11 Harrowhouse (14 page)

He went down and out, to follow them.

They were not in sight but Chesser went in the direction he'd seen them going and soon he caught on the pink color of Marer's dress, along with the pale blue Lady Bolding was wearing. They were emerging from a strip of woods to climb a soft, green hill that was included in Massey's extensive acreage. Chesser kept them in view from a cautious distance, not knowing what lie he would use as explanation if they discovered him on their trail. Perhaps, he thought, he'd say he was bird watching, which was a metaphorical truth.

He watched them climb the hill and believed they were close enough to be arm in arm. And when they reached the crest he couldn't see any sky between them, so he decided they had to be at least side against side. They disappeared over the hilltop.

Chesser continued after them, noticing where their steps had bent the wild grass. Near the top he decided to crawl the rest of the way up and take a look over at them. At that moment, however, his self-respect intervened. He took stock of himself and realized how absurd his actions were. He stood abruptly and started back to the house.

What Chesser prevented himself from seeing was Lady Bolding and Maren lying in the deepest part of a small swale, the high grass partially concealing some of each of them. They were apart, stretched opposite one another, like the position of a clock's hands, pink and blue, indicating six and twelve. They were talking softly, while Lady Bolding's bare toes were paying attention, touching, just lightly stroking the sensitive bare underfeet and ankles of Maren, who didn't seem to notice, or mind.

Returning to the house, going up the open hill toward it, Chesser heard something whiz and hit close by. A golf ball. He looked above and found the figure of Massey addressing another ball and making another swing. Chesser ran, ducking, hoping to get out of Massey's range. He heard another ball whizzing in flight above him. It seemed as though Massey was taking intentional aim. He cursed Massey but quickly excused him, thinking perhaps the older man's eyesight was bad at such distances.

Massey's man Hickey was taking away the gold clubs and Massey was seated at an outside table when Chesser approached.

“Have a drink,” Massey invited.

Chesser needed one.

“I just had a call from the investigating firm I spoke to you about. They seem to be on to something.” Massey sipped his drink. “That's all they said. They were on to something. They're like that. You know, conservative until they have all the facts. Very competent people. They promised a full report by Monday the latest.”

Chesser was concerned, of course, and anxious to know what was being done, but he'd decided it was best to wait until Massey brought it up. Even with Massey's resources at work he doubted the diamond would be recovered, but this information from the investigators seemed to offer some hope. He still wondered, though, about Massey's forgiving attitude. It just wasn't right. Massey was being too cooperative for some reason.

“I understand you plan to go up to London Monday,” Massey said.

“For business.”

“To The System?”

Chesser nodded.

Massey told him: “One of my subsidiary companies has its offices there on Harrowhouse. Right next door to number 11, as a matter of fact. Mid-Continental Oil.”

“I was wondering about that.”

“Been there at number 13 for years.”

“I mean, the way you referred to number 11 as The System. Usually only those in the trade call it that.”

“Interesting business, diamonds,” said Massey detached, looking off.

Chesser, despite some nagging misgivings, was now feeling much better. His drink tasted good and his confidence was returning. There'd be no more jealous lover foolishness. In fact, he was feeling so good, he thought he'd tell Massey a couple of diamond stories. Outsiders were always intrigued by them.

“Know what the ancient Persians said about diamonds?”

“Yes,” said Massey.

It was as though he had clamped a hand over Chesser's open mouth.

“The early Persians,” said Massey, “believed Satan must have created precious stones such as diamonds, because God made only useful things. Satan made diamonds to inflame men's avarice.”

Probably the old bastard read that someplace and just happened to remember it, thought Chesser. From his repertoire he selected another story. The famous French-crown-jewel robbery of 1792. Included in that historic, politically motivated theft had been the Hope Diamond, known then as the Tavernier Blue. Chesser began, “In 1792 …”

“In Burma,” interrupted Massey, “the word
chein
means both diamond and arsenic. Because the Burmese consider both to be fatal.”

That was one Chesser had never heard.

“Many people feel that way about diamonds,” said Massey.

“I'm beginning to,” declared Chesser, lightly bitter.

“In the sixteenth century someone attempted to put diamond dust in a salad that was served up to Cellini, believing it would cause instant death.”

“Mary Queen of Scots wore a diamond for protection against poison,” Chesser managed to get in.

“Three diamonds,” corrected Massey. “To ward off danger, disease, and poison. Unfortunately, she didn't have one for the axe.” He smiled and again nearly gave Chesser time to speak. “When one considers the prominent role diamonds have played in murders and wars, perhaps the Persians were right about Satan. Wouldn't you say, Chesser?”

“I guess.”

Chesser had expected to dominate this conversation, but evidently Massey knew plenty about diamonds. Chesser changed the subject. He asked about a good Klimt sketch he'd noticed on the second-floor foyer. Swift pen strokes capturing a pair of female lovers in a disheveled embrace. Where had Massey gotten it?

Massey ignored the question. “Well, if the Devil invented diamonds,” he said, “then The System should thank hell for giving them control.” He paused. Then added, with a touch of bitterness: “Perhaps they do.”

That hit home. Chesser thought perhaps he and the billionaire had finally established something mutual. A dislike—for The System. However, Chesser doubted Massey's antipathy was equal to his own. No reason for it to be. It was even possible that Massey was baiting him for some reason. He might be a personal friend of Meecham or Sir Harold.

“I'll give you something to think about,” offered Massey. “How many diamonds has The System taken in from its own mines and other sources, say, in the past twenty years?”

An indifferent shrug from Chesser.

“Keep in mind I'm only talking about gem quality stones, not industrial stuff. Care to guess?”

“I've no idea.”

“About eighty million carats,” said Massey.

“Is that your estimate?”

“An accurate figure.”

“Based on what?”

