Bloodline (12 page)

Elizabeth liked her German cousin Anna Roffe Gassner, and her husband, Walther. Elizabeth remembered hearing family gossip that Anna Roffe had married beneath her. Walther Gassner was reputed to be a black sheep, a fortune hunter, who had married an unattractive woman years older than himself, for her money. Elizabeth did not think her cousin was unattractive. She had always found Anna to be a shy, sensitive person, withdrawn, and a little
frightened by life. Elizabeth had liked Walther on sight. He had the classic good looks of a movie star, but he seemed to be neither arrogant nor phony. He appeared to be genuinely in love with Anna, and Elizabeth did not believe any of the terrible stories she had heard about him.

Of all her cousins, Alec Nichols was Elizabeth’s favorite. His mother had been a Roffe, and she had married Sir George Nichols, the third baronet. It was Alec to whom Elizabeth had always turned when she had a problem. Somehow, perhaps because of Alec’s sensitivity and gentleness, he had seemed to the young child to be her peer, and she realized now what a great compliment that was to Alec. He had always treated her as an equal, ready to offer whatever aid and advice he could. Elizabeth remembered that once, in a moment of black despair, she had decided to run away from home. She had packed a suitcase and then, on a sudden impulse, had telephoned Alec in London to say good-bye. He had been in the middle of a conference, but he had come to the phone and talked to Elizabeth for more than an hour. When he had finished, Elizabeth had decided to forgive her father and give him another chance. That was Sir Alec Nichols. His wife, Vivian, was something else. Where Alec was generous and thoughtful, Vivian was selfish and thoughtless. She was the most self-centered woman Elizabeth had ever known.

Years ago, when Elizabeth was spending a weekend in their country home in Gloucestershire, she went on a picnic by herself. It had begun to rain, and she had returned to the house early. She had gone in the back door, and as she had started down
the hallway, she had heard voices from the study, raised in a quarrel.

“I’m damned tired of playing nursemaid,” Vivian was saying. “You can take your precious little cousin and amuse her yourself tonight. I’m going up to London. I have an engagement.”

“Surely you can cancel it, Viv. The child is only going to be with us another day, and she—”

“Sorry, Alec. I feel like a good fuck, and I’m getting one tonight.”

“For God’s sake, Vivian!”

“Oh, shove it up your ass! Don’t try to live my life for me.”

At that moment, before Elizabeth could move, Vivian had stormed out of the study. She had taken one quick look at Elizabeth’s stricken face, and said cheerily, “Back so soon, pet?” And strode upstairs.

Alec had come to the doorway. He had said gently, “Come in, Elizabeth.”

Reluctantly she had walked into the study. Alec’s face was aflame with embarrassment. Elizabeth had wanted desperately to comfort him, but she did not know how. Alec had walked over to a large refectory table, picked up a pipe, filled it with tobacco and lit it. It had seemed to Elizabeth that he took forever.

“You must understand Vivian.”

Elizabeth had replied, “Alec, it’s none of my business. I—”

“But in a sense it is. We’re all family. I don’t want you to think harshly of her.”

Elizabeth could not believe it. After the incredible scene she had just heard, Alec was defending his wife.

“Sometimes in a marriage,” Alec had continued, “a husband and a wife have different needs.” He had paused awkwardly, searching for the right phrase. “I don’t want you to blame Vivian because I—I can’t fulfill some of those needs. That’s not her fault, you see.”

Elizabeth had not been able to stop herself. “Does—does she go out with other men often?”

“I’m rather afraid she does.”

Elizabeth had been horrified. “Why don’t you leave her?”

He had given her his gentle smile. “I can’t leave her, dear child. You see, I love her.”

The next day Elizabeth had returned to school. From that time on, she had felt closer to Alec than to any of the others.

Of late, Elizabeth had become concerned about her father. He seemed preoccupied and worried about something, but Elizabeth had no idea what it was. When she asked him about it, he replied, “Just a little problem I have to clear up. I’ll tell you about it later.”

He had become secretive, and Elizabeth no longer had access to his private papers. When he had said to her, “I’m leaving tomorrow for Chamonix to do a little mountain climbing,” Elizabeth had been pleased. She knew he needed a rest. He had lost weight and had become pale and drawn-looking.

“I’ll make the reservations for you,” Elizabeth had said.

“Don’t bother. They’re already made.”

That, too, was unlike him. He had left for
Chamonix the next morning. That was the last time she had seen him. The last time she would ever see him…

Elizabeth lay there in her darkened bedroom, remembering the past. There was an unreality about her father’s death, perhaps because he had been so alive.

He was the last to bear the name of Roffe. Except for her. What would happen to the company now? Her father had held the controlling interest. She wondered to whom he had left the stock.

