The Rich Shall Inherit (21 page)

The fire was dead and only dusty gray embers remained in the massive grate as Carraldo drained the last drops of brandy and looked at his friend. Paolo had simply listened to his story in silence, and now Carraldo noticed that his hand was clenched so tightly around his glass, it was a miracle it didn’t break.

“For years,” Carraldo had said, “I’ve veered between two
different lives, changing from one persona to another between Naples and Milan. But there’s one thing the man was never able to change in me. My need for
sex. Sex has dominated my life!
Sometimes I think I’m owned by my body and its needs even more than I am by the man’s ‘business.’” He’d shrugged. “Of course, I try to keep my affairs discreet, but I’m aware there’s gossip. So, Paolo, now you see why I can never allow myself the luxury of a close relationship with a woman. I could never tell her
any
of my secrets. The man once warned me never to fall in love. ‘It will destroy you,’ he said, ‘as it almost did me.’
Love
can never have any part in my life.”

He’d walked over to the fireplace, kicking at the dead embers in the grate. “One other thing,” he’d said finally, “I was the ‘good son’ not the prodigal one of the parable. There are now many more millions from the business, scattered in banks around the world, than when the man died.” He’d paused, his shadowed eyes fixed on Paolo’s face. “But I swear I’ve never touched a cent of it. The personal fortune left me by the man I considered a proper inheritance from father to son. I used it to finance my galleries and my art-dealing. I am a very rich man, Paolo.
But nothing I own—not the houses, the cars, the boats, the treasures—has in any way touched the business.”

Leaning an arm along the mantel, he’d stared into the dead fire, afraid to look at Paolo, afraid of what he was going to say … he couldn’t bear to hear it. “Please feel free to leave,” he’d said, choking on the words. “I have no right to ask your friendship.”

Paolo had walked toward him and put an arm around his shoulders. “My dear Antony,” he’d said softly, “when a man has the courage to bear his soul to another, that is a sign of true friendship. I’m only glad that you felt you could tell me this story.”

Carraldo had felt the tension drain from his body, like a tightly coiled spring relaxing. He was aware that tears were trickling down his face but he was helpless to stop them. “All my life I’ve been alone,” he’d said brokenly. “When I met you it was like finding my brother.”

“And it will always be that way,” Paolo had assured him. “I only know that you are Antony Carraldo, my friend.”

Neither man ever referred to that night, or that conversation, again.

*  *  *

Carraldo sighed deeply, staring at the dead coals in the cold fireplace, just the way he had when he was with Paolo. But Paolo had died long ago. He was in the past, and Aria was the future.

Leiber’s list of the claimants to Poppy Mallory’s fortune lay on the table by the window, and pouring himself another glass of the fine marc brandy, he glanced again at the name “Orlando Messenger.” He hadn’t realized when he’d offered to help him that he, too, was after Poppy’s money, though his story seemed more farfetched than anyone else’s—except maybe Lauren Hunter’s. He’d sensed a grain of despair in Orlando about the waste of his talent and impulsively he’d decided to give him a chance. Of course, he didn’t know enough about his true work yet to warrant sponsorship; Orlando would have to prove his worth before he could expect serious financial help.

Staring out of the window into the empty London night, Carraldo thought that it wouldn’t make any difference that both Orlando and Aria were claiming the estate—but it would make Francesca furious when she found out. He smiled grimly at the thought. He hoped Orlando got the money; he hoped Pierluigi got the money; anybody—except Aria.

Claudia stretched languidly, glancing at the pretty lapis and gold Cartier bedside clock, one of the few trinkets remaining from her last marriage. It was ten-thirty in the morning, the telephone was ringing, and she was very annoyed. Her friends knew never to call her before eleven; she needed her beauty sleep, especially now that she was getting older.

Sighing exasperatedly, she flung a tiny lace pillow at the phone, burying her head beneath the covers … she must have forgotten to turn on the answering machine last night! Whoever was calling was very persistent, and it certainly wasn’t any of her friends because they knew her routine too well—therefore it could only be someone demanding money from her. Philistines.