“The System's own annual reports.”

The sun chose that moment to go behind a small isolated cloud, dulling everything. Chesser smelled clover blossoms, a concentration of fragrance delivered by a slight breeze. He turned his head to accept and enjoy it. He was facing the house, his back to the slope.

Massey continued: “Now, let me ask you this. How many diamonds of gem quality has The System sold to the market over those same twenty years?”

“All they got.”

“By no means.”

“How many, then?” asked Chesser, concealing his indifference.

“Sixty million carats.”

Massey allowed some silence to underline that figure. Obviously a point had just been made, but Chesser didn't get it. That The System had a lot of diamonds and sold a lot of diamonds didn't impress him.

“Subtract the amount sold from those received,” instructed Massey.

“Twenty million carats.”

“That's how many The System has held back. A monstrous inventory, growing at the rate of about a million carats a year. Now an accumulation of twenty million. It's a cardinal rule of cartels. Demand must always exceed supply to justify a continual rise in price. Since 1960, the value of diamonds has more than doubled. Comparatively, they've done much better than industrial stocks, for example, which have increased in value only about twenty-five per cent, little more than the cost of living.”

“Which makes diamonds a good investment,” Chesser said.

“At least they seem to be.”

“A great many fortunes are tied up in them.”

A nod from Massey. “And what a catastrophe it would be if suddenly those twenty million carats that The System has held back were to hit the market all at once, providing, of course, they were distributed by someone with the facilities to handle it.”

“Never happen. The price would go down.”

“The price would plunge. To almost nothing, overnight. Diamonds would be practically worthless.”

“A good thing for The System it's able to keep its inventory well in hand. Twenty million carats just sitting there.”

“Twelve billion dollars worth of diamonds. Twelve billion. Imagine!”

Chesser tried. It wasn't easy.

“Seventy bushel baskets full,” said Massey, continuing to feed Chesser's mind's eye. “Over four tons of gem-quality stones.”

Chesser was clearly stimulated now.

Massey knew it. “Where do you think they are this very minute,” he asked, “all those diamonds?”

“Johannesburg,” guessed Chesser.

Massey shook his head. “You've walked right over them perhaps a hundred times. At 11 Harrowhouse.”

Chesser visualized Meecham and all those diamonds. Meecham perched pompously atop a mountain of diamonds worth twelve billion dollars.

“It's something to think about,” said Massey, and immediately stood to greet Lady Bolding and Maren, who were returning from their walk, warm and thirsty.

CHAPTER 10

O
N THE
Wednesday before, when Chesser failed to arrive at the Connaught, Coglin ordered an immediate check of all the other best London hotels. When that didn't locate Chesser, Coglin made a conclusive written report to Meecham. In that report he did not mention that Security Section had abandoned Chesser's trail. He merely used the details his agents had supplied and fabricated liberally to get himself off the hook.

It was both easy and practical. Admissions of even minor discrepancies could accumulate into a major impression of incompetence. Chesser, in Coglin's opinion, wasn't worth such a penalty. Coglin also believed Meecham was overreacting to Chesser's having bought a large stone for someone. He suspected Meecham had a personal reason for wanting Chesser under priority surveillance. Some special, private interest. That being so, Coglin had been willing to accommodate. But now Chesser was lost and to concede the error was too much to ask. All things in proportion, thought Coglin. Chesser was small stuff.

Coglin's report included accounts from several of Security Section's most reliable agents: detailed, hour-by-hour documentation supporting the lie that Chesser's wealthy girlfriend was the recipient of the large stone Chesser had bought through The System. She had advanced the money for the transaction, and the diamond was now in her possession. The transaction had come about merely as a consequence of a personal relationship. Therefore, it was Security's opinion that Chesser was not deserving of any special recognition for having made the sale. Priority surveillance of Chesser had been discontinued, and the agents involved had already been reassigned to other, more pressing matters.

The report was inserted into Chesser's dossier and rush-delivered across the street to Meecham. Along with it, Coglin also sent four trays of color-photo slides that had been sorted and arranged in the order in which they'd been taken in the woods and meadows of Chantilly. Coglin was sure Meecham would consider the slides important enough evidence to require hours of careful examination.

As expected, in less than an hour Coglin received a call from Meecham, who expressed gratitude for Security Section's cooperation and was pleased to say that the report verified his own opinion of Chesser's limited ability and importance. Meecham also agreed it was no longer imperative that Chesser be under constant observation. “He's already received too much attention,” was the way Meecham put it, a bit apologetically. As an afterthought, Meecham mentioned the photo slides, which, evidently, he'd already perused. He wished to keep them a while for further study.

Thus, Coglin got Meecham off his back, and, as a result, Chesser was out from under the sharp focus of The System's eyes.

CHAPTER 11

“I
WAS
only testing.”

“Me or yourself?” asked Chesser.

“You, of course,” said Maren. “People in love usually test one another.”

“It's childish.”

“To the contrary. It's very adult. You've done it to me.”

“Never. When?”

“Lots of times.”

“See, you can't even name once.”

“Sure I can. I'm just deciding which incident to mention.”

“It's a woman's game, testing like that. Men never do it.”

“That obvious whore in Cannes.”

“I don't remember any whore in Cannes.”

“Hell you don't.”

“Which whore?”

“That's a test! What you just said.
Which
whore? As though there were dozens.”

“I meant exactly that.
Which
whore. I never talked to one in Cannes.”

“Perhaps it was in St. Tropez. No matter. You stuck your hand inside her blouse and you weren't even sneaky about it. You wanted me to see you.”

“Ridiculous.”

“No. I remember distinctly because I reacted.”

“You didn't say anything at the time.”

“Of course not. That's what you wanted.”

“She wasn't a whore. Anyway, she wasn't all that obvious.”

“To me, she was.”