Opposing Forces (3 page)

“Talking of men,” Maisie groaned “I should get a move on if I am meeting with the charismatic iceberg at our apartment.” 

It took a long time and plenty of skill to cover the bruises on her face whilst still keeping her natural looking skin tone.  Dressed in a plain white shirt and faded jeans, she was ready to go round two with the Chief of Police.  If only her head felt up to the task.

A police officer was waiting at the doorway to her apartment when she stepped out the lift.  Her front door had not yet been replaced. 

“Has the Chief of Police arrived?” she asked the officer.

“Not yet, ma’am. He should be here shortly.”

Maisie entered her apartment and could not believe how badly trashed it was.  Most of the furniture in the living room was beyond salvaging and much of the decor was wrecked.  A couple of the windows were cracked and the curtains torn from their tracks. The expensive wood floor was badly scratched. Cushions had been ripped to shreds, making it look like several chickens had been sacrificed. One hell of a mess.

She spotted some shattered coloured glass on the floor and knelt down to examine it.  There was a huge lump in her throat as she picked up the fragments.   Of all the items to be broken, not this one.  It meant everything to her. She tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Whatever that was, I’m sure we can replace It.” A cold, disinterested voice made her jump.

She looked up at him, painfully aware that one tear had managed to escape and was making its way down over her cheek.  “This was hand-blown by my grandmother for me at the glass factory in Murano. As she died last year, I think it highly unlikely she will be able to make me another.”  She was aiming for an extremely caustic tone, but instead her voice betrayed all the sadness she was feeling.

She rose with as much dignity as she could muster.  “Please excuse me for a moment.”  She darted off to the sanctuary of her bedroom, which luckily was untouched, and deposited the glass fragments in a trinket box.  She was heartbroken over the vase, it could never be replaced.  What she might be able to do, was to have the glass melted down and formed into another object.  It would still hold fond memories of Grandma Carrington.

Glancing in the mirror, Maisie touched up her make-up.  It struck her as a little strange that she was so eager to hide her facial bruising, it should be on full show so the Chief could see his Department’s handiwork.  Bruises aside, she needed to get her emotions under control before facing the Chief.

Great start, Steffen muttered to himself.  Not how he envisaged their meeting kicking off.  Perhaps Maisie Carrington had a twin?  The fragile, young woman he had just upset further was a far cry from the ball-breaker he met last night.  He walked out onto the balcony and stared at the square below.  The old city was quite stunning.  The ancient buildings were cramped together, some looking slightly rickety. The cobbled streets were all very narrow, filled with boutique shops, bistros and underground bars.  And right in the middle of all this was the cathedral.

“I love the old city, it is the heart of Lausanne,” a soft voice spoke beside him.

He turned and stared at her. It was the first time he really got to see what she actually looked like out of costume.  With soft golden curls, big blue eyes and a pink glow to her cheeks, she was the quintessential English rose. And a very well educated and connected one at that, he had found out.

“It does have a certain charm,” Steffen responded. 

“Well, Chief Grundberg, shall we get down to business? I have a Raiders match to go to later.” She was back to her authoritative self. “If the players can make it onto the ice, then the least I can do is support them.”

They returned inside where the designer was duly waiting.  Maisie spent the next hour going through exactly what needed to be replaced, redecorated or repaired.  The list was pretty extensive.  Steffen stayed silent most of the time, he was busy watching her with fascination.  She had obviously done much of the renovations herself as she knew as much about the products, methods and finishes as the designer. He was secretly quite impressed.

“As soon as this mess is cleared and the front door replaced, Julianne and I will be happy to move back in.  We’re not here much during the week, so won’t get in the way of the workmen.”

Thank God for that, Steffen thought to himself.  He did not even want to contemplate what the bill from the Beau Rivage would be for an extended stay.

She looked at the Chief.  “If you are happy, I can deal direct with the designers?”

“Just keep me informed of what is going on.”  He felt he was being discarded like an unwanted sock.   “Before I leave, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions concerning Officer Thevenez?  It has no bearing on your own case but will help me in assessing his.”

