Blood Stones (34 page)

‘And you're not surprised?' his wife asked him. ‘You like him, I don't. He won't listen to you. He won't even be grateful for what you've done to help. And without you, and your idea, he wouldn't have a card to play. You should have been the one to do the business here, not him.'

David didn't argue. He loved her loyalty. It was so blinkered and uncompromising. In her eyes he was the best and there was nobody to match him. But in this instance, Clara was wrong.

He said gently, ‘Sweetheart, would we be going for a weekend with a jet-set countess? No, we wouldn't. So be realistic. Hastings has something to offer which we don't. He's young, he's smart, and he's got a wife people like to invite.'

Clara actually snorted with indignation.

‘Don't talk to me! All that social crap! So what the hell's special about her? She's just another blonde with a smell under her nose.'

That wasn't right, either, but he didn't argue. Being a woman of strong gut feelings, Clara let her emotions get in the way of her judgement sometimes. Elizabeth Hastings had really riled her.

He said gently, ‘Aren't you glad we stayed now?'

‘Oh yes, sure I'm glad. You look ten years younger already. Excitement is good for you. And I like it, too.' She smiled fondly at him. ‘When is this weekend?'

‘In ten days' time,' he said. ‘The invitation came by special messenger when I was with him in the office—'

‘Then why don't we invite Ivan and Laura for dinner?' she made the suggestion slyly. ‘On the Saturday night?'

They looked at each other with the malice of old age. ‘We can have a little fun of our own.'

Stella had been at the Dorchester for a week. The office had pre-empted her and booked a suite on Julius's instructions. She wanted a simple double room, but she decided not to change it. After so long the luxury felt alien, and she herself was so ill at ease that she almost walked out and went back to the dingy flat. But that meant defeat, that meant she was retreating and, if she did, then Reece would win. She had to keep her father's confidence and trust. She dared not lose the independence he had given her. Otherwise she would never be able to prove that Jacob's death had been orchestrated by her own family in order to conceal her marriage. It all made sense to her. She could and did build on the disconnected facts set out by Mkoza's student friend.

When Jacob went back, it was inevitable she would follow, and the truth would come out. Julius Heyderman's daughter had married an ANC activist and had been living in exile with him in London. That couldn't be allowed to happen. Why, she demanded over and over, didn't she realize it before? And then savagely she blamed herself for wallowing in drink and self-pity, letting the truth die till it was almost too late … Months had passed while she sank lower, lost her few contacts and became a name in a solicitor's file, paid to cover up and keep her out of public disgrace.

And there, smirking like a death's head, was Reece; threatening her, withholding money, manipulating her to please her father and get her back to South Africa, cowed and discredited. She didn't touch a drink. She set about herself with a degree of self-hatred that bordered on cruelty. She went to the beauty salons; she had facials, manicures, hair treatments. She ordered expensive clothes and hired a car and driver. She became Stella Heyderman, rich, pampered, able to buy anything she wanted. And she talked regularly to her father and Sylvia on the telephone, assuring them she was well, happy to be back in her own environment, and ready to come home with them in time for Christmas. Julius had kept his word. But then he always did, as she admitted. Reece didn't contact her. His role was assumed by someone from the accounts department in Blackfriars Road, who called to see her once and gave her details of the funds and credits available. He was very deferential. She felt like yelling at him to stop crawling, that she was just another human being, for Christ's sake. But she didn't. She played the part expected of her.

Then she ordered the car to take her to an address in the Strand. She had found it by looking through the
Yellow Pages
under ‘Detective Agencies'.

‘A. G. Miller,' it said. ‘Private Detective Agency. Divorce Enquiries a speciality.'

The idea had come to her that morning; it seemed to be fixed in her mind as soon as she woke up, as if someone had put it there in the night. Find out about Reece, get something on him first. Then decide what you are going to do.

