Blood Stones (39 page)

Susan handed him some clean shirts. ‘Can't be helped. I'll go anyway. They are our oldest friends. Ray, why do you think they've asked you to go back?'

‘I don't know,' he said, closing the case. ‘Just some bureaucratic nit-pick, I expect.' He kissed her. ‘Bye, darling, sorry to bugger up tonight. We'll make it up to Jo and Ian when I get back.'

‘It's all going so smoothly,' Reece said, ‘I've taken a week off. You've had this horrible cold so long a break will do you good. Do us both good. I've booked into the Royal Crescent at Bath. It's a really top hotel, and there's plenty to do and see, and a good playhouse. We won't stint ourselves.'

Joy looked up at him and sniffed. She had a reddened nose and she looked sallow and unwell. He was so good, so thoughtful. She smiled up at him, dabbing at her sore nose with a handkerchief. The waste basket beside her was full of used tissues.

‘Lovely,' she said. ‘When do we go?'

‘Next week,' Reece assured her. ‘They can tear each other to pieces while I'm away.'

‘What about her?' Joy never used Stella's name if she could help it. She waited, hoping for bad news.

‘Still buying up London,' he retorted. ‘Looking up friends of Mr Julius. Entertaining them at the hotel. I can't believe it's going to last. But she's not been drunk so far.'

He had a contact at the hotel who reported to him for a consideration. It wasn't financial, that wouldn't be tolerated. But there was a risk of scandal with Miss Heyderman, and he was acting in their best interests as well as hers, by keeping track of her.

Joy said nothing; she was disappointed. They changed the subject and made plans for their stay in Bath.

Stella was reading Miller's report from Johannesburg. It was detailed, and she skipped impatiently through the dates of birth, addresses, education. The image was grindingly dull. A shopkeeper, married to an Afrikaans farmer's daughter, two dreary children brought up over a grocery shop. She had started smoking heavily; she hadn't touched alcohol and cigarettes helped to keep her calm. What interested her was Reece's rise in Diamond Enterprises. From a low-paid position as an accounting clerk, he had been promoted suddenly. Speculation was all they had to go on, but he was supposed to have informed on a colleague who had links with the illicit diamond mining operation that drained millions of dollars in stolen goods. The man had been caught and convicted as a result of Reece's detective work. Julius Heyderman had picked him out and promoted him into the main office. A troubleshooter, a fixer. A spy on his own kind. Heart and soul the Chairman's man. It was Reece who arranged for Jacob Yakumi to get out of South Africa because he had a powerful contact in the police; Reece who dealt with the London solicitors in control of her finances. Reece was reputed to have contacts among the gangs and informers in Johannesburg; he had a big budget and the authority to use it.

Now she was reading very carefully, the cigarette smouldered in the ashtray at her elbow. On Yakumi's return to South Africa, Reece had been in the country. He was often in London for a few months' stint. No doubt keeping tabs on Arthur, she thought, but not then. He wasn't even absent on a short trip from the time her husband went back to Soweto till he was murdered. Black people didn't talk to white investigators, but Miller's associates had blacks and coloureds on their payroll. They talked of rumours of a white man with money being involved in the killing, someone connected with the diamond industry. Yakumi was anti-capitalist and a dangerous new voice in the emerging forum of the country's government. She threw the file aside. Stubbed out the butt of the cigarette and lit another. What none of them knew was the real motive: his marriage to Heyderman's daughter; he had been murdered to stop that ever being made public. She inhaled and then reached for the telephone.

‘Mr Miller, please. Miss Heyderman.'

‘You got the report,' Miller said. ‘I think they did a very good job. He sounds an extremely shady customer. Not that there's any proof of anything.'

‘No,' Stella agreed. ‘There wouldn't be. He doesn't operate like that. I think you've probably done as much as you can. Send me a bill, please.'

Miller hesitated. ‘Well, I have a man up in Bath at the moment,' he explained. ‘Reece is there, staying at the Royal Crescent. He's booked in under the name of Ryan. Do you want me to call my man off the case?'

The Royal Crescent. What was the little swine up to, staying at a place like that?

