Anything Considered (13 page)

Bennett wiped crumbs from the corner of his mouth and leaned forward to listen.

“You know New York?” He nodded. “Well, I come from Riverside Drive. Papa was a professor at Columbia,
my mother worried about life and made chicken soup, I grew up a nice Jewish girl. I guess they hoped I’d fall for a dentist and settle down, but I wanted to travel. So I dropped out of college in my freshman year and went to Paris. Lucked into a modeling job my first week there, started wearing nothing but black and smoking Gitanes, all the usual things. And then I met this guy. He was French, and he was a photographer, which is about as bad a combination as you can get. An ego the size of a house.” She stirred her coffee and took a sip.

“On top of that, he had a coke habit. Like a vacuum cleaner. In the end, most of what we both made was going up his nose, and I was finding out that a model is a piece of meat. You leave your brain at home, and nobody notices, as long as you’re smart enough to change your clothes fast. Well, one way and another, it was definitely time to leave Paris. Then I thought, Number one, I’m Jewish, and Number two, I’m on the right side of the Atlantic. I should see Israel, send Papa a postcard from Eilat, visit my roots. We’re big on roots in the States. And that’s how I ended up in the army.”

Bennett looked puzzled. “You were drafted?”

“Believe it or not, I enlisted. I was twenty years old, and I’d never been anywhere like Israel. There was a fantastic spirit in those days—us against the rest: Saddam, Arab hard-liners—and I felt I should be part of it. What was I going back to in New York? College seemed kind of tame. So I joined up, and I did OK. I made sergeant. Sergeant Hersh.”

Bennett found it difficult to imagine the slouching, graceful figure opposite him marching up and down in the drab camouflage of an Israeli uniform. “What was it like?”

“It was exciting at first—border patrols, antiterrorist stuff. Then it became routine. I guess everything does, even if it’s dangerous. After a while, it was pretty much like police work. But I learned a lot.” She smiled. “I bet I’m the only woman in Nice who can drive a tank.”

Bennett looked around at the other tables, where an assortment of carefully groomed ladies had gathered for coffee before launching an assault on the shops. “Not a tank driver to be seen,” he said. “That’s the Saint Laurent cavalry, armed to the teeth with credit cards. Anyway, go on. You decided not to be Israel’s first female general.”

Anna shook her head. “Not me. Three years was enough. The last few months, things got ugly in the occupied territories, and I couldn’t take it. I used to wake up wondering how many more people I was going to see slugged or shot or blown up. And I’m an American. It wasn’t even my country.” She shrugged. “So I didn’t reenlist. I had some money saved, and I thought I’d go home the slow way, through Europe.” She lifted her coffee cup and looked at Bennett without seeing him, her eyes back in the past.

He waited in silence until she was ready to go on.

She focused again. “I wanted to see Venice. My parents went there on their honeymoon, and they were always talking about going back. I had this idea to get them to
come out and meet me. And that’s when I met Poe. It was a pickup, at one of those cafés in Saint Mark’s Square.”

“Don’t tell me. He offered you a ride in his gondola.”

“Almost that bad. Well, you’ve met him. He’s quite an operator, and after being with guys whose idea of a date is a beer and a wrestling match, he was different. So was his idea of a date. The best hotels, private plane, clothes, flowers, the whole bit. I was completely snowed. I guess I wasn’t as sophisticated as I thought.” She made a face and shrugged.

Bennett tried to imagine the contrast between army life and the luxurious cocoon offered by Poe. “It made a change from driving tanks, didn’t it? And he’s an attractive man, if you happen to like rich old Etonians.”

Anna went on without commenting. “He had an apartment in Geneva at the time, and we lived there—I lived there, anyway. He was always off somewhere, doing his deals.”

“What kind of deals?”

“Currency, real estate—those were the ones he talked about. There were some he didn’t. Arms, maybe. For a straight businessman, he had a lot of friends who were generals. But he mostly kept me out of all that. I spent my time in Geneva learning French and waiting for him to come back. And then, after a couple of years, one day he didn’t come back. Sent one of his guys with a bunch of roses and a note saying it was all over.”

“Any reason?”

“Oh, it all came out later—he has this thing about
young girls. You get to be twenty-five, twenty-six, and you’re over the hill. He trades you in. I hear he’s with some French chick now. Did you get to meet her?”