The office of A. G. Miller was on the third floor, and she climbed the steps, passing the shabby landings with a glass-fronted door on each, and then she came to Miller's door, which was just like the rest. She went in and she was in a small outer office, where one girl was typing. The inside of the place was clean, and when she went in to Mr Miller's office, it was a well-carpeted, functional room, and Mr Miller himself looked like a middle-grade civil servant. He was a tall man; he wore a dark suit and a plain tie, and he wore glasses. He carried himself as if he had been in the Army, but he was in fact a former Metropolitan police officer.

She sat down and took a cigarette, offering him one. She had given the name of Phipps, which was one of her mother's family names.

‘No, thank you, Miss Phipps. I don't smoke.'

It was all so ridiculous, she felt as if she had got into the wrong office. It wasn't in the least like the place Raymond Chandler described in his books, and there was not the slightest connection between Mr A. G. Miller and Philip Marlowe. Even the secretary outside was as plain as a pikestaff.

‘I want someone investigated,' she said. ‘Do you do that?'

‘It depends on the type of investigation. Is this a family matter, or is it a possible divorce case?'

‘It's a man I know,' she said. ‘I've reason to think he's undesirable, and I have a sister who wants to marry him. I want you to find out everything you can about him.'

‘I see.'

Mr Miller didn't believe a word of it, but then most of his clients told lies to start with. Even the wives who wanted their husbands watched always had some cock-and-bull story about really trusting them, and only wanting to be sure. Some of them were exceptions, some of them were businesslike about it, because they wanted to be free, and these were the easiest to deal with. They paid up and they didn't argue, and they weren't always ringing up to find out what he had found out. One or two of the people who asked him to take cases were just plain nuts. This girl wasn't one of those; everything about her showed that she was rich, and he had already fixed on twice his usual fee plus expenses. He didn't swallow that one about her sister. She wanted to get a line on the man herself.

‘This sort of thing can take some time,' he said. ‘And it'll be expensive. I must warn you about that, Miss Phipps.'

‘I don't mind,' she said. ‘I don't mind what it costs. Don't let that worry you, Mr Miller.'

‘Very well then, give me the details, please.'

‘The name is Reece. He's working in the London office of Diamond Enterprises at Blackfriars at the moment. He's a South African who's over here probably till Christmas. That's as much as I can tell you, but it should be enough.'

‘You want him investigated for this past year, is that right?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I want everything about him; birth records, parentage, every damned detail. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and whether he wears pyjama trousers in bed. You'll have to send someone out to the Union to do it, but it doesn't matter.'

‘We have an association with a firm in Cape Town and another in Johannesburg; we can come to an arrangement with them to do the South African end of it.'

He coughed and wiped his mouth with a coloured handkerchief; it was the only discordant thing about his whole appearance. It was bright yellow and red.

‘You realize that a complete investigation of this kind could take anything up to a year or more?'

‘I know,' Stella said. ‘I've got plenty of time. Rome wasn't built in a day. What retainer do you want?'

‘Five thousand pounds,' Mr Miller said. ‘And expenses. The full fee will be near twenty thousand, when we give a complete report to you. Is that agreeable?'

‘Perfectly.'

She opened her bag and took out her new chequebook. She wrote out a cheque and handed it to him. He gave a quick look and saw that she had signed herself ‘Heyderman'. He knew at once who she was because of the South African connection. He folded the cheque and put it away.

‘Leave your address and telephone number with my secretary, Miss Phipps, and I'll contact you in a week's time and tell you what arrangements I've made and what the preliminary results are. Would you like a monthly report?'

‘Weekly,' she said. ‘If you don't mind.'

He did mind, but he couldn't afford to for that kind of money.

‘As you like. You'll be hearing from me. Good-morning, Miss Phipps.'

She turned at the door. ‘The name's Heyderman,' she said. ‘But you saw that on the cheque. We won't monkey about with each other, Mr Miller. Goodbye.'

‘But why should this woman ask us when she's never even met us?' Elizabeth had the letter in her hand. It was crested and embossed, heavy as vellum.

