Empress Bianca (33 page)

‘Do you really think they’re as bad as that?’ Bianca asked.

‘Worse, my darling, worse.’

Philippe continued to call the shots behind the scenes and advised Bianca to wait until her next meeting with Mary before implementing his suggestion regarding her endowment of the Distressed Legal Gentlefolk’s Society. Bianca did as he suggested, and thereafter the matter of her future endowment of the charity remained a tantalizing possibility to keep Mary dangling on the line that he had hooked her upon.

Throughout this crucial period, Philippe continued to nurse the rod, waiting until the week before the trial was due to begin before he deemed the time appropriate for Bianca to reel in the fish. He chose the moment carefully, tipping her the wink as they were leaving Mary’s Chancery Lane offices late in the afternoon after they had gone over their witness statements with her. It was with real pleasure that Bianca heard herself saying: ‘You know, I’m so impressed with the work your Distressed Legal Gentlefolk Society is doing that I’d like to donate another £20,000 immediately. But I don’t want to do it in my own name, as it might create the wrong impression. Would you mind awfully if I got one of my Isle of Man offshore companies to make the donation?’

‘That’s very generous of you, Bianca,’ Mary said, pushing her spectacles back onto the top of her head and failing, as she did so, to conceal the look
of pure glee that lit up her horsy features. ‘We have a great deal of expenses and we have been rather concerned that we might sink instead of swim.’ With that, her lips rolled over teeth that a Derby winner might have envied.

Although Bianca was pleased with Mary’s response, Philippe was not. He rightly decided that she was dropping a major hint that the more Bianca could pay the better. He rightly suspected that Mary milked the charity financially under the guise of ‘legal costs’ and ‘expenses’ to divert funds to herself. He therefore stepped into the breach he detected. ‘Bianca was telling me yesterday,’ he said to Mary, ‘that she really wants to provide you with an endowment of £50,000 in addition to her previous donation, but she needs to meet your co-founder to make sure that she’s the sort of person she can trust.’

The co-founder, of course, was the key: she was none other than Clarissa Coningby, whose husband, Conkers Coningby, was Clara d’Offolo’s barrister. Bianca was awestruck at Philippe’s daring. It had never have occurred to her that Mary would find it acceptable for her to make an approach to Clara’s barrister’s wife through her. Bianca remained motionless, not even daring to look at Mary lest she jeopardize the delicate negotiations. She need not have worried, however.

‘I’ll give her a ring this evening and set something up,’ Mary said, taking the bait. ‘Shall we say at my house as soon as possible?’

Philippe’s resourcefulness was rewarded, as he knew it would be. Mary Landsworth not only arranged the meeting between the wife of Clara’s barrister and Bianca at her own house, while her husband was also there, but also did it during the trial itself, despite the fact that her husband was judge in the case.

That was how Bianca, with Philippe at her side, found herself attending a drinks party at the end of the second day of the trial. While Mary Landsworth was in her drawing-room, setting up the pay-off by introducing Clarissa Coningby to Bianca and Philippe, Mr Justice Landworth made sure that he stayed in his study.

It was, of course, no surprise to either Mary Landsworth or Clarissa Coningby that Bianca, who stood to lose hundreds of millions if the verdict went against her, agreed to donate the munificent - to them - sum of £50,000. They were pleasantly taken aback, however, when Philippe offered them a further £20,000 on the grounds that he too was moved by
the plight of all those distressed legal gentlefolk.

‘I’m sure,’ he said to Mary and Clarissa, ensuring that each party would get what they wanted, ‘that you wouldn’t want anyone misinterpreting our support for your charity by linking our donations to the case, and in the circumstances I feel the most judicious course of action is to wait until the verdict is in before we transfer the money. In the meantime, we can give you post-dated pledges, if you feel the need for such assurances.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mary. ‘Do give us the pledges. I’ll have the charity’s secretary draft something.’ Clearly she trusted Philippe as little as he trusted her.

The following morning the various parties assembled in the High Court for the latest instalment of what became, to Clara, a Kafkaesque affair. As the trial ground to its inevitable conclusion, she became transfixed by the grotesque and ephemeral way in which the matter was being conducted. Even though she did not yet know what the outcome would be, she had a hunch it was going in Bianca and Philippe’s favour, so when the Defence rested and Mr Justice Landsworth began the preamble to his verdict, she was not surprised that his tone was heavily slanted in favour of the defendants.