Bennett nodded. “Chou-Chou. Definitely not a tank driver. You must have been rather upset.”

“Jesus, you Brits.” She mimicked him. “Rather upset? I wanted to strangle the son of a bitch. Sending a
note
, for Christ’s sake. I felt like an expired magazine subscription.”

“I don’t understand,” Bennett said. “If you feel like that, why are you working for him?”

She sighed, and hid her eyes with sunglasses. “Fifty thousand dollars, that’s why. My papa died last year, and my mother’s sick. I’ve been doing some modeling, and I have a job at a gallery in SoHo, but the doctors are getting through it faster than I can make it. So Poe calls out of the blue last week, offers me fifty in cash for a few days’ work. He said my army training might come in handy, whatever that means. Anyway, I need the money, so here I am. This is not a labor of love, believe me. It’s business.” She drank the last of her coffee and stood up. “Let’s get to it.”

Bennett scrambled to his feet. “Yes, Sarge, right away. I’ll go and commandeer transport. Shall we synchronize watches?”

Anna slipped into her jacket. “God,” she said, “Brits. Are you born with that sense of humor, or is it something you catch?”

They drove back to Monaco, Anna dozing and Bennett’s mood much improved. A pretty face never failed to cheer him up, and if Poe was paying this girl so well to
be his partner, she must have abilities that were going to be useful. She didn’t seem too fond of Englishmen, admittedly, but after being ditched like that, it was hardly surprising. He took a sharp right-hand bend on the Corniche, Anna’s sleepy head slipped sideways to rest on his shoulder, and he spent the remainder of the drive in a pleasant daydream: They wouldn’t stop in Monaco; they’d go on to Italy, find a small hotel on the coast, and he’d change her mind about Englishmen. Yes, he thought, and then they’d come downstairs one morning and find bloody Shimo chopping the place to bits with his bare hands.

Anna woke as the car pulled up at the entry gate of the garage, she jerked away from his shoulder, rubbing her eyes.

“Home sweet home,” said Bennett. “But I expect you know it, don’t you?”

“Poe talked about it, but I’ve never been here.”

Bennett pressed the elevator button for the top floor. “It’s about as cozy as a hotel lobby, but the terrace makes up for it. And it’s very handy for the casino, if you should feel like a flutter.”

“You go flutter. I’ll take a shower.”

Bennett looked at his watch. “Hang on a minute. We’d better tell Poe you’ve arrived. I think he wants to talk to you.”

Anna rolled her eyes upward. “I can hardly wait.”

Poe was still in his brisk mood of the day before, the director of operations briefing his man in the field. He
gave Bennett the number of Tuzzi’s assistant in Cannes, who would arrange transport out to the yacht, and spent several minutes fussing over details before asking to speak to Anna. She took the phone Bennett passed her as though it were contaminated.

She spoke in frigid monosyllables, clearly irritated at what Poe was saying. Eventually, she shrugged. “OK,” she said. “It’s your money.” Scowling at the phone as she put it down, she glared at Bennett. “Jesus.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m supposed to be your executive secretary. Little Miss Hersh. What a joke.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bennett said. “Sounds like rather a good idea to me. How’s your shorthand?”

“Not as good as my unarmed combat, so save the sense of humor for someone else, OK?” She stood up and went across to get her bag. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Bennett pointed her downstairs, then looked over the notes he’d made while speaking to Poe and called the number in Cannes. The girl who answered greeted him like a favored client. She hoped his flight from Zurich had been pleasant, offered suggestions about where he might like to dine that night, and asked him to be at Port Canto, the Cannes harbor, the following evening at five. A boat would take him out to the
Ragazza di Napoli
. Mr. Tuzzi was planning a gala dinner on board, which Mr. Bennett and his assistant (a word she spoke with the faintest hint of a raised eyebrow) would undoubtedly find memorable and most enjoyable. After assuring him of her personal attention
at all times should he need it, she wished Bennett
bon voyage
.

There. It was done. He was committed. He had his fake case, his fake business cards, and his reluctant executive secretary. Detailed plans were impossible until they’d had a chance to find their way around the yacht and assess the security arrangements. There was nothing to do but wait.

“Bennett? Is there a beer in this place?”

