Blood Stones (31 page)

He was a patient, courteous man. He let her speak, and then he said, ‘My dear Suki, I'm so glad to talk with you. You've been on my mind for some days. I was going to call you … ask you to come and see Rose and me. And we have a friend staying. Someone I think you should meet. But only if you're well and strong enough.'

‘I'm not drunk,' she said simply. ‘Paul, I want a friend to advise me. I know how much you loved Jacob. I can't turn to anyone else. When can I come round and see you?'

Paul Mkoza was consulting his wife; Stella knew by the pause that followed. Then he said, ‘This evening? For supper? But Rose says I have to explain about our friend first. In case you don't feel you can bear it. He was in Soweto when Jacob was murdered. He has things to tell you about what happened. Do you want to hear them?'

Stella said slowly, ‘He was there?'

‘Yes.'

‘I want to hear them,' she said. ‘I'll come right away.'

10

‘Elizabeth, are you preoccupied today? Are you not feeling well?'

Jean Pierre had suggested lunch; Elizabeth had a clear day and she always enjoyed his company. He had sounded so eager to see her, she didn't want to disappoint him.

The intermittent back pain had stopped and she felt less sick in the mornings. Her doctor said she would soon start feeling more energetic and the nausea might stop altogether. But otherwise he was satisfied with everything. She had gone away reassured and told herself not to be a wimp about a bit of backache.

Jean Pierre had chosen the same restaurant where they had lunched on her first visit to Paris. She looked at him and said simply, ‘I'm fine; you're nearly as bad as James. He never stops fussing. I've stopped telling him anything because he thinks every twinge needs urgent medical attention.'

She hesitated. ‘But,' she said, ‘there is something I'd like to talk to you about. You're such a friend and I don't think you'll laugh at me.'

‘Never,' he said. ‘I knew there was something. You see how well I know you? Tell me.'

‘Oh …' She started breaking up a bread roll, crumbling it to pieces. ‘Oh, it's just me being stupid … James has a secretary, PA.'

He looked up sharply. ‘A woman?'

‘Yes. She's generally bad news. She broke up another director's marriage and went off with him. In fact his ex-wife took me out to lunch to warn me about her. I didn't take any notice. I even told James, and he was spitting over it.'

He said, ‘But you are taking notice now? Why?'

‘Because there's something going on in the business and she's very much part of it. And James didn't say anything to me. Apparently that's her technique. She makes herself indispensable to the boss and he starts confiding in her and cutting out his wife. Jean Pierre, I have no reason to be worried, but I am. Maybe I'm failing James by not understanding what he's up against … maybe I make too many moral judgements.'

‘Maybe,' he said gently, ‘you are just pregnant and feeling insecure?'

‘I've no other excuse,' Elizabeth said. ‘James seems to be more in love with me, more caring, more committed than ever. So why am I worried?'

‘Because what that poor jealous woman said has stayed like a poison in your mind. And there is only one way to get rid of it. You must talk to your husband. Tell him what you feel. You must trust him. When trust is gone, there is no hope for a marriage. I know, because it happened to me. My wife started suspecting me, perhaps because we weren't happy anyway, but I wasn't unfaithful. She still suspected me, so in the end I was. Talk to James; whatever you do, don't brood. Especially at this time.'

‘I will,' she said. ‘Thank you so much, Jean Pierre.' She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You're such a friend,' she said.

He placed his hand over hers. ‘No,' he said. ‘I'm not a friend. I'm a fool. I've just given you good advice. I'm a fool because I am in love with you. I have always been in love, from the first day we met. So I'm not just a friend. Didn't you have any idea?'

‘No,' Elizabeth felt the colour rushing into her face. ‘No, truly I didn't. I'm so sorry, Jean Pierre. I wouldn't have encouraged it. I feel so awful. And you've been so sweet to me, and so helpful to James, too …'

He said sadly, ‘What an idiot I must seem to you. A middle-aged fool loving another man's pregnant wife, without any hope … But I had to tell you. Really because I was tempted to add a little poison of my own just now. But then I thought of what's best for you, and not myself. That's love, I suppose.'

‘That's real love,' Elizabeth agreed. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I'm so terribly sorry.'

