Blood Stones (33 page)

But, even before he could answer, Stella said, ‘I know what you're thinking. I'm not lying to you. I've had enough of living in shit. If you don't trust me I can't blame you. Tie it up as tight as you like, but don't leave me dependent on Reece. I won't come back if he's involved in anything to do with me.'

A thin white man with the power of a snake
.

‘I'll cable the London office,' Julius said. ‘They'll open credit accounts for you. Right away. You move out and take a suite at the Dorchester. We use it a lot. Just book yourself in. And buy whatever you need, don't worry about money. When will you come back?'

She said, ‘Are you planning to come over? We could fly home together.'

‘I wasn't,' he answered. ‘But I will. I can tie it in with business. Go to the Dorchester. I'll call you there this time tomorrow. And don't worry about Reece. I'll kick his backside. You won't hear from him again.'

‘Thanks, Dad,' she couldn't keep a slight break out of her voice. She hated showing the emotion. He would kick Reece's backside. She could just imagine how brutal he would be. Even though he had sent Reece to hire Jacob's killers …

‘Stella,' Julius said. ‘Sylvia sends her love … I'll talk to you tomorrow. Just take care, will you?'

‘I will,' she promised. ‘I'll take care of everything from now on.'

When she put the phone down, she burst into tears. It was the first time she had cried since she heard how Jacob Yakumi died. In spite of it all, kindness from her father could still make her cry like a child.

Ray Andrews was asleep; he was lying in the double bed with his head back and his mouth open, and Susan came in very quietly to see if he was awake and wanted anything. That wasn't the real reason; she came because she was hoping that she might accidentally wake him up, and she wanted to talk to him, sit on the edge of the bed and drink cups of tea and ask him all about everything. And tell him all about what had happened while he was away. She stood looking at him for a moment; he looked like a schoolboy, with his rumpled hair and the old-fashioned striped pyjamas. His arms were crossed above his head and he was snoring. He had come back exhausted after two hectic days of eating, drinking and going to the Bolshoi Theatre, meeting more and more Russians. His breath smelt of brandy, and she had stopped herself from mentioning it just in time. He had kissed her and their daughter, and then he'd gone upstairs and had a bath and fallen into bed.

‘That you, darling?'

‘Oh, darling, did I wake you? I just popped in to see if you were awake and wanted anything.'

‘I'd like a cup of tea,' he said. He struggled up on the pillow and yawned. ‘And a boiled egg, no, two boiled eggs, and some toast and marmalade. Darling, I'm starving. Come and say good-morning to me.'

‘God, I missed you,' he said after a minute; they were still embracing, and she was pressing her face against his cheek. She had soft skin and smelt sweet. He loved her so much that it hurt, and he turned her head round and kissed her hard.

‘I'll get your breakfast,' she said. She drew away from him, flushed and smiling, trying to tidy her hair with one hand while he held on to the other.

‘All right,' he said. ‘I'll get up and wash and shave.'

He hummed to himself as he scraped at his beard; he had given up using an electric razor, it never felt as clean as the old-fashioned shave. He was still tired, but it was a triumphant tiredness. He had brought the deal off; he had gone out to fail, with everybody feeling sorry for him, and come back with the thing in the bag.

He ate his breakfast while she watched him and drank tea, and in between he told her what had happened in Moscow.

‘Darling, you're marvellous. Nobody could have done it except you!'

‘No, I don't think they could. I can't think of anyone who'd have dealt as well with Dimitri as I did. And I'm not boasting, Sue, I promise you.'

‘I know you're not,' she countered. ‘You must have got on well if you were on Christian-name terms. That's unusual, isn't it?'

Ray grinned at her. ‘Yes, very unusual. They're pretty formal; not like the West, where everyone's cosy and calls the Prime Minister John … But there's always an element of luck. We related very quickly. That didn't make it easy, he was as shrewd and ruthless as you can find anywhere. But I understand him.'

‘Why?' Susan protested. ‘You're not ruthless.'