‘There's a woman with him,' Miller added. ‘Maybe that's why he's using a phoney name. I sent a man down there when he left London. They travelled together.'

‘Let me know what you find out,' Stella said. ‘Forget what I said about cancelling. Keep on to him.'

She had always thought of Reece as a sexless creature, like an earthworm, without sexual organs. Living it up with a woman at the grandest hotel in the West Country …

‘Jacob love,' she said out loud, ‘don't you worry. I'll get that bastard if it's the last thing I ever do. And when I do, I'll nail my father, too.'

Later that afternoon she took a call from Julius. He was in good spirits, making plans for the London trip. He asked how she was and she said exactly what he wanted to hear. She was fine, glad to be back in her own environment; she'd gone to lunch with their English friends who wanted to know all about Peru. She made him laugh describing how she'd dodged the questions. ‘I told them it was full of Indians and snakes, and that satisfied them.' He was looking forward to the trip, and so was Sylvia. He planned a big party, and, of course, he wanted her to be there. She said she wouldn't miss it for anything. When they rang off, she ran herself a bath and lay in it and cried with hatred for him, and with the need for this love he was showing her for the first time. But that wouldn't protect him when the time came. She would destroy him even though she knew it would destroy herself. She owed it to Jacob.

‘I'm not going to lose you,' Jean Pierre said. He put his arms round Elizabeth. ‘I shall come to England.' And then, looking down at her he asked the question for the last time. ‘Are you sure you want to go, my darling? You don't have to run away from me.'

‘I'm not running away,' Elizabeth said. ‘I know that's no solution. But I can't think clearly yet, and I need a complete break while I make my mind up what to do.'

‘You won't go back to him,' he insisted. ‘I swear to you before God, I spoke to his office and told them to get into contact with him. I told the girl what had happened, and she promised to call him immediately. He's lying.'

‘Yes,' she said slowly, ‘I think he is. It's just whether I can come to terms with it, Jean Pierre. How can I ever thank you for all you've done for me?'

‘By keeping in touch,' he said. ‘Let me come and see you before long. Remember I am always there for you. I love you, Elizabeth. Will you kiss me goodbye?'

‘Yes.' Elizabeth reached up and put her arms round his neck. She blinked back tears. ‘I don't deserve you.'

He kissed her like a lover and she let him.

On the way to the airport, Jill Fairfax turned to her. ‘You'll be all right when you get home to Freemantle. It's a great place to lick wounds. Your father and I found that after Nick was killed. Just walking round the park and being at peace makes you feel better. You'll get over this, Lizzie, and I promise we won't try to influence you, whatever you decide to do. We just want to look after you till you're fit again.'

Her restraint had surprised Elizabeth. There were no fulminations against James, just a firm approach to bringing her back home. She had been charming and grateful to Jean Pierre, but Elizabeth sensed a reserve. She said, looking out of the car window, ‘It was difficult saying goodbye to him, Mum. I was quite upset.'

‘That's because you'd cry about anything at the moment,' Jill said. ‘And he's been very kind and supportive.'

‘He's in love with me,' was the answer.

‘Well, that's obvious! Of course he is … There'll be plenty of time to see that in proportion after you've come back to normal.' She slowed for a signpost, then took the route to the small airport. In love. She'd realized that as soon as she saw Jean Pierre Lasalle with her daughter. She had imagined an elderly Frenchman, a fatherly friend who had come to Elizabeth's rescue. There was nothing paternal about the very attractive middle-aged man who met her at the door of the château. If she was reserved with him, he was equally distant with her. He didn't want her to take Elizabeth away, and he conveyed that politely enough. His resistance prompted her to book a flight home earlier than planned. Lizzie, she felt, needed a break from the whole set-up, especially from a man smothering her with love and attention after the shock of a miscarriage and the apparently callous behaviour of her husband. The word ‘apparent' crept in, and she was surprised at herself. She had never liked or trusted James to make Lizzie happy. If the question had been put to her before it happened – Would he let his wife down at some point? – she would have said most likely, Yes. But she had a doubt about this, and it niggled. She would see the situation in better proportion when she was home and could talk it over with her husband. She said in her brisk way, ‘Nearly there now. Pop's meeting us at Heathrow and we'll all drive down together. And I've got a super new Labrador puppy. I can't wait to show her to you.' She put a hand on Elizabeth's knee. ‘You've got guts, Lizzie. You're like Nick. I'm not worried about you.'

