Anything Considered (15 page)

They took turns in the bedroom, changing and packing for the boat. Bennett’s mood was infectious, and Anna found, to her surprise, that she was dressing to please him, in a short, sleeveless shift of pale-beige linen and high heels, an extra dab of Coco at the base of her throat. She remembered a line from an old perfume advertisement:
Wear it where you’d like to be kissed
. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Did she want Bennett to kiss her? She’d think about it.

He was waiting for her upstairs, blazered and flanneled, an Old Etonian tie purloined from Poe’s closet at the collar of his best blue shirt. Once he’d done up his fly, Anna thought, you could take him anywhere. She nodded approvingly. “Not bad. You clean up pretty well.”

Bennett bowed. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a retired NCO.” He watched the interesting movements going on under her dress as she walked to the hall and bent to put down her bag. This would soon be over, he thought, and then he might be able to persuade her to stay on. What would she think of Saint-Martin? What would Georgette think of her? “Got everything?” he asked. “Don’t forget there’s supposed to be a smart dinner tonight on the boat. I hope you’ve brought your campaign medals.”

She opened the front door and looked back at him. “Zip up your fly. That’s an order.”

——

For as long as Bennett could remember, the Restaurant de Bacon on Cap d’Antibes had been something of a shrine for people who were more interested in the fish on their plates than in who might be sitting at the next table. Never breathlessly fashionable, and largely ignored by would-be celebrities, it was what the French would call
sérieux
—exquisite food, telepathic service, a long, shaded terrace overlooking the sea, and memorable bills. Bennett loved the light, the atmosphere of quiet, concentrated enjoyment, and, on this particular day, the thought that Poe’s watchdogs would be sitting somewhere not far away in a hot car, eating sandwiches and sweating.

He ordered two glasses of champagne, and proposed a toast. “To my favorite sergeant.”

Anna inclined her head. “How many others do you know?”

He pretended to think. “Not many. And they all have to shave. It was supposed to be a compliment.”

They looked at each other, a long, smiling silence, until their waiter arrived with a diplomatic cough and the menus. “Can I recommend something?” Bennett said. “They have bibs here—you know, for those of us who might be a little untidy. Be a shame to spoil that dress.”

“I’ll try not to drool, but OK. I’ll have a bib.”

“Sensible girl. Anything to go with it?”

The unhurried ceremony of the meal began with a white Bandol and wafer-thin ravioli, no bigger than postage stamps. Bennett found it hard to imagine his sleek, well-dressed companion stiffing a car thief. She looked as though she belonged in places like this. With someone like Poe. “Tell me,” he said, “what are you going to do when this is all over?”

Anna looked out at the sea and then at Bennett, the skin of his face dark against the white of his bib. “Back to New York, I guess. Pay off the doctors, see my mother, maybe tell her about this guy I met in France.”

“What would you say?”

Anna pretended to think. “Let’s see. Not a dentist. Not a lawyer. Not Jewish. Not employed.”

Bennett mopped his plate with a scrap of bread. “Oh. You mean quite a catch. Every girl’s dream.”

“What would you tell your mother?”

“Well,” said Bennett, “I’d have to find her first. She went AWOL when I was seven. I’m an unofficial orphan.” He told her about his roving parents, and she might have felt sorry for him if he had showed any trace of self-pity, and if she hadn’t been laughing. She’d forgotten how attractive a sense of humor was in a man, how easy it made him to be with.

Bennett paused, and they watched a display of dexterity that would have done credit to a surgeon as the waiter filleted their fish with nothing but a deft spoon and fork. For a while, they concentrated on their food, glancing at
each other occasionally, Bennett solicitous with the wine, Anna finding herself more and more relaxed.

They finished eating and leaned back. Anna watched Bennett looking down at his bib. “I have this cleaning lady in Saint-Martin,” he said. “She loves telling me the English can’t eat without spraying their food all over the place. Now she’s got me believing it.”

“Do you always believe what women tell you?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been putty in a woman’s hands ever since I had a crush on the head matron at boarding school.” He smiled. “I remember one day we were all making our beds in the dormitory, and matron was inspecting them. ‘Bennett,’ she said, ‘if you don’t start making your bed properly, you and I are going to fall out.’ Then she realized what she’d said, and blushed. I was mad about her for a whole term.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen. Then she broke my heart and ran away with the music teacher. Never got over it. To this day, I pine. Shall we have some wild strawberries? They’re wonderful with
crème fraîche.
”

The strawberries came and were wonderful. Bennett ordered a Havana with the coffee. They talked on, both avoiding the immediate future, content to float on the pleasures of the moment. The meal had stretched over two and a half hours, and seemed to have passed in minutes. It took another discreet cough from the waiter to bring them back to earth.