Anna had come upstairs, barefoot and wet-haired from the shower, dressed in fresh jeans and T-shirt, and Bennett was reminded of her lack of luggage. An admirable way to travel, he’d thought at the time, but one small bag doesn’t hold a wardrobe. He went through to the kitchen and brought back two bottles of Kronenbourg. “Now, Anna, you mustn’t take this personally, but do you think you’ve brought enough clothes?”

She drank straight from the bottle, a good long pull, before answering. “Sure.”

“Well, what I really mean is, have you brought anything except jeans and T-shirts? Frocks? Skirts? Anything like that?”

“Frocks? You mean dresses?” She shook her head. “I left them in New York, along with the ball gowns and the cocktail hats and the floor-length chinchilla. You want a fashion show, I’ll wear a different T-shirt tomorrow.”

She wasn’t making it easy for him. Deliberately, he felt sure. “The thing is,” said Bennett, “I’m supposed to be an
investment counselor, and you’re supposed to be my … well, my secretary.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Don’t be so touchy. This is business, remember? Just think for a moment. Would a high-powered investment counselor from Zurich—which is hardly known as the leisure-wear capital of Europe—have a secretary in jeans and a T-shirt? It’s not likely, is it?”

Anna chewed her bottom lip and sighed. “No,” she said, “I guess not.”

“So we’ll have to get you kitted out. Regulation dress, uniform, whatever you want to call it. It means going back to Nice, but I know just the place.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Really? So you’ve given up Savile Row?”

“Jesus,” said Bennett. “Yanks.”

——

Late afternoon found them in the boutique where Susie—it seemed so long ago now—had stretched her credit card to shreds. The salesgirl had clearly not forgotten Bennett, and while Anna was in the changing room, she sidled up and gave him a look like a poke in the ribs.
“Félicitations, monsieur. Toujours les jolies nanas, eh?”

“A business colleague.” He cleared his throat. “We’re working together.” The girl smiled, and went to the racks to make sure she hadn’t overlooked anything suitably expensive.

Anna, emerging in a tailored silk suit, was a revelation. She moved differently wearing what Bennett thought of as real clothes, and he saw the model reappear as she turned and posed—hips thrust out, one knee pushed forward—and cocked her head to examine herself critically in the full-length mirror, oblivious to the twitters of approval from the salesgirl. “Not a bad fit,” she said to Bennett. “Is the skirt long enough for Zurich, or do they go for ankle length over there?”

Bennett took his time studying her legs. What a waste it was for the girl to wear jeans. “Just above the knee,” he said. “Smart, but very businesslike. In fact, a credit to the secretarial profession. Particularly the bare feet. But you need a couple of skirts and things. And for shoes, we can go to Clergerie. It’s just down the street.”

Anna looked over her shoulder on her way back to the changing cubicle. “How come you know all these places?”

“Remember I told you about Susie? She shops for England.”

Two hours and half a dozen stops later, Bennett pronounced himself satisfied that Anna was properly equipped. For him, it had been an unexpected pleasure to see the transformation from tough girl to elegant woman. Even for Anna, who declared loudly and often that she hated shopping, it had been good to feel a man’s obvious interest and—despite Bennett’s facetious way of expressing it—admiration. Unlike Poe, whose flattery had always been delivered word perfect, as though he had memorized lines from the roué’s phrase book, Bennett’s compliments
had an unrehearsed, engaging warmth about them, as there was about him generally. At least, whenever he allowed it to show through.

They sat in the clot of early evening traffic leaving Nice, the sea air lightly tainted with the scent of diesel, the hysterical clatter of passing motor scooters making conversation almost impossible in the open-top car. Bennett longed for calm, a cold glass of wine, and, he realized, something to eat. With a decisive stamp on the accelerator, he cut sharply in front of a truck heading back to Italy, waved an airy acknowledgment of the furious driver’s klaxon blast, and turned off toward the sea and Villefranche. The noise level subsided immediately.

“Thought you might be peckish, as we missed out on lunch,” he said to Anna, who had been within inches of the truck’s snout. “Do you fancy a bit of fish? Hungry work, shopping.”

“Just being alive is fine,” she said.

“Sorry about that, but it was a sudden inspiration. There are some nice little places on the port, and you can’t ask an army to march on an empty stomach, or so Wellington used to say.”

“Napoleon. It was Napoleon who said that.”