The Persian Price (25 page)

‘Is everything ready?'

‘Everything,' he said gently. ‘You do your part and I'll do mine. And smile, chérie. Make it a happy morning for him. He won't see another.'

Peters woke very early. He left Eileen before the dawn broke and it was the only sad note in their lovemaking that she so often woke up to find he had gone. The bedroom was no longer a comfortable prison, a cage in which she paced up and down dreaming of rescue or escape. It was a haven, a private place where she lived a new life with a man she loved. There was no other word to describe what she felt for him. From the first night when he made love to her and the metamorphosis began, her passionate need of him had only increased. Beyond the boundaries of sex, a range of feeling she had never suspected was developing. She had loved Logan but she had never been an integral part of him. The union between her and Peters was so fundamental that it was like being connected to his spinal cord. She understood the meaning of that metaphysical expression in the marriage service about the man and woman being one. She was one with him. When she touched him it was like an extension of herself. And if her commitment to him was complete, then it was mutual. She talked about herself, about her life and her marriage, and it sounded like the recital of someone else's life. Flying from London to Paris to entertain for Logan; dressing in clothes that cost a poor man's yearly wages; dispensing fine food and exquisite wines like some character in a pre-war play; living a life where the values were prefixed by a dollar sign; making relationships with people where there was no common ground beyond expediency. It sounded degrading and telling him made her ashamed. It was all far away and, having told him, she wanted to forget it. He hadn't confided in her about himself. He wasn't the kind of man who looked back in self-analysis. He was himself and she accepted it. And now she never thought about the future. She lived for the day, for their walks in the garden where they sat in the sun and there were no more thoughts of running away from him, of the nights when her door was unlocked and he came in to her. It was like a beautiful dream, filled with tender sensuality.

That morning he brought up her breakfast tray. She insisted that he shared it with her. Afterwards they went to the window; she loved to look out. Peters had his arm around her.

‘I have to take her into Nice,' he said. ‘I don't like leaving you, but Resnais won't be here. I'll be back as quickly as I can this afternoon. I thought I might take you for a swim. Would you like that?'

Eileen leaned her head against him. Below them the sea was blue and glittering in the sunshine.

‘Aren't you afraid I might escape?'

‘I can swim pretty fast,' Peters said. He kissed her hair.

He had not thought about another person subjectively for years. Now the quality that added lustre to their relationship was the total generosity with which she gave herself to him. And asked for nothing. He couldn't imagine any woman in a similar position who wouldn't have tried to persuade him to let her go. She didn't ask because she trusted him and because the understanding between them was so deep that neither sought advantage.

She hadn't asked him for the final commitment, but he knew that he would have to make it. On balance, Damascus was confident that her husband meant to carry out the terms for her release. Saiid Homsi believed in him. But neither of them knew that the bargaining card they held had never been a trump. Men like Logan Field didn't throw away Imshan for a woman they no longer wanted.

‘I shall miss you,' Eileen said. ‘I can try to finish that dreadful sex book you gave me.'

He turned round and kissed her. It took a long time. When he went downstairs Madeleine had brought the Renault out of the garage.

‘You drive,' she said. ‘I'm sick of that coast road. Let's go along the Moyenne Corniche for a change. We'll see some wonderful views. It's so clear today.'

Logan was having breakfast in his suite in the Okura Hotel when he got Janet's cable. ‘Khorvan murdered. No change in the other negotiation. Please telex your progress as am anxious for news. Janet.'

He had slept well, after a long and tedious dinner with a dozen senior Japanese oil men. He felt relaxed in mind and body. The Japanese importers and the Government had agreed to a partnership, the terms of which would provide the extra money needed to finance the building and installation of the new refinery. The heads of agreement were being drawn up and he expected to sign them before leaving for Tehran. He had kept the question mark at bay, ruthlessly excluding it from his calculations. He went ahead as if there were no such man as Saiid Homsi and his wife were at home with their child in England. He closed out everything and brought the negotiations to a successful conclusion. Then he slept, because he knew that in the morning the truth would have to be admitted. He was gambling and he was doing so deliberately because he couldn't bring himself to back away and lose without a fight. There had to be a way out, a way which would save Eileen's life and still leave Imshan within grasp.