What did come as a surprise, however, was when Clara discovered by pure chance, several years later, how the verdict had been arrived at through influence peddling and bribery. When she stumbled upon this information, conveyed to her through Conkers Coningby’s ex-son-in-law, she could only mirror Philippe’s estimation of how cheaply English justice sold out the interests of those who sought legal redress within its system.

By the time Clara learned how Bianca and Philippe had achieved their victory, over two and a half decades had elapsed, and Lord Justice Landsworth had reached the position on the bench he had always aimed at. Dame Mary Landsworth was one of the most eminent solicitors in the land and a figure who featured on so many government-affiliated boards that she was known as the ‘Quango Queen’. Conkers Coningby had died a High Court judge, halfway up the ladder he wished to scale, but bitterly disappointed that his only daughter had married the son of a grocer.

Only Sir Alfred Kindersley remained a feared and fearsome advocate, caring nothing for advancement as a judge but coining money as few other English barristers had ever done. He lived as high off the hog as only
someone with no style and little taste could, swanning around the most famous restaurants with the latest of his mistresses, all of whom had to sign confidentiality agreements. That way, none of the tabloids would get to publish their recollections of the whippings that she had administered to this most eminent of English barristers, stripped of his robes and kneeling, his neck encased in a dog collar, as the blows rained down on his pink behind and spotty back until he ejaculated with the invariable cry of ‘Mother’.

T
he month following the end of the trial was a time of great uncertainty, for Clara had that length of time in which to lodge an appeal, and the defendants had no guarantee that, if she did, the Court of Appeal Judge would be as amenable as Mr Justice Landsworth had been.

However, Clara did not know the full extent of Conkers Coningby’s complicity, nor did she know about the party that had taken place at Mr Justice Landsworth’s house during the trial. She consequently decided that there was little point in pursuing justice through the courts and instructed Henry Spencer not to file an appeal.

‘But we stand a good chance on appeal, Marchesa,’ he advised, which Clara rightly took to be an invitation to spend more of her money.

‘I’d rather get on with my life than prolong the distress of seeking justice for my brother through your courts. I’ve got the message. There is no justice here. But one day my sister-in-law and that partner of my brother’s will make a mistake, and when they do, I intend to be right there, ready and waiting, to get a fairer approximation of justice than I’ll ever see in any court of law.’

‘It’s your decision, of course, and I respect it, but Conkers feels we stand a good chance of reversing the judgement on appeal. He’s even informally looked up some helpful case law.’

‘My mind’s made up,’ she said simply, and that was the end of the matter.

Bianca was with her gardeners, tending to the azalea bushes, when the butler came outside to inform her discreetly she was wanted on the telephone.

‘Mary Landsworth here. I have good news. The Marchesa isn’t filing an appeal.’

Bianca was genuinely puzzled by her sister-in-law’s conduct. If the roles had been reversed, she would never have thrown in the towel. Bianca was a fervent believer that persistence wins the day - or, at very least, sours your adversary’s victory.

‘Does that mean that the case is closed, once and for all?’ she asked, needing to be reassured that the danger had passed.

‘The judgement is now set in stone,’ Mary said.

‘I can’t tell you what a relief that is,’ Bianca said, meaning every word. ‘Clara would have completely destroyed my reputation if she’d won that case. As it is, she’s hopelessly sullied it in Mexico. Every time I’m there, I have to rise above the sniggers and whispers that accompany me everywhere I go. People have no idea how painful it is to be suspected of something you didn’t do.’

Any public appearance she made in Mexico was accompanied by a palpable ripple of speculation about what had really happened to Ferdie. Try as she might, Bianca had found it impossible to ignore. To someone for whom social approval was as essential as oxygen, this notoriety was an exquisite torment, especially when she contrasted it with the days when Ferdie was still alive and she was fêted everywhere as the socially eminent Mrs Piedraplata. If it were up to her, she would never have gone back to Mexico once the sneering had started, but being one of the richest women in that country with vast financial interests there, she had been obliged to maintain a public profile for the duration of the legal proceedings and act as if nothing was happening. All the same, she made sure that she visited only when she had to and stayed for the barest minimum length of time.

‘You don’t deserve being vilified the way that sister-in-law of yours has been pillorying you,’ Mary observed sympathetically.

‘I know,’ she agreed, Mary’s expression of faith mingling with the joy that suddenly welled up within her at the prospect of finally being able to
enjoy her status as one of the richest women in the world without being crucified on the cross of public humiliation. All that delicious money she had inherited from Ferdie was now hers and hers alone. For the first time in her life she had the liberty and the means to satisfy her every urge and desire. It was a truly liberating sensation, and the headiness of it was positively intoxicating.