Elizabeth learned the answer late the next afternoon. Sam’s lawyer had appeared at the house. “I brought a copy of your father’s will with me. I hate to intrude on your grief at a time like this, but I thought it best that you know at once. You are your father’s sole beneficiary. That means that the controlling shares of Roffe and Sons are in your hands.”

Elizabeth could not believe it. Surely he did not expect
her
to run the company. “Why?” she asked. “Why me?”

The attorney hesitated, then said, “May I be frank, Miss Roffe? Your father was a comparatively young man. I’m sure he didn’t expect to die for many years. In time, I’m confident he would have made another will, designating someone to take over the company. He probably had not made up his mind yet.” He strugged. “All that is academic, however. The point is that the control now rests in your hands. You will have to decide what you want to do with it, who you want to give it to.” He studied her for a moment, then continued, “There has never before been a woman on the board of directors of Roffe and Sons, but—well, for the moment you’re
taking your father’s place. There’s a board meeting in Zurich this Friday. Can you be there?”

Sam would have expected it of her.

And so would old Samuel.

“I’ll be there,” Elizabeth said.

Portugal.

Wednesday, September 9.

Midnight.

In the bedroom of a small rented apartment in Rua dos Bombeiros, one of the winding, dangerous back alleys of Alto Estoril, a motion-picture scene was being filmed. There were four people in the room. A cameraman, and on a bed the two actors in the scene, the man in his thirties and a young blond girl with a stunning figure. She wore nothing except a vivid red ribbon tied around her neck. The man was large, with a wrestler’s shoulders and a barrel-shaped, incongruously hairless chest His phallus, even in detumescence, was huge. The fourth person in the room was a spectator, seated in the background, wearing a black broad-brimmed hat and dark glasses.

The cameraman turned to the spectator, questioningly, and the spectator nodded. The cameraman pressed a switch and the camera began to whir. He said to the actors, “All right. Action.”

The man knelt over the girl and she took his penis in her mouth until it began to grow hard. The girl took it out and said, “Jesus, that’s big!”

“Shove it in her,” the cameraman ordered.

The man slid down over the girl and put his penis between her legs.

“Take it easy, honey.” She had a high, querulous voice.

“Look as though you’re enjoying it.”

“How can I? It’s the size of a fucking watermelon.”

The spectator was leaning forward, watching every move as the man entered her. The girl said, “Oh, my God, that feels wonderful. Just take it slow, baby.”

The spectator was breathing harder now, staring at the scene on the bed. This girl was the third, and she was even prettier than the others.

She was writhing from side to side now, making little moaning noises. “Oh, yes,” she gasped. “Don’t stop!” She grasped the man’s hips and began pulling them toward her. The man began to pump harder and faster, in a frantic, pounding motion. Her movements began to quicken, and her nails dug into the man’s naked back. “Oh, yes,” she moaned. “Yes, yes, yes! I’m coming!”

The cameraman looked toward the spectator, and the spectator nodded, eyes glistening behind the dark glasses.

“Now!” the cameraman called to the man on the bed.

The girl, caught in her own furious frenzy, did not even hear him. As her face filled with a wild ecstasy, and her body began to shudder, the man’s huge hands closed around her throat and began to
squeeze, closing off the air so that she could not breathe. She stared up at him, bewildered, and then her eyes filled with a sudden, terrified comprehension.

The spectator thought:
This is the moment. Now! Jesus God! Look at her eyes!
They were dilated with terror. She fought to tear away the iron bands around her throat, but it was useless. She was still coming, and the deliciousness of her orgasm and the frantic shudder of her death throes were blending into one.

The spectator’s body was soaked with perspiration. The excitement was unbearable. In the middle of life’s most exquisite pleasure the girl was dying, her eyes staring into the eyes of death. It was so beautiful.

Suddenly it was over. The spectator sat there, exhausted, shaken with spasms of pleasure, lungs filled with long, deep breaths. The girl had been punished.

The spectator felt like God.

Zurich.

Friday, September 11.

Noon.

The World Headquarters of Roffe and Sons occupied sixty acres along the Sprettenbach on the western outskirts of Zurich. The administration building was a twelve-story modern glass structure, towering over a nest of research buildings, manufacturing plants, experimental laboratories, planning divisions, and railroad spurs. It was the brain center of the far-flung Roffe and Sons empire.

The reception lobby was starkly modern, decorated in green and white, with Danish furniture. A receptionist sat behind a glass desk, and those who were admitted by her into the recesses of the building had to be accompanied by a guide. To the right rear of the lobby was a bank of elevators, with one private express elevator for the use of the company president.