David Wasserman had invited James to lunch. They went to a brasserie close by James's office; Wasserman couldn't digest a heavy lunch and he found the French food too rich. James had no appetite anyway and didn't want to waste time outside his office. The old man looked very lively as he greeted James. He could hardly wait to tell him the news while they ordered.

‘It's all over the trade that Karakov's lost the sale of his diamonds,' he reported. ‘There's a rumour he's had a row with Luchaire and he's threatening to sue because he held the jewellery for her on a promise of purchase.'

He grinned like a mischievous old gnome.

‘She says, “Go ahead, sue, and she'll expose you as a cheat and a faker!” I tell you, he nearly had a heart attack after that letter from her lawyers. Now he's threatening to claim millions of dollars for defamation and damage to his business reputation … My boy, there hasn't been a scandal like this in the trade for years! We're all loving it. Laura's busting a gut to stop him making a fool of himself and going to court. I heard from a very good source that Luchaire's Arab went to Cartier and bought a ruby-and-diamond necklace for two million dollars, and then very expensive pieces from Andrew Grima and Boucheron, just to make it up to her. I passed the information on to Mirkovitch, just as a piece of in-trade gossip. A friendly call to Moscow …' He chuckled again. ‘I could hear him choking. James, you're a real operator! I guess you're anxious to get back home?'

He knew Elizabeth was in England. When he asked if that meant good news, James had said, ‘Not particularly,' and changed the subject. Wasserman was wise and he didn't mention it again. There was a very deep wound there, he judged, and it was filling up with bitterness.

He went on, ‘You plan to see Ivan again, or shall I take up the negotiations? That would free you to close up here and go back to London. I'd be glad to do it if you want.'

He was longing for the chance, as James recognized. Nothing would please him more than to sit round and do some hard trading with Ivan Karakov.

‘I think I'll tie up the situation personally,' he said. ‘And I think I know the way to do it. I'd appreciate your advice, David.'

Wasserman hid his disappointment. ‘Just ask,' he said.

He listened and he shook his head in admiration. ‘You're a genius. That's going for the jugular. I wish I could be there to see it.'

‘You will be,' James promised. ‘I'm passing the next stage to you. The most difficult part, but if I'm a genius, you're the master. And, I think you'll enjoy it.'

He smiled at Wasserman. As David told Clara afterwards, it was the first time he'd seen Hastings smile since it all happened. And it wasn't a nice sight.

‘Won't you sit down, Mr Hastings. Can I offer you a drink?'

‘No thank you, Mrs Karakov.' He chose the upright Louis XV chair opposite her. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and when he telephoned the day before, she'd given him the appointment at once. David was right; she was more than half the business and three-quarters of the brains. Her blond hair was dressed up high, drawn back from her ears, and a row of plump, glistening pearls were round her neck. Her eyes were as hard as two black stones. He wasn't bothered by the stare. Even Clara Wasserman admitted that he had changed very much since he had lost his wife. He was a very hard man now.

‘Why do you want to see me particularly, Mr Hastings? I didn't tell my husband because you said you wanted to have a private talk with me, but I must say I've been very curious about it. What do you have in mind?'

‘Business,' he said. ‘The business between Karakov International and Diamond Enterprises. We've been buggered about long enough, Mrs Karakov. We want this dispute settled, once and for all.'

She didn't flicker an eyelash. She had heard tough talk before and she could give it back; and she would, with pleasure. He had irritated her when they first met: he had such an unconsciously superior air. She said very calmly, ‘We've had enough of it too, Mr Hastings. I think Ivan's made our attitude plain to you? We're just not satisfied with the treatment we've been getting from you. If you want to get the thing settled, then give us what we ask. It's quite simple.'