‘Because,' James explained, ‘it's been set up so we can meet Madeline Luchaire and her Arab. And stick one on Karakov. Darling, this is the break I've been waiting for. My one chance to get my blow in before bloody Andrews brings in the Russian deal. And looking at the time scale, the luck's running my way.'

There had been another cable from London that afternoon. The agreement had reached Moscow and was being considered. They expected agreement in principle and a representative to come to London before the end of the month to sign. Time, he repeated to Elizabeth, would win it for him. In ten days they would fly down to Cap d'Antibes, guests of this obliging countess with a Spanish name like a mouthful of marbles, and get to the Arab prince before he went to Paris and bought Karakov's red diamonds.

Elizabeth looked up at him. She was sitting, feet curled under her on the sofa, and she shifted slightly to ease the niggle in her back.

‘How are you going to stop him? How can you?'

He hugged her gently. ‘I have a lovely, neat little ploy, but I'm not going to tell you, darling, till we get there. David dreamed it up with me this morning. All I have to do is make the opportunity. And I will. And when it's all over, we can go home and get the house ready for the baby. We'll be on top of the world.' He kissed her.

She was rereading the letter. ‘She's so anxious to meet us … says that she met my father in London. Dad hardly ever goes to London,' Elizabeth said. ‘I bet he's never met her in his life—'

James said, ‘Anyway, what the hell does it matter? I told you, it's been set up for me. That's what counts. Why are you moving about … uncomfortable? Here, I'll shift.'

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘No, don't. I like you close to me. It's just this silly backache again. I think I'll go and see the doctor next week. Maybe he can recommend a masseuse or something.'

‘I'll take you,' he said. ‘And this evening you're going to have a nice quiet evening. Feet up and do nothing.'

‘I gave Louise the night off,' Elizabeth reminded him. ‘I thought I'd make dinner for us.'

‘
I
am making dinner,' James announced. ‘And you are going to do as I say and take it easy. You've probably pulled a muscle, you're always doing too much. First we'll have a glass of champagne to celebrate. Or I will. Perrier for you.'

‘Perrier,' she sighed, smiling at him. ‘You really are hopeless, the way you spoil me. I spoke to Mum today. They should be over soon. After we get back from this great weekend.'

‘Good,' he said happily, and meant it. ‘We'll give them a great time. And you'll enjoy having them, won't you? If it wasn't for old Jean Pierre, you'd have been lonely. He hasn't been around for a while, has he?'

‘No,' Elizabeth said. ‘He's rung once or twice, but I've been busy. We'll have him to lunch or dinner with my parents.'

‘Good idea,' James said firmly. ‘He's nearly the same age …'

Joy Reece had never seen her brother so upset. When he came home from the office, he had slumped in a chair and hardly spoken to her. He looked very sallow and sunken eyed. She came over to him.

‘What's wrong? What's the matter, darling?' She never called him that except when they were making love.

He looked up at her miserably. ‘Stella,' he said. ‘She called Mr Julius and complained about me. She told him a pack of bloody lies. He was furious with me. He yelled at me, Joy, and the way he talked you'd think I was some kind of servant … He said if I upset her again, I'd be out on my ass. Those very words.'

Her face flushed. She put her arm round him protectively. ‘That little bitch,' she spat out. ‘And how dare he turn on you! How dare he, after all you've done for him. I'd like to give him a piece of my mind … I'd tell him about his daughter. Dirty little drunken bitch,' she said, hissing with rage.

‘It's not his fault,' Reece protested. ‘She worked him up … I don't blame him when I think about it, she's been such a worry to him, he'd believe anything she said. I was just hurt, that's all. I'm glad not to have the responsibility any more. You know where she is? The Dorchester! She's got money available, credit through the office … It'll end in disaster, you'll see. Thank God I won't have to pick up the pieces when she goes out and gets drunk and disgraces herself.'

‘Never mind,' his sister comforted. ‘Never mind, he'll find out what a mistake he made, treating you like that. And I hope she gets herself splashed all over the tabloids! That'll serve him right!'