On this morning the private elevator had been
used by the members of the board of directors. They had arrived within the past few hours from various parts of the world by plane, train, helicopter and limousine. They were gathered now in the enormous, high-ceilinged, oak-paneled boardroom; Sir Alec Nichols, Walther Gassner, Ivo Palazzi and Charles Martel. The only nonmember of the board in the room was Rhys Williams.

Refreshments and drinks had been laid out on a sideboard, but no one in the room was interested. They were tense, nervous, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Kate Erling, an efficient Swiss woman in her late forties, came into the room. “Miss Roffe’s car has arrived.”

Her eye swept around the room to make sure that everything was in order: pens, note pads, a silver carafe of water at each place, cigars and cigarettes, ashtrays, matches. Kate Erling had been Sam Roffe’s personal secretary for fifteen years. The fact that he was dead was no reason for her to lower his standards, or hers. She nodded, satisfied, and withdrew.

Downstairs, in front of the administration building, Elizabeth Roffe was stepping out of a limousine. She wore a black tailored suit with a white blouse. She had on no makeup. She looked much younger than her twenty-four years, pale and vulnerable.

The press was waiting for her. As she started into the building, she found herself surrounded by television and radio and newspaper reporters, with cameras and microphones.

“I’m from
L’Europeo,
Miss Roffe. Could we have
a statement? Who’s going to take over the company now that your father—?”

“Look this way, please, Miss Roffe. Can you give our readers a big smile?”

“Associated Press, Miss Roffe. What about your father’s will?”

“New York
Daily News.
Wasn’t your father an expert mountain climber? Did they find out how—?”

“Wall Street Journal.
Can you tell us something about the company’s financial—?”

“I’m from the London
Times.
We’re planning to do an article on the Roffe—”

Elizabeth was fighting her way into the lobby, escorted by three security guards, pushing through the sea of reporters.

“One more picture, Miss Roffe—”

And Elizabeth was in the elevator, the door closing. She took a deep breath and shuddered. Sam was dead. Why couldn’t they leave her alone?

A few moments later, Elizabeth walked into the boardroom. Alec Nichols was the first to greet her. He put his arms around her shyly and said, “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. It was such a shock to all of us. Vivian and I tried to telephone you but—”

“I know. Thank you, Alec. Thank you for your note.”

Ivo Palazzi came up and gave her a kiss on each cheek.
“Cara,
what is there to say? Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine. Thank you, Ivo.” She turned. “Hello, Charles.”

“Elizabeth, Hélène and I were devastated. If there is anything at all—”

“Thank you.”

Walther Gassner walked over to Elizabeth and said awkwardly, “Anna and I wish to express our great sorrow at what has happened to your father.”

Elizabeth nodded, her head high. “Thank you, Walther.”

She did not want to be here, surrounded by all the reminders of her father. She wanted to flee, to be alone.

Rhys Williams was standing off to one side, watching Elizabeth’s face, and he was thinking, If they don’t stop, she’s going to break down. He deliberately moved through the group, held out his hand and said, “Hello, Liz.”

“Hello, Rhys.” She had last seen him when he had come to the house to bring her the news of Sam’s death. It seemed like years ago. Seconds ago. It had been one week.

Rhys was aware of the effort it was costing Elizabeth to keep her composure. He said, “Now that everyone’s here, why don’t we begin?” He smiled reassuringly. “This won’t take long.”

She gave him a grateful smile. The men took their accustomed places at the large rectangular oak table. Rhys led Elizabeth to the head of the table and pulled out a chair for her. My father’s chair, Elizabeth thought Sam sat here, chairing these meetings.

Charles was saying, “Since we do not have a—” He caught himself and turned to Alec. “Why don’t you take over?”

Alec glanced around, and the others murmured approval. “Very well.”

Alec pressed a button on the table in front of him, and Kate Erling returned, carrying a notebook.

She closed the door behind her and pulled up a straight chair, her notebook and pen poised.

Alec said, “I think that under the circumstances we can dispense with the formalities. All of us have suffered a terrible loss. But”—he looked apologetically at Elizabeth—“the essential thing now is that Roffe and Sons show a strong public face.”

“D’accord.
We have been taking enough of a hammering in the press lately,” Charles growled.

Elizabeth looked over at him and asked, “Why?”

Rhys explained, “The company is facing a lot of unusual problems just now, Liz. We’re involved in heavy lawsuits, we’re under government investigation, and some of the banks are pressing us. The point is that none of it is good for our image. The public buys pharmaceutical products because they trust the company that makes them. If we lose that trust, we lose our customers.”

Ivo said reassuringly, “We have no problems that can’t be solved. The important thing is to reorganize the company immediately.”

“How?” Elizabeth asked.