“You can certainly ask. Whether or not I choose to answer will depend on the question,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

He headed back to the entrance hall. The table with its lovely flower arrangement was shattered into hundreds of pieces.  “Officer Thevenez was standing right here when you first saw him?”

Maisie nodded in response.

“Can I ask why you thought someone dressed as a police officer would be one of your party guests?”  That question had been annoying him all night.

Maisie tried to suppress her grin as she remembered Philippe standing there looking so decidedly cute.  “He didn’t look like your typical officer; I’ve never seen one with hair longer than a buzz cut.  Nor did he have their arrogance, he just appeared so sweet. On the few occasions I’ve had the misfortune to run into your officers, they have been nothing more than ignorant, backward oafs.  So I guess the mistake was easy.”

Steffen bit his tongue and resisted the urge to retaliate.  “Did he not have a gun in his holster?”

“Yes,” Maisie smiled.  “But then the Centurion had a sword, and Darth Vader a light sabre; it does not necessary make them real.”

Maisie suddenly remembered the flowers on her roof garden needed watering before she left.  “Sorry, roses need feeding,” she blurted out and scurried back to her room.

Steffen stared after her departing figure.  She really was barking mad, even for an Englishwoman.  But he was curious so followed her to the end of the apartment then up a small staircase.  It opened into her bedroom.  It was definitely not what he expected, it was stunning; almost as though it had come out of a French country mansion.  The bed had an ornately carved head and base board and was whitewashed, the furniture all seemed to have the air of exquisite elegance, the cream chaise longue was very plush and the whole room had the fragrance of rose.  Leading off the room were a few steps up to the French windows which opened out onto the small roof terrace.  Out there was a comfortable cream sofa and chair; an extensive trellis ran round the terrace and it was filled with intertwining roses, the smell from which was glorious. Maisie was busy watering her roses with their plant food, she did not see him at first.

She shrieked and leapt back, she was clearly not expecting anyone to be out here.

“Sorry,” he apologised and bent down to pick up her watering can. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“I thought you’d left,” she glared at him.  He had invaded her private haven.

Steffen felt a little guilty; he had no real reason for being out there other than idle curiosity.  He thought fast.  “I wanted to check if you needed a lift back to the Beau Rivage?”

“Thanks but my car is downstairs.” 

“Very well, I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just then the officer who had been at the front door came rushing out, gun in hand.  “Is everything alright, Miss Carrington? I heard a scream.”

Maisie was surprised to see the Police Chief turn a little pink.  “Everything is fine, Valmont.  I inadvertently startled Miss Carrington.”  He turned and left quickly, starting to feel like a voyeur who had just been caught.

She smiled kindly at the officer.  “I’m fine thank you.  I need to get on my way, but help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen.”

The Police Chief had already left by the time she got to her car; it must be torture for him having to agree to all her demands, she smiled to herself.

Pascal Dumont waited a little nervously outside Chief Grundberg’s office. As far as he was concerned, Thevenez had been the one who had screwed up, so he had nothing to worry about.

The door opened and a senior officer ordered him in.  The Chief was sitting behind his desk and looked his usual cold self. 

“Well, Dumont. Let’s hear your version of last night’s events,” he barked.

“Thevenez went up to serve a noise violation and was gone too long.  He didn’t respond to the radio.  The party was very raucous so I assumed he was in trouble.”

“Did you not think about going up yourself before calling the riot squad out?”

“Then two of us would have been in trouble, Sir.”

“So instead the riot squad kicked the front door down and entered the apartment without the owner or anyone knowing that there was a problem?”

“Yes, Sir.” Pascal stood rigid.

“Why did you not just call for back up?”

“I thought we needed more reinforcements than another squad car.”

“How would you know, you didn’t go near the apartment?”

“It sounded very wild.”

“Have you any idea how much this is going to cost us, not just in monetary terms?  Our reputation has been hit very hard.”  Chief Grundberg tossed a couple of newspapers across the desk.  “Ice hockey players are used to being roughed up, but these beautiful women are not.  These pictures are of our Department’s handiwork.  I certainly do not want to be associated with such brutality.”