‘You know, Mary,’ Bianca said, ‘I’m grateful for your help in getting that woman off my back. To show you my appreciation, I’m going to get Asprey to make you a copy of that Verdura brooch of mine that you admired the other evening when we had dinner at the Caprice. And I’m going to donate another £100,000 to your Distressed Legal Gentlefolk Society. Truth be told, I’d like to give it to you outright as a present, but I wouldn’t want to do anything that would embarrass you or give people the wrong impression if they found out about it, and I’m pretty sure you would prefer it to go to the charity.’

‘You’re so kind and sensitive. If anyone deserves a smoother ride, it’s you, Bianca. Thank you so much for your expression of appreciation. I’d love a copy of the brooch. It will be a most welcome personal token.’

At the start of dinner that evening, Bianca laid the first brick in the new courtyard of her life. ‘You know, Ion,’ she said, having discussed her plans previously with Philippe, ‘I’ve become increasingly aware over the last few months of how unfair I’ve been to you. I’ve presumed far too much on our friendship in having asked you to give up so much for me for so little in return. I’ve been thinking a lot about whether it would be fair to you to continue as we’ve been going, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the greatest favour I can do you…and the most sincere expression I can convey to you of the real affection I have for you…is to set you free. For that reason, I’d like us to get a divorce. I want you to know,’ she continued, reaching out and touching Ion’s hand, ‘that I appreciate what a devoted and wonderful companion you’ve been, and I hope that we’ll always remain the very best of friends.’

Knowing that he had outlived his usefulness, Ion had been expecting this, but he was still astonished at the speed with which his wife had moved.

‘I’m happy to have been of service,’ he said and arched an eyebrow, his expression registering some of what he was now thinking.

Bianca, hypersensitive as always to the reactions of others, took immediate steps to remove any sting from the situation, especially as she and Philippe were both of the opinion that it would be far too dangerous to fall out with him. ‘Oh, darling, I wouldn’t put it like that,’ she replied soothingly. ‘You’ve been the most devoted friend any girl could want, and I hope none of that will change. To show you how sincere I am, I want you to continue finding things for me in the same way as you did before our marriage. I also want to continue your allowance for the next ten years, and would love it if you’d consent to a lump-sum settlement as well. Would you do that and make me happy?’

‘What sort of a lump-sum settlement?’ Ion asked, mindful that Philippe’s hooded eyes were boring right through him.

‘I asked Juan Gilberto Macias what a generous settlement would be, and he said $250,000. But because I love you so much and I’m confident that we’ll always remain close, I want you to have the maximum I can afford: $500,000.’

Once more Ion raised an eyebrow, this time in surprise at the amount she was offering him. Obviously, his role had been more crucial than he had realized. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said, intending to be gracious.

Philippe assuming that Ion was trying to raise the stakes, jumped in protectively. ‘Bianca is being very generous, Ion,’ he said quietly ‘Half a million dollars for a short-lived marriage…many wives get far less from their multimillionaire husbands after twenty years…’

Before Ion could reply, Bianca, compounded the comedy of errors by adding: ‘I love you, Ion. You’re one of my best friends and always will be, I hope. I don’t want you and Philippe to get into a wrangle over anything and certainly not over money. I know how exquisite your taste is, and what the price of things is nowadays. I want you to be in a position to leave this marriage with good memories, and to buy yourself a few mementos. If I scrabble around, I’m sure I can manage $600,000, and that’s the amount I’d really like you to have. Will you accept it together with all of my thanks, and will you promise me that we’ll always remain friends and that you’ll come for dinner at least once a fortnight?’

‘Of course I will,’ Ion said, raising Bianca’s hand to his lips and kissing the air between them.

‘That’s settled, then,’ Philippe said.

‘Shall I move out tomorrow?’ asked Ion, ever the gentleman.

Immediately after the divorce, Philippe, who had been waiting years to make the woman of his dreams his wife, swung into action, arranging for a Reform rabbi to marry them at the Synagogue in St John’s Wood, London. ‘Let’s keep it small,’ Philippe suggested and made it plain to Bianca that the only guests he wanted were her three children and Manolito, together with his brother Raymond, sister-in-law Begonia and sisters Hepsibah and Rebecca.

This marriage meant almost more to Philippe than the fortune he had acquired by fair means and foul. As a result, the ceremony was tremendously moving, and there was no doubt in the minds of any of the guests that this was a union to which both bride and groom were committed for the remainder of their lives. Everyone was struck by the passion emanating from Philippe. ‘He really loves her,’ even Hepsibah observed to her sister, having taken an instant dislike to Bianca the moment she first met her.

