Blood Stones (36 page)

He fretted at the length of time they stayed in the dining-room, and then he was free at last, the countess didn't follow the English custom, and they all left the table together.

He came up and said, ‘Would you mind if I slipped away and telephoned my wife? I tried before dinner, but it was engaged. I want to make sure she's all right.'

‘Of course,' Françoise agreed. ‘There's a telephone through there.'

He dialled. This time a high-pitched buzz greeted him. Out of order. It couldn't be. He went through to the operator who was surly and obstructive. James snapped back furiously and was finally told that there was a fault on the line. It should be in order by the morning. He hung up, worried and fuming. Liz would be expecting a call from him. He wanted to talk to her, tell her how it was going, say how much he missed her and hoped to get back the next day, if it was possible.

He was alive with excitement. The challenge was there, waiting to be met. His chance to throw the shit back in Arthur Harris's face. He'd cheated him, holding back so his ally Ray Andrews got the glory, and James came back a failure. Sad-eyed, over-cautious Arthur, pushing through an open-ended commitment with the Russians to save his own skin, and destroying James's career in the process. He'd see. He'd learn that Hastings knew how to play outside the rules, too.

The prince went upstairs early. Looks between him and Madeline could have bent spoons. The Wildensteins were elderly and followed suit. The evening was over, and Françoise said they would meet for breakfast beside the pool. If he hadn't brought a costume, she said, he could borrow one. She kept a selection for her guests. The pool was covered and heated at this time of year. She wished him good night, and remembered to ask if he had got through to his wife. He knew she wasn't really interested, so he said simply, ‘Yes. Thank you. She sent her regrets.'

Upstairs, on an impulse, he tried the number once more. The maddening whine buzzed in his ear. He banged the phone down and prepared to sleep … By the pool in the morning. Informal, casual, a perfect opportunity.

He drifted off very quickly.

Ruth Fraser tidied her desk. She checked that there was enough water in the vase she kept filled with flowers. She liked flowers on her desk. It was an individual touch. Kruger always bought them for her in London. Out-of-season roses, all the year round. They were delivered every week by special order. He was arriving from London at seven. Depending upon what happened at Antibes, it would be their last weekend together. She hadn't made the call to James. She had hardly considered it, even while she listened to Lasalle and registered the name of the clinic. So the wife had miscarried. A dim memory of her own wretched abortion surfaced for a few minutes and was quickly suppressed. There was nothing to be gained by upsetting Hastings. He might even abandon the weekend and rush back to Paris. He couldn't change anything by wrecking his career and putting
her
future in jeopardy. She decided quite calmly that she wasn't going to say anything. It was a chance she had to take. She left the office early, and went back to change before driving to Charles de Gaulle to meet Kruger. She was determined to give him a good time. She owed him that. And she might still need him if James Hastings didn't bring it off.

Elizabeth looked white and drawn; her eyes seemed too big for the gaunt face. She was sitting up and he saw the hopeful look change as she saw him. No word from the husband. Not a call, not a message. Jean Pierre came and sat beside her. He took her hand. It felt cold.

‘Don't worry, he's probably flying back right now. How are you feeling?'

‘Gutted,' she said. ‘Absolutely gutted.' A tear seeped down her cheek. ‘Poor little thing,' she repeated.

He took the limp hands in his and held them. ‘There are no complications. You're healthy and there's no reason why you can't have another child. You must think of it like that … This can happen. My wife lost her first and then went on to have two sons. Please, Elizabeth.'

She wasn't listening. ‘The doctor says I can go home tomorrow,' she said. ‘Maybe James will be back by then.'

For a moment her mouth twisted as if she was in pain. ‘I suppose he couldn't just walk out because of the business. But he could have called me.'

‘He will,' Jean Pierre tried to reassure her. ‘It may be difficult to get through. Our telephones are not as reliable as in England.'

‘Don't lie to me, Jean Pierre,' she said. ‘They're better. He just hasn't got through because he doesn't want to come back. That's what I think. He's disappointed and upset, so he's decided to stay till he's done what he went for. I know him; I know how much his career means to him. And this is so important … and you did say I wasn't in danger? After all, looking at it sensibly, there's nothing he could do for me, is there?'