The ringing stopped at last and she breathed a sigh of relief. She stretched luxuriously, running her hands the length of her smooth body, wondering how she felt to a man when he caressed her that way. Sometimes she wished she could be someone else making love to her, just so she’d know how sensational she was. She’d almost achieved it once, she thought, smiling, almost…

Since the age of thirteen, Claudia had been only too aware of her sensuous allure. She’d been a wild child—too wild, she now thought bitterly. Had she known then that her looks and sexual attraction were to be her only assets, she might have used them better. Instead, she’d run away from the quiet aristocratic life in a rambling marble villa in the middle of nowhere.

Sitting up, she lit a cigarette with a gold Cartier lighter, wafting away the smoke with an elegant manicured hand. Damn! One of her nails had chipped. That really was the last straw! She leaned back against the pillows, smoking sullenly and thinking of her parents.

Aleksandr Rinardi had been fifty years old when the twins were born in 1952, and he’d stared mistrustfully at the scraps of humanity he’d fathered, wondering how he was going to prevent them from upsetting the calm arrangement of his life. He’d been married to Lucia Galli for only two years and she had been the first woman to penetrate the icy sheath of loneliness that he’d formed around himself since he was nine years old. He cared nothing for these babies, he’d told himself,
nothing!
But they made Lucia happy, so he was prepared to accept them.

Tiny, soft-spoken Lucia was the golden glow in Aleksandr’s heart that made him look forward eagerly to waking each day and finding her curled in his arms, and to going to bed each night with her sleeping soundly beside him, while he, an insomniac, read his way through the night by the light of a flickering candle so that the glare of the lamp wouldn’t disturb her. He wanted only Lucia: no babies, nothing else—not even a dog. He’d even taken on her maiden name of Galli, giving up his own hated one of Rinardi, as well as the title of Barone.

As the twins Pierluigi and Claudia grew up, they had realized that effectively they were a one-parent family; Lucia was both mother and father to them and she’d treated them indulgently, letting them run wild in an effort to make up for their father’s neglect.

Claudia stamped out her cigarette angrily. There was no doubt that if her mother had gone back to the hospital when complications had set in after gallbladder surgery, she would be alive today. And how different life might have been then! But she’d wanted to be there, at the Villa Velata, safe with Aleksandr.
Safe!
After she’d died, their father had devoted himself to his gardens, planning an immense new lake that never seemed to be finished being dug, and mapping fantastic visions on paper of follies and gazebos, miniature English and French and Italianate gardens and landscapes, and paying no attention at all to his growing children.

Rebellious and curious, Claudia had had her first sexual encounter at the age of thirteen with one of the stable lads. She’d been hanging around, eyeing his muscular chest and small, tight buttocks longingly for some weeks, and every now and then he’d turn and catch her eye, giving her a knowing little smile. She’d smile back breathlessly as she busied herself brushing her bay mare, watching him all the while. Then one day he’d leaned over the edge of the stable door, just watching her as she worked. It was a hot summer morning and she was wearing a shirt and
riding breeches and nothing at all underneath, and she knew excitedly that he was staring at her breasts bouncing under her shirt. Putting down the brush, she’d turned to face him, stretching her arms upward so that he could see them through her thin shirt, while she pretended to fix her hair. His eyes had roamed boldly over her body, and then with a sardonic laugh he’d walked into the stable and unbuttoned his pants. As she watched breathlessly, with a mocking glance at her he’d peed a beautiful clear arc into the straw on the stable floor.

It was the most erotic act she could ever have imagined, and feeling a hot, moist excitement between her legs, she’d put her hand there instinctively. When he’d finished, he turned to look at her, her hand clutched between her legs, her eyes fixed on his member, swelling now as he gazed at her. Still with that knowing smile, he’d walked toward her and stood there, exposed. “Touch it,” he’d said to her. “Go on, touch it, that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Her eyes were riveted on his thick, springy penis and she’d known he was right, she wanted to touch it… she wanted it so very badly …. It had felt warm and hard and smooth in her hands, and he’d unfastened her shirt and was caressing her breasts, pulling at her hard nipples lustfully; she’d wanted it and him and anything he wanted to do to her; she wanted to do it all and to feel it all. She wanted to fuck so badly, it hurt.

