Blood Stones (29 page)

He thought tenderly of Elizabeth. She'd been feeling sick and wretched, and he hadn't made enough fuss of her lately. She was everything good in his life, the better half of himself. She and the baby were his lifeline if everything else went wrong. He must never forget that. He tore his mind away from the silent telephone and hurried upstairs.

As they dressed, James tried to make amends. ‘What did you do today? Did you rest in the afternoon?'

‘I went round the Louvre with Jean Pierre this morning.'

He smiled at her. ‘I think old Jean Pierre fancies you,' he said. ‘Not that I blame him.'

At that moment the telephone rang. He swung away from her, moving at speed across the room. ‘Hello? Ruth? Yes … how did it go?'

Elizabeth stood very still.
Ruth
. ‘I'll wait for you downstairs,' she said.

He nodded, frowning. While she waited, Elizabeth poured herself a glass of Perrier. Was she just imagining an unwillingness to talk about his business problems with her? That had been the start of the Krugers' marriage break-up. She remembered Valerie's warning.
She wants to get to the top herself and she'll take any man who can help her …

The door opened and James came into the room. He was smiling. It was a look she recognized, almost predatory, full of the energy she once found so exciting. Now, for the first time, it made her uneasy. She said quickly, ‘Is Ruth in London? Why didn't you tell me?'

‘It was good news,' he said. ‘I'm going to enjoy our evening now. I'll tell you about it later, sweetheart.'

Ruth was back in her old office next door to Kruger; her replacement had been shunted to another room to make space for her. Dick was like a schoolboy, fussing over her, telling her everything. And talking wedding plans till Ruth could have screamed at him to stop. But she gave nothing away. She played the role he expected, made love to him at night as if their relationship was as strong as ever. Also she reckoned she was paying off a little of what she owed him, even if he didn't know about the debt. She had her own standards, and she dealt fairly with a man who had been good to her. Kruger had been very good, very committed and helpful. And generous. She repaid in the only coin she knew, because in the last analysis she was incapable of love. She listened to everything, storing information to feed back to James, and told Dick Kruger nothing of importance.

‘How's that shit doing?' he asked her in their private moments; they always discussed business after making love.

‘Doing the high society circuit,' she reassured him. ‘And busy seeing people in the trade. He's had a run-in with Karakov … well, I told you, they met at some party, and he's going to see him next week, but nothing came out of it. Karakov's treating him like an office boy.'

That had delighted Kruger. ‘When this deal's signed up in Moscow,' he exulted, ‘that's about all he'll be round here! Arthur's getting cables from Julius asking what the hell is happening in Paris …'

Casually, Ruth had asked him, ‘Is it a good deal? We must have given a lot away for them to come round so quickly.'

Kruger had parried the question. Not, she realized, because he wouldn't tell her, but because he wouldn't admit he didn't know. He was proud of his relationship with Arthur. But this time Arthur hadn't shown him the small print.

‘It's tough,' he admitted. ‘But then nothing's for nothing.'

Her excuse for coming over was to co-ordinate and update the information on Andrews' progress. She boosted Kruger's ego by saying that Hastings was worried about how well the London office was doing, and hoped to sharpen up his end by poaching some ideas. It surprised her that Kruger was so easy to convince. But then he loved and trusted her. She was his ally, soon to be his wife. So he believed what he wanted to believe and passed his confident assessment on to Arthur Harris.

‘Hastings is running scared,' he told him. ‘He's sent Ruth over to spy on what's happening over here.' He laughed at the way Hastings was being duped. ‘If only he knew,' he exulted.

Arthur said simply, ‘She's very loyal to you, isn't she, Dick?'

Kruger didn't even notice the element of question in the remark. ‘She's going to marry me, as soon as the Paris operation is wound up.'

‘She'll make you an excellent wife,' Arthur remarked. ‘You're lucky, Dick.'

‘Second time round, I certainly am.'