She had stopped crying. She looked dead eyed suddenly, and he had never imagined her being bitter.

‘And what will you say if that door opens and he walks in?'

He was doing his best, pleading for James against his own conviction that Elizabeth was right. He had stayed on in the South of France to finish his business commitment. His sense of rage was growing as he sat with her, waiting for the message or the man himself, until it was too late and the nurses told him to go home. They would give Elizabeth a sedative and she could be discharged tomorrow.

Outside her room, Jean Pierre said, ‘I will take Madame Hastings home with me. Unless her husband comes back in time.'

In his own apartment he poured a whisky and sat thinking about what to do. Elizabeth had told him the name and address. He had offered to telephone, but she wouldn't let him.

‘He knows,' was what she had said. ‘It's up to him.'

He sipped his whisky and decided that she was right.

And then he let his imagination run ahead to what the scenario might be in the end.

If he ever fails you, or you need me
, he'd said the day he'd told Elizabeth he was in love with her.

He won't
, was her reply.

But he had. At a moment of real crisis in her life, at a woman's lowest ebb after the loss of a baby, James Hastings had opted for the business interest and left her vulnerable to another man. If he called, he might shame the bastard into coming back. It might save the marriage. It might leave Elizabeth with a man who didn't know how to cherish her in the real sense of that old-fashioned word. But he did. He loved her and he had been with her when she needed him, just as he promised. Hastings was going to lose her, and he was going to make sure he did. He finished his whisky and went to bed.

‘It's so peaceful here,' Madeline Luchaire remarked. She sat close to the edge of the big blue pool, the steam rising from it under a glass roof. Françoise was swimming with Madame Wildenstein. Out of deference to her lover, Luchaire was wearing a long robe. Arabs didn't approve of women exposing their bodies. She had the prince beside her, and James had come to join them after they had eaten breakfast. He had called home as soon as he woke, but the line was still out of order.

‘It's lovely, especially the weather. Paris is wet and cold,' James agreed.

‘Like London,' the prince remarked. ‘You work there, Mr Hastings?'

‘Yes,' James answered. ‘I'm a director of Diamond Enterprises. We're expanding our Paris office, that's why I'm here for a few months.'

He realized he had the prince's attention.

‘Diamonds? That's very interesting. You are the biggest in the industry, aren't you?'

‘We are, and I know people call us a monopoly, but we're the best safeguard the trade has,
and
the public. Before we took control of distribution and set up our Central Selling Organization, diamond dealing and retailing was the most unscrupulous and dishonest business in the world. Every man for himself, no stability in prices or quality control.'

‘I can see that,' the prince nodded. ‘We had the same problems with oil. You have to bring any industry of that importance under responsible control.'

James knew this was his opportunity. He had the complete attention of the prince.

Madeline stood up. Business discussion bored her. ‘I think I'll swim.'

The Arab nodded. ‘Yes, you swim. I will talk to Mr Hastings. My friend likes to wear diamonds, but she is not interested in the technicalities.' He smiled after her indulgently.

James watched her slip off her robe and slide gracefully into the pool. He leaned forward in the chair.

‘You're so right about being a responsible monopoly,' he said. ‘And I can tell you, Highness, that, though I'm in it, diamonds are the crookedest commodity in the world; you've no idea the tricks some of the most reputable dealers get up to.'

‘I can imagine,' the prince said. ‘But not the big men, surely? They have too much to lose by being dishonest.'

‘Depends on how much they stand to gain,' James said. ‘Do you know there's a set of diamonds which are being offered for sale in Paris at the moment at an astronomical price, and part of them are said to be fakes? I won't tell you the name of the jeweller, but the whole trade knows there's something wrong with these stones, that's why nobody'll touch them. But he'll sell them to a private client.'

The prince's face was quite impassive.

‘That's very interesting,' he said. ‘What sort of diamonds are these? I thought you couldn't fake diamonds?'