‘Oh no? I was there trying to ruin Ivan Karakov, sweetheart. And I was doing it for business. Borisov is a genuine patriot. He really wants to put his country on its feet. I respected him a lot. And I liked him. I tell you something,' he went on. ‘I trust that man, and I know he trusts me. I'd stake my life he won't go back on anything he promised. That's why I decided not to hang around in Moscow. He's got all the documents, and he'll be coming over to London to sign up with us.'

‘Oh darling,' Susan stared at him in horror. ‘You know what happened before!'

‘Forget that,' he said. ‘Nothing will go wrong this time … Borisov will keep his word to me, and I'm going to make sure we keep ours to him. We're going to bloody well clean up Baikal and help the Russian environment. And exploit the Russian diamond potential to boost their foreign currency. It won't just be profits for us and nothing for anyone else. We're going to show the world that we can keep a promise, too!'

‘My dear Françoise,' Eugene Titulescu bent over her hand and kissed it lightly. ‘How elegant you look, as always.'

The woman smiled up at him and preened at the compliment. She was very elegant; her taste and flair for clothes compensated for her remarkable ugliness. Combined with wit and charm, and a large inheritance from her American grandmother, these qualities had netted her three husbands, all well connected and poor, but with the social entrée she craved. Françoise had married a Spanish count whose names and titles were as long as his bank balance was short. He had died of a heart attack before Françoise had time to get bored with paying his bills and look for someone else.

She was an old friend of the prince and his wife; she loved Eugene and was sorry that Karakov's predatory daughter had grabbed him first. She was a very good client of his father-in-law. She was famous for her collection of jewels and her voracious pursuit of celebrities and the socially prominent. She didn't know it, but she was Eugene's last hope when he invited her to lunch. He chose the Ritz, because it was a fraction more exclusive than the Crillon, attracting old money, as he put it, rather than new media names. He gave her champagne in the bar, delighted her with items of gossip about mutual friends, and waited until they were having coffee after a superb lunch before he asked her for a favour. It always amazed him that such a thin woman could eat so much and drink such quantities without either putting on weight or getting drunk. He smiled at her.

‘I hear,' he said gently, ‘that you are entertaining royalty next weekend at Roc d'Or.'

She beamed back at him. ‘How did you know?'

‘Because I hear everything of importance, my dear. And nothing you do escapes attention, you must know that … It's a great honour, I believe. They seldom accept private invitations.'

‘Yes, but then darling Madeline is such a dear friend of mine,' she retorted. All her friends were dear and darling, even those she rather disliked. ‘She's persuaded him to spend two nights with me before they go on to Paris.' She giggled maliciously. ‘She wants him suitably enchanted before she asks for an especially big gift. But then you know all that, don't you?'

‘I do,' he responded. ‘But I never discuss a client's business. Except perhaps with a very special friend.' He gave her a warm smile. ‘I have my favourites, my dear Françoise, as you know.'

She said sweetly, ‘I do, my dear Eugene.' She believed him when he said he had persuaded Ivan to reduce the price of a rope of pink pearls, which, in fact, he had been unable to sell to anyone else. She never forgot a favour; it was one of her many good points.

Impulsively she said, ‘Why don't you join us,' then regretted it because he would have to come with his wife. As she was Karakov's daughter, it wouldn't be at all suitable. The Arabian prince might think it was an attempt to influence him. Eugene saw the impossibility turn into a God-sent opportunity. He could think quite quickly when he was under pressure.

‘Oh sweet of you, of course, but, no, it wouldn't be proper. In view of the gift you mentioned … which, of course, we mustn't talk about. But I could suggest another couple.'

Countess Françoise's bright eyes hardened. She chose her own guest list and didn't like being importuned on behalf of anyone else. Even by such a dear darling friend as Prince Eugene.

‘Not if I don't already know them,' she said firmly. ‘I have my houseparty made up. I was making an exception for you.'

‘And I'm very touched,' he countered smoothly. ‘But these are very special. English, just arrived to live in Paris. He is rich, handsome and distinguished … he works in the City …' He glossed over James Hastings' career very quickly, and went on to the real bait on the hook. ‘His wife is the daughter of the Earl of …' He saw the eyes soften at the name and title. ‘A very beautiful and charming girl, typical of the family. They were constant guests of my grandfather in the shooting season. I know she would be a great asset. Your VIP is a lover of the English aristocracy.'