After the ceremony, Philippe ensured that the romance of the occasion continued in true style by taking over the Brasserie at Claridge’s for the wedding breakfast. Aside from the family and Walter and Ruth Huron, who flew in from New York for the reception, their guests consisted exclusively of members of the legal profession. Mr Justice Landsworth popped in for forty-five minutes during the lunch recess of his trial. His wife Mary arrived and left with Lord and Lady Ralph Coningby, and Juan Gilberto Macias flew in from Mexico especially for the event. During a short speech, in which Philippe thanked everyone for coming, he raised his glass to Bianca and put into words what his every action had been conveying: ‘To the woman of my dreams.’ No one present doubted the sincerity of that statement, although Hepsibah could not resist remarking to Rebecca: ‘I can see what he sees in her, but what does she see in him? Their relationship just doesn’t make sense to me.’

Of course, neither Mahfud sister knew anything about the ties binding the happy couple to each other. This was only the fourth occasion upon which Hepsibah had met her, although Rebecca did accompany Philippe on Bianca’s honeymoon with Ion, at which time she formed the opinion that she was a charming but trivial personality with, as she put it, ‘all the emotional depth of a powder compact.’

Although Hepsibah and Rebecca succeeded in keeping their opinion of Bianca from Philippe, they were less successful in keeping it from their new sister-in-law. ‘I don’t think your sisters like me,’ Bianca remarked to
her new husband.

‘Of course they do. They even said how glamorous and elegant you are.’

‘Now that really convinces me they don’t like me,’ she shrewdly observed, looking at Philippe’s plain and dour sisters, neither of whom was wearing any makeup, one in a plain bottle green dress, the other in an equally style-less dark blue dress, each costume topped off with a well-cut wig whose uniformity of colour announced their commitment to their Orthodox faith.

Thereafter, Bianca’s new sisters-in-law would never fail to make her skin crawl for they had committed the cardinal sin of failing to like her, to succumb to her charm and warmth and to reflect back to her the opinion she wished them to have of her. Although she was hereafter as careful as they were to keep her true feelings from their brother, Bianca marked them down as adversaries to be avoided, resolving there and then to do all she could to loosen Philippe’s ties with them.

Such problems, however, were very much in the future in those early days of the marriage. From the start of the marriage, Philippe seemed to be calling the shots, while Bianca played the traditional Middle Eastern role of the obliging wife. Although she would have liked to continue basing herself at L’Alexandrine, her new husband had decreed otherwise. ‘The South of France is not a practical place for us to live. Ideally, we should live between New York and Mexico. L’Alexandrine we can use as our summer house.’

Careful though Bianca was never to defy Philippe in public, in private it was another matter altogether. ‘Never,’ she declared in no uncertain terms as soon as the dreaded word ‘Mexico’ was uttered. ‘If you want to live there, you’ll have to do so on your own. I will never live there again.’

‘I don’t know what you have against Mexico. If I can move into Ferdie’s house in Mexico City and into Sintra and treat them as my own, why can’t you? I don’t like having to go there on my own.’

‘I will never live in Mexico again,’ she repeated with a decided and emphatic vehemence. ‘I hate the place and will only ever go when I absolutely have to.’

‘Come on, darling, it isn’t that bad. I like it. The children like it…’

‘Then they can live there if they want, and so can you.’

‘What’s the point of keeping two properties fully staffed for your use
all year round if you hate the country they’re in so much?’

‘If I ever severed my ties with Mexico, Amanda would use that as an excuse to revise the custody arrangements with Manolito,’ Bianca replied. ‘I have to have an official residence there, at least until he achieves his majority. You know that only too well. If it weren’t for that, I can tell you, I’d never set foot in the place ever again.’

‘Julio and Pedro tell me they want to live there when they’ve finished college. To them, Mexico is home.’

‘It used to be for me too, but no longer. Home is now L’Alexandrine, though I suppose I’ll have to expand my horizons to include New York as well.’

‘Why don’t you fly there next week and find us an apartment?’ suggested Philippe, conceding defeat.

‘Living in New York is fine by me. I’ll speak to Ruth and see who she recommends as a realtor.’

Of course, Philippe did not need to explain to Bianca why it was important that she use a top realtor. She now knew that in New York the only way to buy into a really good building was to do it through good connections. And good connections could always be obtained if you paid a high enough price. As Philippe and Bianca both needed a good address - he for professional reasons, she for social ones - the best way of achieving what they wanted was by using a top realtor.