‘Please don't regret anything. I've been happier than for years. Now I want to say something else. If ever he fails you, or you need me, I will be there for you.'

‘He won't,' Elizabeth said quietly. ‘Jean Pierre, I think I ought to go home.'

‘Of course,' he agreed. ‘But I promise, I will never mention anything like this again. Can I go back to being your good friend?'

She hadn't the heart to say anything but, ‘Yes, of course you can.'

Outside her apartment he took hold of both her hands and kissed them. ‘Another piece of advice,' he said gently. ‘Don't tell your husband. I don't think he'd believe in friendship.'

Then, abruptly, he let go of her and turned away.

‘Why don't we go home?' Clara Wasserman demanded. She was tired and irritable and missing her own environment. ‘We're doing nothing here.'

David understood his wife. She was still fired up because he had failed to get a meeting for James Hastings with Ivan, and Hastings' wife had succeeded. He thought her dislike of Elizabeth was exaggerated, but he didn't say so.

‘Nothing is happening,' she repeated. ‘Hastings hasn't made any impact; Laura just laughed about it the other night. You've got better things to do than sit around here.'

‘Such as what?' he challenged. ‘I'm doing this for Julius, and for myself because I love the game.'

‘You're not carrying the ball,' she countered sharply. ‘Since when have you watched from the sidelines?'

‘Clara, Clara,' he reproached her. ‘Stop fighting my battles for me … I'm too old to run. I'm watching and I know something's going to break. I feel it here.' He touched his middle. ‘In my gut, like always. Never wrong. You know that—'

‘All I know,' she said sharply, ‘is that Andrews is pulling off a deal in Moscow – you saw the fax, you told me. When it's signed up, Ivan'll have to make peace and we go home. So why wait?'

‘I saw the fax, and it looks good. But I still say something's moving right here. I don't know how or where, Clara, I just know it. When it does, I'm going to be here. I could end up being the referee when that ball gets dropped. Trust me.'

‘You and your gut,' she grumbled. But she couldn't argue with conviction. David had an instinct, and it had never been wrong. She said, ‘You think Hastings is going to pull something? How, what's he got?'

Wasserman shrugged. ‘I don't know, Clara. But tell me one thing … why's Ivan changed his mind? Why a meeting suddenly? When I talked to him he wouldn't even think about it.'

‘He bullshits,' Clara retorted.

‘No, I can tell the difference. He wasn't bullshitting. He wouldn't let Hastings get near enough to spit on him. So I think he's worried; maybe he's heard some rumour from Russia … Don't forget one thing: Hastings is bright and he's hungry. He's on the line to do something on his own account, no matter what Andrews negotiates. And he's not the kind that gives in. So stop packing suitcases and watch the game with me. Now I'll order us both a drink. Dry Martini?'

‘After all these years you have to ask?' She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Hastings may be smart but I tell you – at his age you were ready to bite the ass off a bear! Make that a large Martini.'

‘He's going to help; look, it's only a week!'

James banged his fist on the desk.

‘But time is what we haven't got! I get another fax saying Andrews expects the final documentation to arrive in Moscow by the end of this week and they'll sign up. For Christ's sake, Ruth, go and call in on your ansaphone and see if there's a message.'

She said calmly, ‘I already have, just an hour ago. Nothing. Getting worked up won't help. I have confidence in Reece. He said he'd arrange something and he will. Why don't I ask for some coffee?'

James looked at her. So cool. So burnished. From the sleek dark hair to the gleaming shoes on her small feet. Not a sign of the tension that was tearing him apart as the days went by and they heard nothing from Reece.

‘What have you got in your veins,' he said irritably, ‘ice water?'

Ruth smiled. ‘When it comes to business, anti-freeze. I'll get the coffee.'

He had cancelled his trip to Brussels to meet the dealers. He couldn't bear being out of Paris till he knew something was moving. And he was worried about taking Elizabeth in case she got over-tired. So he sat and waited, with that nerveless woman at his side. The meeting with Ivan had led to a second one, and a surprising invitation to join him for lunch. All good signs, except that there was no real progress made; just an endless repetition of the old man's grievances and vain outpourings, but they hadn't even begun to negotiate, and they both knew it. Meantime, Ray Andrews was working miracles in Moscow.