Françoise looked at him. She smiled. ‘Darling Eugene,' she said lightly, ‘are you doing me a favour or asking me to do one for you?'

‘Both,' he said simply. ‘I would be very, very grateful if you invited them, just for one night. It would be a personal favour to me, and it would introduce a charming young couple into your circle. I'm so glad to see that you are wearing your pearls.'

It was a risk, but he took it. She had a sporting instinct and a robust sense of humour that went back to her Arkansas ancestors. She laughed.

‘Point taken, Eugene. You saved me a lot of money. I never forget a good turn. Let my secretary know their full names and addresses and I'll invite them. If they're your protégés, I know I'll like them.'

He saw her to her car, kissed her hand and thanked her gravely. ‘Any time I can be of help to you again, my dear Françoise, you only have to give me a call.'

Then he went back into the hotel and made a telephone call.

The following morning, at seven a.m., Ruth Fraser answered the phone in her apartment. It was Reece on the line.

‘You'll be getting the invitation some time today,' Ruth said. James had got up from his desk; he was walking up and down in excitement. Reece had come through for him, just as Ruth insisted he would. They would be invited to fly down to Cap d'Antibes to stay at the same houseparty as Madeline Luchaire and the Arab prince.

He had asked for the opportunity and it had been arranged for him. Everything would depend on what use he made of it.

‘How the hell did he fix it?' he said, more to himself than to her.

‘Better not ask,' Ruth answered.

James said, ‘He's twisted somebody's arm …'

‘Dick says we've got a contact in Karakov's office, and they're pretty high up … We've had confidential information passed to us before.'

The figures, James remembered. Details of Karakov's sales worldwide. Someone very close to the top must be in D.E.'s pay. Someone important enough to get an invitation for two strangers from one of Paris's most socially ambitious hostesses.

‘Ruth,' he said, ‘get David Wasserman on the line for me. I want a meeting with him. Just say it's urgent.'

She smiled at him. ‘Exciting, isn't it? How I'd love to be a fly on the wall down there. Can I ask you what you're going to do?'

He could feel her excitement; she was high on it, eyes shining, radiating a fierce tension. This, he realized, was what turned her on. This was Ruth Fraser's fix. Not sex, that was her weapon, not the diamond-hard efficiency, the cold pursuit of a man like Kruger for her own aims, but the sheer thrill of power and intrigue.

‘I haven't worked it out,' he said. ‘That's why I need to see Wasserman. He may come up with something I'd miss.' And because he owed it all to her, he said, ‘I'll tell you the details as soon as I've got something lined up. And I won't forget how much you've helped to bring this off, Ruth. You'll find me very grateful. If I shaft Karakov, you can pick your own job.'

She turned at the door of his office. ‘I can't think of anything I'd rather do than work with you. I'll get Mr Wasserman for you now.'

‘And to think,' David Wasserman said, ‘Clara wanted to pack up and go back home! Wait till I tell her what we'd have missed. You know, James, if you bring this off, you'll break Ivan's heart!'

He laughed.

‘Just a hint will be enough – they're the most suspicious goddamned race in the world. Except for us.' He chuckled like a mischievous old gnome. ‘You'll do it, James my boy. And I'll be right here watching.'

‘I'm going to do more than hint,' James said. ‘I'm going to fix that old bastard if it's the last thing I do.'

‘Now, now,' David advised. ‘Don't get involved in a personal fight. Take my advice. Always keep business separate. It's got nothing to do with feelings. Ivan's not a bad guy. He gave you a hard time, but so what? He's done it to me, too. I've known him for years, and we've had our disagreements. In the end he'll deal.'

‘In the end,' James said flatly, ‘he won't have any bloody option.'

When David was telling Clara word for word about their meeting and the plan they had evolved, he said, ‘He's a tough guy, and vindictive. He hasn't forgiven Ivan for balling him out in the beginning. That's a bad characteristic if he wants to be the top man. I tried to tell him, don't get involved. Leave feelings out of it. It's the only way.'