When he read Janet's cable he jumped to his feet with excitement. It couldn't have been more fortuitous. Imperial's main enemy and opponent was gone. It was incredible luck. He didn't think in human terms, and the Minister's death was not even a shock. It was a bonus. Without him, it might even now be possible to get the construction of the refinery deferred until Imperial had got the bulk of its investment back. Already he was dealing with Khorvan's successor in his mind. It was likely to be Amir Momtaz, former Ambassador in Washington and known to sympathize with the West. The way was clearing for Imshan. He could never have calculated on the removal of Khorvan. Nothing seemed to stand between him and the apex of his career. The solution to the savage inflationary problem of Western countries was within his personal grasp. He, Logan Field, head of Imperial Oil, was in a position to conclude a deal with the Government of Iran which would result in the break-up of Arab solidarity over oil prices, something that the diplomacy of the West had signally failed to achieve. His company would rank with the oil giants through the development of Imshan. From far below the sounds of Tokyo's frenetic traffic was a muted hum. Sitting in the tenth-floor suite in the luxurious Japanese hotel, Logan felt as if he were standing on the mountain peak looking down at the kingdoms beneath with the promise that all could be his if he would only pay the price.

And the price was Eileen. Deliberately he tried to call her face to mind and nothing came. It was a blank, as if he were subconsciously rejecting her memory. One life, balanced against the solution of a global problem. He had said to James Kelly that if it were no more than his own interests and those of the company, there would have been no conflict, and in that moment of self-examination he persuaded himself that it was true. Janet believed that Eileen would be killed whatever he did. He wasn't prepared to accept that view, but it raised a terrible doubt. It could all be thrown away for nothing. There was a reflection of himself in a mirror across the room. He looked up and saw it, a man sitting hunched in his chair, fighting against two impossible alternatives. To sentence his wife and his child's mother to an assassin's bullet or to destroy his life's work and leave the salvation of the economic and political system of Western Europe in doubt. And then to find that she was not returned alive. ‘I don't think you'll ever see her again.' He remembered Janet saying that. He shuddered. Now her face was clear in his mind, the protecting screen dissolved, showing her to him in a dozen guises.

Walking through the soggy Irish fields to show him some horse in which he had no interest, reaching out to him on their honeymoon, leaning over his shoulder as he opened a Christmas present she had given him. He could remember exactly what it was. A little sepia study of hands by an unknown eighteenth-century artist. It hung in his study in London.

The man reflected in the mirror bent over, his head hidden in his hands. He realized he had been thinking of her in the past tense.

Resnais had left the villa early. He checked that the fishing-rod case was in the boot and drove off in the Jaguar. The coast road branched off towards the Corniche about five miles further on and he drove fast. At the junction leading to the mountain road he eased the car back and pulled into a lay-by. He changed his rope-soled sandals for strong shoes with rubber grips and pulled a black sweater over his white sweat shirt. He swung back onto the road and took the route up the mountain side. It was a hot morning and he was oily with sweat. His watch said nine fifty-five. Madeleine would leave with Peters at ten o'clock. He calculated that it would take them just over twenty-five minutes to reach the spot on the road he had indicated to her when they drove back from Nice. They had done the journey in reverse and arrived at the villa exactly half an hour later. He drove on, climbing the twisted road; below him the mountainside fell away, carpeted with pine trees. There was a steep bend, with a blind corner, and he slowed down. Rounding it he drove on for another hundred and fifty yards. The road widened here and there was sufficient room for a car to pull up against the rock verge without impeding traffic.