In retrospect he hadn’t been a great lover, but he’d been young and big and hard and she’d let him do whatever he wanted, learning how to use her assets to the utmost until gradually she became the one in control of the situation. They met every day in the stables, sometimes twice or even three times; she couldn’t get enough of him. Claudia smiled as she lit another cigarette. Of course, she hadn’t known then that she was being watched, but that was a whole other story.

When she was sixteen she had run away with the son of a beach concessionnaire at Forte dei Marmi, the resort on the Tuscan coast that good Italian families always patronized in the summer. There had been no indecisiveness about her father then; he’d acted immediately. She was cut out of his will, he never wanted to see her again. And he never had—not even on his deathbed three years later.

By then Claudia was on her fourth—or was it her fifth—lover. The beachboy hadn’t lasted very long—just long enough to give her a comprehensive education in the art of sex and a taste for gutter language during it, and after that her craving for change
and luxury had led her into the clutches and the beds of some very odd men. There had been the British army officer who had loved her youth and made her dress up in the gym tunics and navy blue underpants that he’d had sent especially from a school-outfitters in London; and the riding master in Vienna who liked a taste of his own whip; and the French couturier who liked to watch her making it with someone else … but they’d all kept voluptuous young Claudia in the style to which she was accustomed.

It was all so long ago, she thought dispiritedly. Thank God she’d progressed from that misspent youth into a more lucrative line in men, establishing her name via a couple of wealthy ex-husbands as a prominent member of the international set. Only now, the last alimony settlement had somehow run out, and with it her entree into the only society she cared about.

The phone rang again and she glanced at it exasperatedly. Heaving a sigh, she rolled over and picked it up, clutching the sheet around her nakedness.
“Alio?”
she said huskily.

“Is this Claudia Galli?”

The man’s voice was deep and pleasant but totally unfamiliar, and she stared suspiciously into the receiver.
“Si, pronto,”
she said sharply, afraid that it was someone calling about another unpaid bill.

“Claudia, I’m sorry if I’ve woken you,” he said. “My name is Orlando Messenger, I’m a friend of Bibi Mouton’s. I saw her in London last week and when I mentioned I was going to be in Paris, she said if I was going to be alone, why didn’t I give you a call? I was wondering if perhaps you were free for lunch.”

“Lunch?” Claudia thought rapidly … if she said yes, he would know her engagement book was empty; but if she said she was too busy, she’d miss a really good restaurant and the chance of meeting someone new—and his voice sounded very pleasing, a nice, cultured upper-class English voice …. “Thank you, Orlando,” she said sweetly. “It’s so kind of you to invite me, but I’m afraid I already have a lunch date.”

“That’s a pity,” he said, sounding very disappointed. “I was looking forward to meeting you. Bibi told me so much about you …”

Claudia hesitated. “Still, I hate to think of you all alone in Paris, especially as Bibi asked you to call me … wait a minute, let me think what I can do.” She paused, tapping a nail reflectively on the receiver. “I know this is naughty,” she said with a little
giggle, “but for Bibi, I’ll do it. I’m supposed to have dinner with some people tonight—to tell you the
truth
, Orlando, they are
boring
people! If you are free tonight, I could put them off… make some excuse. In fact, the more I think about it, the more relieved I am at the prospect of
not
seeing them.
You
know how it is sometimes?”

“Indeed I do,” he said, laughing, “and I appreciate the sacrifice.”

“The Ritz bar, then, at nine?” she said, smiling.

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

Claudia always enjoyed making an entrance; she never just
walked
into a room, she
swept.
Tonight she was swathed in dark furs that set off her creamy complexion, and her chocolate-brown hair was pulled back into a velvet Chanel bow. Underneath the fur she wore a black wool Alai’a dress whose complicated swathings curved around her body like a second skin. High-heeled black suede pumps and beautiful black suede gauntlet-gloves with a cuff of rich fur completed her outfit. There was a magnificent diamond ring on her right hand, a fake emerald of enormous proportions on her left, and glittering double C Chanel earrings and bracelet. She knew she looked wonderful as she posed just inside the doorway, letting her coat fall casually open, one hand clutched to her beautiful bosom as she scanned the room. Naturally, everyone turned to look at her, but her eye caught that of a devastatingly attractive blond man sitting alone in the corner. Half smiling, he stood up and came toward her.