Arthur changed the subject. He didn't have any belief in women's loyalty. ‘I'm seeing Hugh Fuller today,' he said. ‘He's got the final document ready to send on to Moscow. Then it's up to Andrews to get it through and signed. We'll have a big celebration, my dear Dick. And I want you to know I'm so grateful for all your support. It won't go unrewarded.'

Ruth had been in London for three days when she met Reece at the Regent Palace Hotel. The choice of meeting place seemed an odd one; the place was full of tourists, impersonal and bustling. It was like taking tea at Victoria Station. Tea was what Reece had suggested.

She hadn't been diffident. But not abrasive, either. Reece wouldn't have forgiven any sign of aggression in a woman, Ruth sensed that. She had told him quite coolly that Arthur Harris had withheld his information about Karakov and the sale of the red diamonds to give his own man, Andrews, an unfair advantage. Reece hadn't said a word. He had merely put down his teacup, carefully without making a clink of china against itself, and then said, ‘How do you know this?'

And she had answered, ‘Because Dick told me. I felt I owed it to James Hastings to tell him the truth. I felt it wasn't fair to him or to the business to restrict information between colleagues.'

Reece had said in his South African voice, ‘It's certainly unethical. Mr Julius wouldn't like it at all. So what is Hastings going to do?'

‘Make up for lost time,' Ruth said. ‘Find some way of screwing up the sale.'

He looked disapproving of the vulgarity. He hated loose talk or bad language in women.

‘Which is why I've come over to see you. You found out about the diamonds and the Saudi's girlfriend. Can you find out some more details, something for us to work on? Could you help get an introduction, say, to this woman Luchaire? That was James's idea. If he could somehow make contact with her …'

Reece finished his tea; he spooned a residue of sugar out of the cup, then wiped his mouth with a spotless white handkerchief. His sister did all his ironing, shirts, underclothes, pocket handkerchiefs. She liked him to look impeccable, and he always wore white shirts and a plain tie with his dark suits. Ruth waited. She had an impulse to scream at him to stop wiping his mouth like some old woman, and get on with answering. But nothing of her feelings showed.

‘I don't think I should mention this to Mr Julius,' he remarked. ‘I know he'll feel very badly about it. And Mr Arthur is his brother-in-law. If Hastings can make use of the information even at this late date, no real harm has been done. Even if it was intended.'

Ruth was reminded of the reptile that spat venom at its enemies when Reece said that.

‘So, can you help?' she asked him.

‘I think so,' he said after another long pause, when he lifted the teapot and decided there wasn't enough left for another cup. She hadn't touched hers, and by then it was cold. ‘I'll see what can be arranged. On one condition.' He looked at her.

‘Whatever you say,' Ruth agreed.

‘This meeting and our conversation are confidential. No memos, no written communication, even between you and Hastings. Absolutely off the record. The consequences would be very serious if there was any breach of confidentiality.'

He didn't say for whom, he didn't need to.

Ruth understood. She said, ‘Nothing will be on record, we're discussing this outside the office. We'll keep it that way.'

‘That's wise,' he remarked. ‘Leave it with me. And I need a note of your private number. I'll communicate there.'

She said quickly, ‘Not at weekends, Dick comes over Friday night till Sundays. I will try to stop him but I can't guarantee it.'

‘I'm aware of his trips,' Reece said. ‘As he's party to this misuse of my information, I think you should reconsider your relationship, if you want to stay in the business. Unless you mean to marry him and resign.' He glanced down at Kruger's diamond ring on her finger.

Ruth stood up. ‘Marriage is not on my agenda,' she said. ‘I have other interests. In due time I shall give this back to him. Now I'd better go. Thank you for the tea. And thank you for any help you can give us. I know James will be very grateful.'

‘I'm sure he will,' he said. He didn't get up or even look after her as she left. Joy would be entranced when he told her what had happened. He couldn't wait to get home. And from home he would make the relevant telephone call.

Prince Eugene Titulescu went twice a week to Le Club Gymnastique to have a massage and a sauna. It helped to keep his weight down, and there were signs of portliness around his middle. His wife was proud of his figure and she had complained that he was getting heavy. He hated the club. Given a choice, he would never have gone there, but he had no choice. It was the story of his life. He had been moved like a pawn on the chessboard by forces beyond his control. He had made the best of his circumstances, and took comfort in that.