Walther replied, “By selling our stock to the public.”

Charles added, “In that way we can take care of all our bank loans, and have enough money left—” He let the sentence trail off.

Elizabeth looked at Alec. “Do you agree with that?”

“I think we’re all in agreement, Elizabeth.”

She leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. Rhys picked up some papers, rose and carried them to Elizabeth. “I’ve had all the necessary documents prepared. All you have to do is sign.”

Elizabeth glanced at the papers lying before her. “If I sign these, what happens?”

Charles spoke up. “We have a dozen international brokerage firms ready to form a consortium to underwrite the stock issue. They will guarantee the sale at a price we mutually agree upon. In an offering as large as this one, there will be several institutional purchases, as well as private ones.”

“You mean like banks and insurance companies?” Elizabeth asked.

Charles nodded. “Exactly.”

“And they’ll put their people on the board of directors?”

“That’s usual…”

Elizabeth said, “So, in effect, they would control Roffe and Sons.”

“We would still remain on the board of directors,” Ivo interposed quickly.

Elizabeth turned to Charles. “You said a consortium of stockbrokers is ready to move ahead.”

Charles nodded. “Yes.”

“Then why haven’t they?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“If everyone is in agreement that the best thing for the company is to let it get out of the family and into the hands of outsiders, why hasn’t it been done before?”

There was an awkward silence. Ivo said, “It has to be by mutual consent,
cara. Everyone
on the board must agree.”

“Who didn’t agree?” Elizabeth asked.

The silence was longer this time.

Finally Rhys spoke up. “Sam.”

And Elizabeth suddenly realized what had disturbed her from the moment she had walked into
this room. They had all expressed their condolences and their shock and grief over her father’s death, and yet at the same time there had been an atmosphere of charged excitement in the room, a feeling of—strangely, the word that came into her mind was
victory.
They had had the papers all drawn up for her, everything ready.
All you have to do is sign.
But if what they wanted was right, then why had her father objected to it? She asked the question aloud.

“Sam had his own ideas,” Walther explained. “Your father could be very stubborn.”

Like old Samuel, Elizabeth thought. Never let a friendly fox into your hen house. One day he’s going to get hungry. And Sam had not wanted to sell He must have had good reason.

Ivo was saying, “Believe me,
cara,
it is much better to leave all this to us. You don’t understand these things.”

Elizabeth said quietly, “I would like to.”

“Why bother yourself with this?” Walther objected. “When your stock is sold, you will have an enormous amount of money, more than you’ll ever be able to spend. You can go off anywhere you like and enjoy it.”

What Walther said made sense. Why
should
she get involved? All she had to do was sign the papers in front of her, and leave.

Charles said impatiently, “Elizabeth, we’re simply wasting time. You have no choice.”

It was at that instant that Elizabeth knew she did have a choice. Just as her father had had a choice. She could walk away and let them do as they pleased with the company, or she could stay and find out why they were all so eager to sell the stock, why
they were pressuring her. For she could feel the pressure. It was so strong it was almost physical. Everyone in that room was
willing
her to sign the papers.

She glanced over at Rhys, wondering what he was thinking. His expression was noncommittal. Elizabeth looked at Kate Erling. She had been Sam’s secretary for a long time. Elizabeth wished she could have had a chance to speak to her alone. They were all looking at Elizabeth, waiting for her to agree.

“I’m not going to sign,” she said. “Not now.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Walther said, “I don’t understand, Elizabeth.” His face was ashen. “Of course you must! Everything is arranged.”

Charles said angrily, “Walther’s right. You must sign.”

They were all speaking at once, in a confused and angry storm of words that beat at Elizabeth.

“Why
won’t you sign?” Ivo demanded.

She could not say:
Because my father would not sign. Because you’re rushing me.
She had a feeling, an instinct that something was wrong, and she was determined to find out what it was. So now she merely said, “I’d like a little more time to think about it.”

The men looked at one another.

“How much time,
cara?”
Ivo asked.

“I don’t know yet I’d like to get a better understanding of what’s involved here.”

Walther exploded. “Damn it, we can’t—”

Rhys cut in firmly, “I think Elizabeth is right.”

The others turned to look at him. Rhys went on, “She should have a chance to get a clear picture of
the problems the company is facing, and then make up her own mind.”

They were all digesting what Rhys had said.

“I agree with that,” Alec said.

Charles said bitterly, “Gentlemen, it doesn’t make any difference whether we agree with it or not. Elizabeth is in control.”

Ivo looked at Elizabeth.
“Cara
—we need a decision quickly.”

“You’ll have it,” Elizabeth promised.

They were all watching her, each busy with his own thoughts.

One of them was thinking, Oh, God.
She’s going to have to die, too.