“But they broke the law, Sir.” Pascal stuck to his guns.

“I don’t give a damn. It does not warrant a response like this,” the Chief thundered.  “I am aware that in the heat of the moment officers have to make quick decisions.  But yours was way over the top.  You’re restricted to desk duty for the next month.  Any further mistakes and your next meeting will be before a tribunal.”

Pascal left the Chief feeling very hard done by.  He thought his actions were perfectly justified. The party had broken the law, and they had paid the price.  He admired the Chief greatly but on this occasion, he was most definitely wrong.  Even more so because Thevenez had only received a reprimand.

Bettina Grundberg sat in her car a short distance from the Movenpick Hotel in Bern.  She had just seen her husband go inside with a girl who looked younger than their own daughter.  Hubert had had plenty of affairs over the years but she had overlooked them for the sake of their marriage and the children.  And to protect his precious career as a leading Senator in the Swiss Parliament. But now she had had enough.  Her children were grown up and she was determined to enjoy the remainder of life.  However to force Hubert to give her the divorce, plus a decent settlement, she needed something shocking to hold over his head.  And by the looks of it, he was about to provide it.

She phoned the hotel’s switchboard.  “Could you put me through to my husband’s suite please, it’s 14…. Oh, I’m so sorry, it’s gone completely out of my head.” Hubert frequently stayed in this hotel, and being a creature of habit, always liked to have a suite on the fourteenth floor. She was banking on him running true to form.

“No problem,” the hotel operator was polite. “Could you give me your husband’s name?”

“It’s Senator Grundberg.”

“Ah yes, it’s 1481, Frau Grundberg, I’ll put you straight through.”

She hung up the minute the phone rang.  After waiting around ten minutes, she strolled into the hotel and picked the most inexperienced looking receptionist.  “I do apologise, I think I’ve left the key in my room.  It’s 1481.”

The receptionist smiled knowingly.  Guests had a habit of doing this.  “Your name?”

“Grundberg.”

“Could I ask for some identification Frau Grundberg?”

Bettina flashed her identity card. A few seconds later the receptionist passed her another key tag.

Taking a deep breath, she took the lift up to the fourteenth floor.   She paused for a moment outside the door to 1481 before swiping the key card and entering. The living room of the suite was deserted, but she heard the noises from the bedroom loud and clear.  For some strange reason she smiled.  Happy perhaps that she was going to get so much pleasure from this.

She pushed the bedroom door open wide.  “I would like to say I’m shocked, but I always knew you were a lying bastard.”

The naked, young redhead who was sitting astride her equally naked husband turned around.  She was pretty but in a particular cheap looking way.  “Who the fuck are you?”

“His wife. Now smile for your photo.”  She took a picture on her mobile; three in fact, just in case Hubert tried to contest anything at a later date.

The redhead went to move off her husband.  “Oh, please don’t stop on my account. It’s fascinating to see that he can actually get an erection.  Viagra was it, dear?” Bettina was enjoying herself.

“What the hell are you to up, Bettina?” Hubert looked almost purple with rage.

“Just proving what a sack of shit you really are. And a pervert too, screwing a girl who looks even younger than your own daughter.”  She slipped the phone back in her handbag.  “Now please carry on fucking this girl, I’d hate for you not to get your money’s worth.”  She turned and walked out of the suite with dignity.  She felt empowered, Hubert had done her a great favour. This would ensure she got a very sizeable settlement. 

On the drive back to Zurich, she made an appointment to see her lawyer, Michael, the next day so she could present her errant husband with her terms for their divorce as quickly as possible.  She ignored four phone calls from Hubert, bloody man could stew for all she cared; she didn’t want to listen to his pathetic lies or excuses.  Their marriage was done. Now she could start dreaming about a new life in Lucerne, the city where she grew up and one which contained happy memories.