He went to the sauna room first, and sat on the bench with a towel round his middle while the steam rose and he began to sweat. He waited, glancing up as the door opened and a new client came in. It wasn't long before he saw him. He made his way to the bench and sat down near Titulescu.

‘Hotter this time,' he remarked.

‘Yes, it seems so.'

There was a strained silence for a few minutes. The man was a little younger than the prince; he had a plump, soft body and a sad expression. He kept pushing his sweat-soaked grey-blond hair off his forehead. He was a French politician on the former President Giscard d'Estaing's political staff, and now moving quietly up his Party's hierarchy. He was constantly tipped for high office, but still waiting.

‘I'm sorry about this,' he murmured to Titulescu. ‘I got the call yesterday. You must know how difficult this is for me?' He looked appealingly at him.

‘I do,' the prince said. ‘It's worse for you, perhaps. What do they want this time?'

His companion shifted a little on the bench; he was miserable in the heat. But it was the only safe place where they could communicate. The club was the smartest venue in Paris, where the élite went to work out and relax.

That was where he and Eugene Titulescu had first met, by chance, three years ago. Both were happily married; the politician had three children, the new Princess Titulescu was already six month's pregnant. It had been innocent enough. A simple friendship had brought them to a brief homosexual affair. Both were surprised by what had happened; neither were driven by the powerful urges common to so many men of similar bent. Their friendship had gone too far; that was acknowledged between them. Neither could afford too much self-examination. Neither wanted to; they retreated from an episode both felt was best forgotten. And then the blackmail started. The politician had been shown photographs and told to contact his former friend. He wasn't asked for money. He was asked to pressure Eugene Titulescu for information. Refusal meant exposure for them both. He would be destroyed politically, the prince would lose his wife and his job. Neither of them knew who wanted the information or what use they made of it, but at regular intervals, Ivan Karakov's son-in-law would supply answers to questions. Once, he had been forced to reveal figures. He repeated in a mumble, dashing sweat out of his eyes, ‘What is it this time?'

‘I got the message yesterday. That's why I made the appointment for you.'

The club had called Eugene's home to say he had a massage fixed for that afternoon, and, knowing what it meant, he had taken the appointment.

‘They want you to fix an invitation for a diamond executive called Hastings. Do you know him?'

‘Yes, I know of him,' Eugene said. ‘What sort of invitation?'

‘With the actress Madeline Luchaire. Preferably when her lover is in France. It's very urgent. Very important you succeed. That's all they said. I'm so sorry, Eugene. They sounded quite threatening. I suppose you can make sense of it?'

After a pause, the prince said slowly, ‘Yes. Yes, and I think I can make sense of who's been persecuting us for all this time.'

‘They're calling back this evening,' his companion said. ‘What shall I tell them?'

Titulescu got up, pulling the towel modestly around him. ‘That I'll do what I can. I've no choice, anyway.'

‘Neither of us have,' was the answer.

For a moment Eugene looked at the Frenchman and shook his head. Then he made his way to the door out of the steam room to take his shower and go up for his massage. He didn't fall asleep. While the man worked his muscles and pummelled his body, Eugene lay prone, and tried to work out how to get Karakov's biggest client and the representative of his greatest enemy to meet each other without his own part being found out.

‘Hugh,' Arthur said, ‘you know how I hate having my hands tied.'

Hugh Fuller nodded. He was the senior partner in Fuller, Haines & Gibson, and he had been Arthur's solicitor and personal friend for twenty years. His business earned a huge retainer fee from D.E., and they dealt with all their legal problems from the London end. They were sitting together in Arthur's club in St James; they had dined very well, and drunk a bottle of Mouton Rothschild followed by some Dow '66, which had launched Fuller into a long dissertation on the merits of various shippers. Arthur and he had a lot in common. Both were sailing men in their spare time, and Fuller was very rich. They were much the same age, although the solicitor had a thick head of white hair and white moustaches which made him look like a retired general.