‘Normally you can't,' James said. ‘But these are fancies – coloured diamonds. They're red. And that's where the faking comes in.'

‘Go on,' the prince said. He glanced at the pool for a moment. Luchaire was swimming with the countess and Wildenstein's wife. They were laughing. ‘Go on, Mr Hastings. This is fascinating. How do you mean, that's where the faking comes in?'

‘Radiation,' James said. ‘This man bought a few genuine red diamonds from the Russians. They're producing one or two now, said to be a fine deep colour. But there weren't enough of them to make into the kind of jewellery that sells for millions of dollars. I think I heard that there were about five red stones in the original lot, two or three of them were quite big, and he re-cut those. So he's made up the rest with ordinary diamonds which have been irradiated to change their colour, and given them a phoney provenance that they belonged to the Tsars. It's a really clever fraud.'

‘It is,' the prince agreed. ‘I didn't know you could change diamonds by radiation.'

‘You can; it was only done as an experiment to see what it would do to a diamond to be put into an atomic reactor. It will turn a yellow stone brown and a bluish or steel-coloured red. The colour's not permanent, though; if you re-cut the stone it comes out to its original colour. Anyway, that's what this man is supposed to have done with these diamonds; taken some of his best ordinary goods and had them irradiated to match the genuine stones.'

There was a long pause.

‘He is taking a risk,' the prince said at last. ‘Tell me, Mr Hastings, do you think the story is true?'

‘I don't know,' James answered. ‘I couldn't tell even if I'd seen the diamonds; I'm not an expert in that field. But I take notice of what other dealers say. I should think there's something fishy about them; after all, you just don't find that many red stones all together.'

‘No,' the prince said, ‘I suppose you don't.' He looked at James. ‘I will let you into a secret. I was going to buy those red diamonds. I was going to give them to my friend. They're the Romanovs, aren't they?'

‘Yes,' James admitted; he had hesitated for a second. ‘Yes, they're the Romanovs. Look, Highness, I had no idea you knew anything about it, or I wouldn't have told you.'

‘You mean you would rather I paid millions of dollars for something which was not genuine?'

‘No, I mean I wouldn't have repeated what may be a rumour,' James said. ‘There's no proof of this.'

‘I don't think proof is necessary.' the Arab shrugged. ‘What you have said makes sense to me. I'll put it this way to you, Mr Hastings. Would you advise me to buy them?'

‘No,' James said, ‘I would not.'

‘Then I am in your debt. You needn't be embarrassed. When I explain to Madeline she will understand. I'll have to think of something else to give her to make up for the disappointment, but I know she would hate to look a fool; as much as I would hate to be taken for one. Thank you very much. You've saved me a lot of money.'

He stood up. He held out his hand to James. ‘I am grateful to you. I'm glad we met. Are you going to swim?'

‘I don't think so. I think I'll go and phone my wife again and see how she is.'

James went into the house, into the big, arched room and shut the door. It was all over; he'd done it. The prince wouldn't buy the diamonds now. Breaking faith was an unforgivable sin in Arab ethics. James knew enough about them to know that. The prince would revenge himself on Karakov as a matter of honour. So would Madeline Luchaire. If he'd been tricked into buying the red diamonds, her lover wouldn't have forgiven her either. She'd take care to spread the word round the millionaire jet set, so nobody else would touch them, at any price. He had done it, he said it aloud. He'd got Karakov in the jugular. Whatever Andrews achieved in Moscow, it would cost Diamond Enterprises millions and James himself had disabled their competitor and damaged his reputation for the cost of the air fare to Nice. He actually laughed at the idea. The world, as he had told Elizabeth, was now their oyster and the pearl inside was the biggest. He reached for the telephone. It was nearly lunchtime. They must have mended the fault by now. He could make an excuse and go home. He couldn't wait to tell her. And then to go and open up the office and fax Julius Heyderman direct in Johannesburg. Arthur Harris could get stuffed. He was now openly Julius's man. When he dialled, the number rang. He could have shouted with relief and exhilaration. He didn't wait when it was answered. He said, ‘Liz? Liz darling.'