an hour, then,” Paul replied.

  ***

  Malcolm’s Office

  “Malcolm, I’m about to propose something and I want you to hear me out before you venture an opinion,” Paul said. “Agreed?”

  He knew it would be a challenge for his ebullient lawyer to remain silent during what he was about to say and the offer he was about to make.

  “Of course, Milord,” Malcolm replied, his instinctive curiosity having driven his bushy right eyebrow skyward.

  Paul began. “You know that Anne and I have at our disposal a huge amount of cash and liquid equities.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Anne and I feel we’ve been insanely fortunate in many ways, personally and financially. We both want to use that cash we didn’t earn, to help other people... to help individuals and organizations that deserve a leg up in the world.”

  “That’s very noble of you, Milord,” Malcolm said. He chuckled: “No pun intended... well, all right, sir, pun intended. Seriously, Milord, what do you have in mind?”

  Paul smiled patiently. It amused him when Malcolm’s well-concealed sense of humor occasionally breached his professional veneer.

  “For years, I’ve admired Andrew Carnegie. He’s that Scottish-born American industrialist who argued that people with great wealth have an obligation to use their assets to help others.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of him, Milord,” Malcolm said.

  Paul continued, “He once said that his greatest achievement in life was giving away almost all of his wealth. Anne and I propose to do something like that.”

  “I see, Milord,” Malcolm said, raising his right eyebrow again. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “I want you to set up a foundation for us. We plan to do some good in this greed-obsessed world of ours... to provide some resources in at least a few places where it’s needed and deserved. Above all, Malcolm, the source of the money for these projects must be kept absolutely secret. Anne and I want no credit... and definitely no publicity. You up for this?”

  “Certainly, Milord,” Malcolm replied. “Where do you propose to find your… ah… clients?”

  “The first one is Ahmed Mousavi,” Paul replied.

  “I see, Milord,” Malcolm said slowly, his bushy graying eyebrows now almost pursed together. “Very well. As you wish.”

  “Other clients, as you call them, will come along, without a doubt,” Paul said. “As we both know, the needs around the world are endless. Frankly, it’ll come down to exercising restraint.”

  “I expect you’re right, Milord,” Malcolm said.

  “Anne and I have decided to fund this new Foundation with all of the cash and securities that I inherited from my uncle and my parents. I believe it totals a bit over £300,000,000, which I think right now comes out to about $385,000,000 US, depending on the exchange rates any given day. What do you think, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm whistled softly.

  “Of course, Milord,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “But good God, sir, are you quite sure? That represents most of the liquidity you inherited!”

  “Yes it does,” Paul said. “But those funds are surplus to our needs. We have more income from other sources than we could possibly require. We’ll have the foundation put most of those monies into sound investments and use the additional income to further enhance its work. You’ve already helped us set up trust funds for our children in our wills, and provide for my sisters and their families, for Anne’s parents and for our key staff. Am I missing anyone, Malcolm?”

  “I don’t think so, Milord.” Malcolm looked down at his hands.

  “Look, Malcolm,” Paul said. “We’ll not be homeless and we’ll not go hungry.”

  “Right you are,” Malcolm said, the corners of his mouth trying to hide a hint of a grin at Paul’s humor. “If this is what you and Lady Anne wish, then I’ll have my executive assistant get right on it today.”

  “Another word of caution, Malcolm,” Paul said.

  “Milord?”

  “As I said, the number of people who know about this must be kept to an absolute minimum. You okay with that?”

  “Of course, Milord,” Malcolm replied. “But with your approval, I’d like my paralegal, Deon Lefhoko, to handle the routine legal and administrative
work. That would free me to assist you on the ‘pointy-end’ of things.”

  As Paul outlined his plans, he observed an excitement in Malcolm’s eyes he’d not seen before. It encouraged him to take the next step. He and Anne had agreed to offer Malcolm an attractive retainer to devote the majority of his time to the work of the Secret Shepherd Foundation.

  Paul was delighted when Malcolm jumped at the chance.

  “I must confess, I’ve been restless,” Malcolm said. “My practice is doing extremely well and I’ve excellent people running it. I’ve been looking to do something else, something both satisfying and challenging. By Jove, I think this is it! Thank you very much, Milord! I’m honored.”