Bennett covered the bill with five-hundred-franc notes
and looked around the restaurant, now almost empty. In the soft light of the diffused afternoon sun, Anna seemed to glow, her bare arms silken and brown, her face faintly flushed by wine, light dancing in her eyes. Bennett leaned toward her. “We could always stay for dinner.”

“That’s what I like about you—all play and no work.” She reached over and brushed cigar ash from his lapel.

“But it would be nice to come back.”

——

When they arrived in Cannes, Tuzzi’s taxi service was waiting for them at the port—two bulky men in white, with
Ragazza di Napoli
on the T-shirts that were strained across broad expanses of chest. Anna, Bennett, and their bags were settled in the back of a gleaming Riva. With a watery burble from the exhaust and some theatrical flourishes on the wheel that were not strictly necessary, they slipped through the other boats and headed for what looked like a small apartment building half a mile offshore.

The
Ragazza
was, in fact, as close to Bennett’s kind of floating accommodation as any boat could be. It was monumentally ugly, but reassuringly big. Antennae, radar, and satellite dishes grew from the cabin roof on the top deck, giving it the appearance of an urban skyline. Canopies of white canvas shaded the acreage of deck fore and aft, and as they climbed the stern gangway, they were greeted by the sight of an oval swimming pool. It was an island rather
than a boat, insulated as far as possible against any intrusion from the surrounding sea.

A steward in starched dress whites showed them to adjoining cabins. Signor Tuzzi would be pleased to welcome them on the forward deck when they were ready. Did they require any assistance unpacking? Thinking of the fake case wrapped in a sweater, Bennett waved the steward away with a hundred-franc note before closing the door and taking stock of his cabin and the small bathroom. He noted with approval the presence of a real bed and the absence of any nautical horrors like pump-action lavatories. He could have been in a hotel room. The only hint of life at sea was a porthole, now open to catch the breeze. He stuck his head through and looked at the immense sweep of the hull, curving away forward.

“Anna? Are you OK? Found your sea legs?”

An arm appeared through her porthole, and a beckoning finger invited him next door. As Bennett came into the cabin, Anna put a hand over his mouth before he had a chance to speak, then went into her bathroom, returning with a lipstick and a sheet of Kleenex. He looked over her shoulder as she scribbled:
Cabins may be bugged
.

Bennett looked around furtively and nodded. “Ah, there you are, Miss Hersh,” he said in what he hoped was a suitably businesslike voice. “Well, you’ve got to hand it to the Italians. Very comfortable quarters. If you’re ready, I think we should go and meet our host.”

Anna winked, and gave him a signal with her upraised thumb. “Yes, Mr. Bennett. Will you be wanting me to take notes?”

“No, I don’t think so. If you need your book, I can always send you back.”

She smiled sweetly at him and signaled again, this time with an upraised finger.

The group of men seated around a low table rose to greet Anna and Bennett as they reached the deck; one of them came forward, his arms spread wide. “Ah, Signor Bennett. Welcome to the
Ragazza
. I am Tuzzi.” His face, the color and cracked sheen of old leather, split into a smile, the whiteness of his teeth accentuated by a thick black mustache. Above it, he had a hooked, slightly crooked nose and disconcertingly pale eyes, somewhere between gray and green. What remained of his black hair was pulled back from the gleaming tanned dome of his skull and fastened in a ponytail. The more abundant hair on his chest frothed at the open neck of his white polo shirt. He pumped Bennett’s hand vigorously and then, with a dramatic intake of breath, closed his eyes and shook his head, as if to clear it. “Forgive me,” he said. “I am dead and in heaven. Who is this?”

“My secretary, Miss Hersh,” said Bennett.

“Signorina.”
Tuzzi bent over Anna’s proffered hand and caressed it lightly with his mustache. “
Non è vero
. A secretary? A princess.”

Anna smiled at him and struggled for repossession of her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tuzzi.”

“Enzo. For you, Enzo.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “But I forget my polites. Permit me.”