Sabina Grundberg was sitting in the nightclub feeling very bored.  It was a friend’s twenty-first birthday party and the venue had been hired exclusively for them.   She glanced around in despair; it seemed like most of the women there had been cloned.  Stick thin, gaunt expression, long straight hair.   She was slim but at least she had some curves.  Half of them slugged back Crystal champagne, the other half drinking just water, fearful that they might gain a gram or two.    She ordered a beer just to shock.  In truth, she was actually quite partial to beer, but it was not considered ladylike to swig straight from the bottle.

She hated being part of the Zurich elite, she longed for a normal life, with normal grounded people. People who had proper jobs and lives that did not revolve around gossip and backstabbing.

“Sabina, my love,” Charles von Gruber flopped down beside her. “You look like you need entertaining.”

“I just thinking about leaving,” she responded flatly.  She knew Charles well; his father worked closely with hers. Charles was a typical rich playboy, never took work seriously, had probably never held down a job and lived off his father’s money.

“A good idea, we could go back to my place.”

“In your dreams, perhaps,” she scowled.

“Don’t be so uptight.” He attempted to put an arm around her but failed.

“I’m not being uptight, just honest.  You’re a toad.”

Charles laughed.  “You know our fathers would dearly like us to become better acquainted, so what better time than now?”

“I don’t care what my father wants, I’m not a commodity that can be bought or sold to the highest bidder.”

“You’re a Grundberg, Sabina,” Charles sighed. “You’ll only marry into old money so step down off your high horse.”

“I’ll marry whom the hell I please,” she snarled back.  “And whoever it will be, won’t be some inbred moron like yourself.”  She threw back the last of her beer and headed out the club.

The cold night air hit her as soon as she stepped outside. She hailed a taxi and as it sped through the deserted city, she realised that it was not Zurich she hated but her family name.  So much was expected of her because she was a Grundberg.  People envied her because of her surname, but if they only knew that it was actually a curse. 

The taxi pulled into the courtyard of her home and she slipped quietly through the front door.  She made a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table cradling it in her hands.

“You look deep in thought, Sabina,” her mother’s voice made her jump.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” Sabina pulled a face. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. You’re back earlier than expected. Was the party no good?”

“I wasn’t in the mood for it.”

Bettina scrutinised her daughter. Her usual zest for life had been missing of late. “Something has been bothering you for a while, my dear.  Are you going to tell me what’s eating you up?”

Sabina put her cup down.  “I’m tired of being a Grundberg, mother. I just want a normal life.”

Bettina smiled and put her arm around her daughter.  “You and me both.”

“I’m serious, mama.  I want to move somewhere I’m not known.”

“Have you thought about going to Lausanne?”

“Grundberg is not a surname I want to have in Lausanne,” Sabina was horrified at the thought.

“How about using my maiden name?”

“Laroque?”

“Yes. Sabina Laroque sounds good.”

“Can I do that?”

“Of course.  I can ask Michael to officially amend your surname to Grundberg-Laroque. By doing that, you can legally just use one without the other.”

Sabina thought about it for a few minutes.  “Sabina Laroque,” she mused. “I like it.”  She looked at her mother.  “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course, my darling.  I think it’s time we thought about a new, more interesting life for you away from Zurich.”

“I would like to enrol in university.  Lausanne has one of the best.”

“Then I suggest you start making enquiries for September enrolment.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  You don’t need my permission to decide your future. You govern your own life.  Have you thought about what you would like to study?”

“I have a few ideas.  I liked the three months I spent in the Amazon, so maybe something around conservation and forestry.”

“You also have a very good eye for art.”

“There’s that too.”

“All I ask it that you do something that makes you happy.”

“Just being an average student is enough for me.”

Her mother laughed.  “You could never be average, Sabina.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead.  

Bettina watched her daughter head off to bed.  She was delighted Sabina wanted to escape, to make her own way in the world. The last thing she wanted to see was Sabina drawn into making the same mistakes she had made, to have the life slowly crushed out of her animated child.  And besides, when news of her intention to divorce Hubert hit the headlines, she wanted Sabina as far away as possible from the war zone.

She allowed herself a small chuckle; it seemed the Grundberg women were finally rebelling.  Hubert would be most displeased.