Ruth brought him a cup of coffee. She placed it on the desk and said, ‘If you don't need me, I have some work to do.'

‘No problem,' James answered. He was glad to get rid of her. Now that he was seeing her as a person, he found her a disturbing woman. She radiated sexuality, not of the greedy lust of Laura Karakov, but something cold and infinitely calculated. He felt she could climax physically, while she was mentally running through a balance sheet.

She had an exceptionally acute business brain, untouched by any emotional hang-up. Her response to a problem was purely cerebral and practical. He could see what had snared Dick Kruger: the combination of a man's intellectual approach and a powerful sex attraction. She never put a foot wrong with Hastings himself, nothing in their relationship had changed fundamentally except the conspiracy to defeat Karakov and frustrate Harris.

But the cat's eyes had the yellow tinge of the tiger; she was his ally, but she wouldn't hesitate to bite his head off if it brought her what she wanted. He would always bear that in mind, whatever the outcome of their partnership. In her own office Ruth paused from working. She had forgotten her coffee and it was tepid. She sent one of the secretaries out for a refill. He wasn't the cool type she had expected. Hastings was a prey to nerves; tension showed in his irritable response, in the restless harping on the time factor. Waiting got to him. But that was true of most men. Kruger was just as uneasy on the knife's edge. Maybe this stoic patience was a woman's trait, she thought. They'd learned patience the hard way. How to plan and manipulate to make up for their physical weakness and inequality in the accepted order. How to strike from behind, because they couldn't deliver a frontal blow and hope to survive. But things were changing now, the balance was shifting. She had gone to see Reece for her own purposes, not just to help Hastings. She wanted to bring herself to his notice, to impress him. He was the key to Julius Heyderman. He would report back. If Hastings succeeded, it would reflect on her. Failure would only damage him. She would gain credit for having tried to help.

She had taken note of Reece's advice about Dick Kruger.
I think you should reconsider your relationship, if you want to stay in the business …

Dick was planning a trip over that weekend. It would soon be time to cut the lover's knot.

Stella closed the front door of her flat. She removed the key and switched on the lights. She was very calm. So calm she couldn't feel anything. She went into the kitchen and made herself tea. She drank it slowly, tasting nothing, staring ahead and seeing nothing.

They had been very kind to her, even Rose Mkoza, masking her disapproval of Yakumi's useless white wife. They had listened gravely while Stella explained that she wanted to stay in London, and not go home to South Africa.

She was finding it impossible to resist her family's pressure. They had no idea who that family was. To them, the parents of Suki Yakumi were just another example of white racists, prepared to accept their daughter now that her black husband was dead.

There was no sign of the friend, the reason why she had hurried to get there, driven by the demon of needing to hear what happened at first hand. She went through the motions of discussing her problem when she wanted to leap up and scream at them. Where was he, this witness who had been in Soweto and had things to tell her? It was like torture, sitting there.

Then Paul Mkoza said, ‘I think it might be better if you did go back.'

He looked at his wife Rose, and she nodded.

Then he said, ‘You could carry on his work. England is a bad place for you. I asked our friend to wait while we talked in private. I needed to know what your problem was. Now, if you are ready, he would like to talk to you.'

Sitting in the silent kitchen, Stella went through it all again. Moment by moment, word for word, as if she were replaying a film in her mind. The young man with a black skin and Chinese features, legacy of a mating between a black woman and one of the coolies brought in as slave labour in the early part of the century. He was a student, visiting his family on the night Jacob Yakumi was lured out of his house and hacked to death. An intelligent, politically active young man, who favoured the left of the ANC party. And a man impelled by a sense of justice to make enquiries into the murder.

‘I'm not important, you see,' he had explained. ‘People weren't afraid to talk to me. I was just visiting my family. So I heard things that the officials and the police wouldn't be told. We're not a people who like secrets. Only fear makes us hide things. And there was a lot of fear in Soweto. But not of our activists, or the Inkatha killers. They were not responsible. Yakumi was not killed by either of them. That was the convenient theory, put out by both sides, trying to blame each other. The police didn't believe it, either, but it suited them to have the parties accusing each other at that time.'