He took them through the introductions. There was an elderly, wizened Corsican, Monsieur Polluce from
Calvi; the small, neat, and courteous Mr. Kasuga from Tokyo; a dark, middle-aged man in yachting clothes and gold jewelry, Anthony Penato from California—“a good Californian,” Tuzzi said. “He smoke, he drink, not like those goddamn health fruits.” And, finally, an Englishman with a sharp, intelligent face, an absentminded air, and steel-gray hair: Lord Glebe, Tuzzi’s business adviser. “And we mustn’t forget my little chap, Genghis,” Glebe said to Bennett, indicating a caramel-colored Pekingese lying on a large dish under the table. “Or perhaps, as I’m a peer of the realm, we should call him the Honorable Genghis. My little joke. Hmm?”

“Ah,” said Bennett, “the god of frolic.” He crouched down obligingly to make himself known to Genghis. The dog opened one eye, studied Bennett, and emitted a disdainful snuffle. “Why is he on a plate?”

“Because it’s cool, old boy,” said Lord Glebe. “Eighteenth-century Willow pattern. Goes with him everywhere. Your Pekingese suffers from heat, particularly round the vitals.”

As the bowing and shaking of hands concluded, a burly young man came up to whisper in Tuzzi’s ear.
“Sì, sì. Andiamo.”
Tuzzi turned to the others. “Now we make a small cruising before dinner.
Signorina?
For you I am arranging a perfect sunset, but first you must allow me to show you my little boat. Come. We take a conductor’s tour.”

To Bennett’s surprise, Anna seemed thrilled by the invitation, smiling prettily and taking Tuzzi’s furry arm.
“I’ve always been fascinated by boats, Enzo. Is it true there’s a golden rivet somewhere in the engine room?” As they strolled aft, the deck gave a barely perceptible shudder, there was a muted hum from the turbines, and the
Ragazza
got under way.

Lord Glebe motioned the others to sit down. “Now that we’re all here, gentlemen, perhaps I could go over some details with you. No doubt Mr. Tuzzi will have some comments also.” He peered at them over the top of his half-glasses. “Unfortunately, while he takes a brave aim at colloquial English, he frequently misfires, as you may have noticed, and I wouldn’t want there to be any little misunderstandings.”

He lit a small cheroot before continuing. “The auction will be held tomorrow morning, once you’ve all had a chance to examine the contents of the case. They don’t make much sense to me, I must say, but I presume you chaps know what you’re looking at. What?”

Bennett found himself nodding wisely with the others.

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll forgive my bringing it up, I must touch on the subject of payment. We shall be putting into Marseille tomorrow as soon as business is completed. I’ve alerted my bank there to be on parade to receive a transfer of funds from whoever of you is the eventual purchaser. I assume that each of you has made arrangements with your banking people, and of course you can get in touch with them at any time from the boat. Chap up there”—he waved his cheroot in the direction of the
bridge—“has all the communications technology. Not like sailing in my young day, but there we are. All clear so far?” Another owlish look from Glebe was met by more nods.

“Very good. Now then. Once we’ve parked at Marseille, the purchaser and I will toddle over to my bank, verify that the transfer has been made, the case will change hands, and Bob’s your uncle.”

Glebe noticed puzzled frowns from Polluce, Kasuga, and Penato. “Ah,” he said, “forgive me. Figure of speech. It means that everything is done. There is no actual Bob, you see.” He smiled. “Marvelously confusing language, English. No wonder they use it so much in the EEC. Well? Any questions?”

Kasuga held up a finger. “We are definitely coming ashore at Marseille?” Glebe nodded. “So. I must contact my colleagues.”

“Of course, old boy. I expect you’ll all want to have a chat to your people. You’ll find young Benito, or whatever he’s called, very helpful. Knows which buttons to push. So you can all feel free to call your secretaries, bodyguards, and dear ones at any time.” He smiled at Bennett. “You, of course, Mr. Bennett, won’t need to call, as you have your secretary with you—damned handsome gel, too. Officer’s comforts, eh?”

“Well, nothing like that. But she is very efficient.”

Glebe’s voice dropped. “I should keep an eye on her and our chum Enzo, if I were you. A prince in many ways, but he’s the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a stoat in rut. A
fondler, if you take my meaning. Don’t know where he gets the energy from.” He leaned closer to Bennett. “Tell me something. I think I know most of the financial outfits in Europe, but Consolidated doesn’t ring a bell. Been established long, have you?”