Resnais stopped the car, pulled out the angler's case and began to run back to the corner. It was ten-fifteen exactly. He climbed off the road, swinging himself up over the rocky overhang; there was a patch of scrub growing up just ahead of the blind corner. He had crouched there the day before and it gave him a perfect view of the road and anything approaching on it before the corner itself had to be rounded. The angle was very steep. No car could hope to take it at speed. On the right-hand side the drop down the mountainside was hundreds of feet into the valley. Resnais unpacked the rifle and clipped on the telescopic sight. He heard the sound of a car and flattened himself in the scrub, sighting along the barrel. He had a clear view of a red Peugeot as it came along the road below him and plenty of time to identify it by the number plate. The Peugeot rounded the corner, slowing as it approached, and then disappeared. Resnais didn't move; he stayed in position, squinting through the tiny range finder on the rifle, waiting for the car driven by Peters to come into view.

Madeleine got into the front seat of the Renault beside Peters; she threw a raffia bag onto the back seat. She remarked on the heat and he said something non-committal; neither of them talked for the first part of the drive. She watched the road ahead through dark glasses and as they swung onto the Corniche she glanced across him and down. The drop was increasing. He drove fast, but without being reckless.

The corner where she knew Resnais was waiting was about two hundred and fifty metres ahead of them.

‘I have to get this mended,' she said. She had taken her watch off and was looking at it. ‘It stopped last night.'

‘There's a place on the sea front,' Peters said. She was putting the watch back on her wrist; her window was down and her arm was lying across the edge of the door.

‘Oh,
merde
!'

Peters slowed at the exclamation.

‘What's the matter?'

‘My watch has fallen off – you'll have to stop.'

He halted the car and Madeleine sprang out. The corner was just ahead of them and he could neither see anything coming round it nor be seen.

‘Hurry up,' he said. ‘I can't stop here!'

She had been searching along the ground; she straightened, up and looked at him.

‘Go on,' she said. ‘I think there's a lay-by just round the corner. Wait for me there.'

She heard him say something irritated under his breath and she stood still, watching as the car moved forward, gathering speed. A hundred metres to go. Resnais waiting above the road. She felt nothing but a calm detachment. As the car came into Resnais's view he saw that Madeleine wasn't in it. He sighted on the nearside front wheel and, as Peters came into the straight stretch of road before the corner, he squeezed the trigger. Peters knew the road and the corner; he didn't slow down as much as someone might have done who was unfamiliar with the curve. Without taking his attention off the road he saw up above a movement in the scrub bushes on the overhang. When the tyre burst, there was a second or two when he tried to take avoiding action. He slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the right, hoping to take the corner. But the impetus of his own speed was too great. The rear wheels slewed round and the Renault nose-dived over the edge.

The sound of rending metal and shattering glass reverberated. There was a sickening distant crash, followed by the dull boom of an explosion as the petrol tank caught fire. A plume of ugly black smoke drifted up over the lip of the road. Madeleine was running towards the place where the car had gone over. Resnais scrambled down and they stood together looking over the edge. There was a fire burning among the pine trees down the mountainside.

‘Adieu, Peters,' Resnais said. He slapped her on the back. ‘Come on, chérie. Get in the car.'

She turned away too quickly for him to see that her eyes had filled with tears.

The accident was reported to the police within the hour, but by the time the rescue squad climbed down to the site of the fire there were little outbreaks among the trees and a thick pall of black smoke hung in the air. There was nothing left of the car and anyone in it, but a mass of twisted, red hot metal.

Eileen spent the morning lazily. She bathed and passed some time resting on the bed; she dozed for a few minutes, her thoughts full of Peters. She dressed in the cotton dress he had bought her; there were more clothes in the cupboard, an assortment of lipsticks and box of expensive embroidered handkerchiefs which she hadn't the heart to tell him were less use to her than Kleenex. She brushed her hair and made up her lips. She looked tanned from the hours spent in the sunshine and the look of anxious strain had gone. It was a different face that looked back from the mirror, with satisfied eyes and serenity in her smile. She was aware that she looked younger; she felt as excited as a child at the promise to take her swimming when he got back. She went on brushing her hair and when she heard the key in the lock and the door opened she turned eagerly to meet him. Madeleine and Resnais were standing there. Resnais held a gun. Eileen dropped the brush and gave a cry of alarm. The Frenchman smiled.