  “I couldn’t be more delighted,” Paul replied. Having not met Deon Lefhoko, he asked, “I wasn’t aware you had a paralegal.”

  “Hired him just last month,” Malcolm replied. “Promising young man from South Africa; recommended by a colleague. Deon’s saving money... he’s been accepted to read law at Cambridge, if he can save enough money.”

  “Good for him!” Paul said.

  “You should meet him,” Malcolm said. “We should also brief my new executive assistant, Simone Hassam.”

  “New?” Paul said. “Where’s Nellie Harrison?”

  “Mrs. Harrison decided to retire when her husband retired,” Malcolm said. “I miss her but she located Ms. Hassam for me. Seems extremely competent. Comes highly recommended.”

  Malcolm pushed a button on his phone. “Simone, would you and Deon please join us for a few minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” came an authoritative feminine reply.

  The tall young black man who walked through the door was about the same age as Ahmed. An attractive 30s-something woman followed him.

  Malcolm looked at one and then the other and said:

  “Lord Winston and I wish to brief both of you on a project you’re going to be involved with. Before we start, I must caution you this is to be handled in the strictest confidence.”

  Lefhoko and Hassam nodded, and sat at the meeting table with Paul and Malcolm.

  Paul briefed them on plans for the Secret Shepherd Foundation, and what he and Anne planned to do. He also emphasized the need for secrecy.

  “No one must ever know where the funds came from. If that information were to get out, it could be traced back to us. I can’t risk exposing my family to the media frenzy and the flood of demands for handouts it would create. We might even have to shut down.”

  “I fully understand, sir,” Deon said. “Thank you for your trust. And thank you also for involving me in this wonderful project! I might have a few suggestions for you.”

  “Excellent!” Paul replied, encouraged by Deon’s initiative. “Your suggestions will be welcome.”

  “I am deeply honored, too, Milord,” Simone added. “It will be my pleasure to assist in any way that I can.”

  “One other thing,” Paul said. “My wife, Anne, and I are co-directors of the Foundation. All of this was her idea and she will be in charge of the day-to-day operations. You will have more contact with her than with me.”

  Malcolm thanked Deon and Simone. The four stood. Paul shook their hands.

  “Welcome aboard,” Paul said.

  “Thank you again, Lord Winston, for your trust,” Deon replied. Simone smiled and nodded.

  After they left, Paul said, “I assume you checked Deon’s history and bona fides, as well as Ms. Hassam’s?”

  “Oh, yes, Milord,” Malcolm replied. “The colleague who recommended Lefhoko is a fellow solicitor at another firm. I’ve known him since law school. He arranged for a thorough background check. Not even a parking ticket.

  “And as I mentioned, Mrs. Harrison sourced Ms. Hassam before she retired. She’s always had impeccable judgment.”

  Paul nodded.

  “I gather you expect the foundation’s work will be global, Milord?” Malcolm said.

  “Oh yes,” Paul said. “Our twin priorities are individuals and organizations wherever they are, with the potential to help themselves and to help others.

  “While Anne will manage the Foundation directly, I intend to be actively involved in identifying projects and checking them out wherever they may be.”

  “I’m sure you will have no shortage of opportunities, Milord,” Malcolm said.

  “Well then I guess we’d better get on with it.”

  “Right you are, My Lord!”

  “There’s something else, Malcolm.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “That personal matter I mentioned on the phone.”

  “Yes sir?

  “We’re bound by lawyer-client privilege, right?” Paul said.

  “Of course.”

  “Then I must tell you that Anne’s mother, Agnes Meriwether, is under surveillance by The Met and MI5. What’s more, authorities believe she may be having an affair with a top-level gangster.”

  “My word!” Malcolm said. “Is Lady Anne aware of this?”

  “No,” Paul replied. “And I’m constrained by national security law from telling her.”

  “Yes, I see,” Malcolm said.

  “It’s killing me, Malcolm,” Paul said. “I’m breaking a solemn vow we made when we married to be totally honest with each other regardless of the consequences, no exceptions. Is there any way around this?”

  “I’m afraid not, Milord,” Malcolm said. “As you know, I teach a course in law at Oxford. The curriculum includes national security law. It is very explicit on the consequences of breaching confidentiality. You could be jailed pending trial.”

  “Damn it!”

  “Indeed, Milord.”

  “One last thing, Malcolm.”

  “Yes, Milord?

  “Me.”

  “Milord?”

  “I want to ask a favor of you.”

  “Of course, Milord.”

  “Since we’re going to be working much closer from now on, would you please call me ‘Paul’ when we’re alone?”

  “With respect, Milord, no.”

  “Thought so.”

  Chapter Ten

  One Month Later

  Westland Place

  Paul was startled when Mrs. Shackleford burst into his office without knocking. It wasn’t like her.

  “We just got a call, Milord!” she said. The fear dominating her face was out of character. “There’s been a shooting in Hyde Park! Sir, the whole area is in an uproar. It would be best if you were to avoid that area when you go to your meeting.”

  “Dear God!” Paul said. “Were many hurt?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Just got a voice message on our security alert. No details.”

  “We’d best check the TV,” Paul said, using the North American abbreviation.

  The BBC channel showed a scene of chaos at historic Speakers Corner in Hyde Park, not far from the Marble Arch tube station.

  Paul was relieved that Anne and Doug were miles away in Kent County.

  Coverage showed the popular tourist site, a few blocks from his office, filled with milling crowds.

  Paul watched TV crews jockey for position. News reporters looked as confused as everyone else. Their cameras scanned the scene aimlessly, searching for a focal point.

  “What a mess!” Paul said, as he observed the utter devastation in horror.

  His cell phone rang.

  “Paul Winston,” he answered.

  Mrs. Shackleford wanted him to answer the phone with ‘Lord Winston’ or ‘The Earl of Prescott’. He thought both too pompous.

  The caller hung up.

  “Mrs. Shackleford,” he said. “Would you see if it’s possible to track down the location where this last call came from?”

  He handed her his cell phone.

  “Right away, Milord,” she said. Mrs. Shackleford barely took her bright eyes from the telly in the outer office, but Paul knew he’d have an answer as quickly as anyone could. In their few years together, he had developed a deep respect for her
multitude of skills and contacts.

  He’d just returned to his desk when Mrs. Shackleford appeared again at the door to his office.

  “You have a call on line one, Milord,” Mrs. Shackleford said with a strained smile. “It’s the ‘Veep’.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Shackleford,” Paul said, amused. “Please put him through.”

  “Hi Richard,” Paul said. “Yes, I heard about the shooting. I’m watching the news on the BBC right now. Any idea what it’s all about?”

  “No one’s claimed responsibility,” Richard replied. “The Met’s unsure whether it’s an isolated incident or the work of that drug gang or perhaps a terrorist sleeper cell we’ve been looking for.”

  “Your surveillance people didn’t pick up any warnings beforehand?” Paul asked.

  “Some rumblings that may or may not be connected,” said the retired corporate vice president (hence the nickname, “Veep”). “And that’s the problem, Paul. Our sources flagged the alert soon enough, but it didn’t get to our people or to Scotland Yard in time. There was a delay... an unexplained breakdown in communication. That mole might have something to do with that. Thought you should know.”

  “Yes, thanks Richard,” Paul said.

  “About that meeting we have scheduled in Ken’s office this afternoon?” Richard said. “I just got a call from him. He’d like us to drop over right away.”

  “Of course,” Paul said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  He was preparing to leave when his cell phone rang on Mrs. Shackleford’s desk.

  “Let it go to voicemail,” he called to her. “I’m heading to a meeting. I’ll check it on my way.”

  On the sidewalk, he dialed his voicemail. He heard a strange message,

  “Listen Closely... Info on shooting Hyde... at Serpentine four benches... trees ... check middle.”

  Paul translated the voice-altered message: ‘Information about the shooting in Hyde Park will be found at Serpentine Gallery. Find four benches near trees. Check the middle benches.’

  He noted the sender’s number but assumed the phone was either stolen or would be discarded immediately.