Blood Stones (41 page)

‘Well,' his sister said, ‘Heyderman's wanted to get rid of him for years. That's something else he owes you.' She was knitting him a dark blue pullover and her thin fingers flew in and out with the needles. She was delighted at the prospect of Arthur Harris being thrown out. Other people's misfortunes always cheered her up, and she hated Harris because her brother did. He had humiliated Reece, and now he was going to pay for it.

‘He was never much good,' Reece said. ‘Nothing like Mr Julius. He's carried him for years. This time he's made his last mistake.'

‘What will this new man be like?' she asked. ‘Does he know what's going to happen?'

‘No,' Reece answered. ‘I've kept clear of him. Mr Arthur might draw conclusions. And Kruger's lady friend gave
him
the push. It's all drama at the office these days.'

‘Ruth Fraser,' Joy muttered, counting stitches. ‘She's a dreadful tart, isn't she?'

‘Dreadful,' he agreed. ‘She's working for Hastings now. I expect she'll shack up with him now he's separated from his wife.'

‘They've no morals,' Joy said primly. ‘Like a lot of monkeys. Oh, won't it be nice to get home and away from this awful cold weather?'

Prince Eugene Titulescu was playing with his little son. Ivan's daughter watched them, smiling in contentment. She adored her child and she was very fond of her husband. He wasn't the greatest lover, but she had settled for domestic life without the turbulence of passion. Her German baron had combined sexual virility with demands for money and blows when they weren't met. Eugene was a good husband, a devoted father, and an old-fashioned gentleman who bore her father's temper and tantrums with stoic patience.

He had suffered from both in the last few weeks. She said, ‘I talked with Mother today. Thank God she's finally succeeded in calming Daddy down.'

The prince was bouncing the little boy on his knee, making horsey noises. He stopped and said, ‘He was in a better mood today.' He smiled at his son. ‘He didn't actually shout at me … No, sweetheart, that's enough. The poor horse is tired …'

He set him down, and the boy toddled over to his mother. ‘You've been so good about it,' she said gratefully. ‘But it's been a terrible time for him. Thank God he's dropped the idea of suing that actress. Mother talked him out of it. He wouldn't even discuss it with anyone else. I really thought he might give himself a heart attack. He gets so emotional about things.' She took her son's hand. ‘Now, darling, I'm going to take you to find Angela, it's almost bath time. We'll come and say good night when you're in bed.'

‘And I'll read you a story,' the prince promised.

He sighed when he was alone. The past few weeks had been a nightmare. His father-in-law had vented his rage on him, insulting and abusing him without reason, even blaming him because he had introduced Madeline Luchaire in the first place, and the prince lived in hourly terror of his part in the debacle being exposed. He had arranged for Hastings to meet Luchaire, as his blackmailer demanded. Now, as the allegations about fraud and faking flew about, he understood why and what had happened. Hastings had planted the lie, and he had helped him do it. If his wife's family found out they would be merciless. Fear haunted him. He lost weight because he was too worried to eat, and he slept so badly that his wife suggested he should see his doctor.

With threatened law suits, publicity, a vindictive woman whose greed had been frustrated and Ivan Karakov, raging and irrational … between them Eugene's future would be blown to dust. He would lose his job, his wife would leave him, he would lose his little son. He suffered in silence, waiting for the worst.

Then suddenly he saw Karakov changing; the tyrant was becoming low spirited, a tired old man who had lost the will to fight. The disaster with the red diamonds had been a mortal blow. He didn't call them the Romanovs any longer. He had lost his own illusion. They were unsaleable and he was muttering about sending them back to Moscow. He was ill tempered with Eugene, because his son-in-law was an easy target, but even that was diminishing. Much as he disliked her, the prince had to admire Laura Karakov for the way she soothed and manipulated the old man into pulling back from a law suit, and, even more surprising, persuaded him to mend his quarrel with Diamond Enterprises. There was no more talk of breaking the cartel and going out into the market alone. David Wasserman was in and out of the office, and slowly Ivan seemed to recover. Business was good, the rumours had become out of date and, because his reputation for straight dealing was so widely known and respected, Luchaire's spiteful campaign was losing impetus. He couldn't sell the red diamonds, but there was a rumour of a big ‘sight' of goods coming up in Diamond Enterprises London offices, and he had been promised a particularly fine parcel, as a reward for coming back into the family. He recovered, but his son-in-law judged that underneath the bluster and the posturing, Karakov was a chastened man. Eugene bore him no ill will for his bullying; he was not a man of strong emotions and he wasn't vindictive. He was just grateful that the danger was over, and he had escaped unscathed. He was back in safe harbour, and that was all he asked of life. He went out to read his little son a bed-time story. It was always the same one about a family of mice. The boy never tired of it.

The Wassermans stopped off in London on their way home to the States. They invited James out to dinner to celebrate. They were booked into the Connaught; they loved the elegance of the hotel and they knew the food was the best in London.

‘Well,' David said, ‘it's all fixed. Ivan signed up like a lamb. Right back where he started. And it's all due to you!'

‘And since the Russians threw out Andrews' deal,' Clara reminded them, ‘you're the number-one boy … You'll go to the top.'

‘Maybe,' James answered. ‘But I feel sorry for Ray. Arthur cut the ground from under him by slipping an escape clause into that agreement. I have a feeling that he won't get away with it this time. Andrews is out for his blood.' He smiled, it wasn't humorous. ‘So Arthur's been making a special effort to be nice to me. I've been lunched and invited down to Hampshire for the weekend … He needs an ally and he thinks I'll fall for it.'

‘You're not going?' Wasserman enquired.

‘No. I haven't forgotten what he did to me. He can sink, I'm not throwing him any bloody lifeline.'

Clara didn't say anything. Hastings looked older, and there was a bitterness about him that was disturbing. She still didn't like him as much as David did, but she had to admire the toughness and resolution that brought a man like Ivan Karakov to his knees. As she said, he would go to the top. What was really disturbing was that he didn't seem to care. She blamed the wife. Running out on him just when he needed her most. If he had a grain of sense he'd file for divorce and go out to have some fun. Only David's stricture prevented her from saying so.

James said, ‘You'll be glad to get home. And while we're paying compliments, only you, David, could have negotiated with that old sod and talked him round. Here's to you.' He raised his glass.

‘Here's to all of us,' Wasserman responded. ‘And to business.'

James said harshly, ‘That's for sure.'

Miller had gone down to Bath himself after reading his legman's report. He was shown into the manager's office. He was very pleasant, almost apologetic, about involving him in questions about the hotel's clients, but there could be a criminal offence at issue. The manager had been mollified and alarmed at the same time. Criminal offence could mean scandal for the hotel. He sent for the register as Miller requested. Miller studied it. The entry was clear, written in a copperplate hand. Someone trained in bookkeeping, he thought.
Mr & Mrs Ryan
. The home address and the date.
Nationality: South African
. He noted it all down. He wanted as much detail as possible to keep his rich client interested. He didn't want her cancelling the investigation.

He said, ‘What room did they occupy?'

‘A double bedroom on the first floor, facing south. He asked for that specially. They had tickets for the theatre, and they stayed from Friday to the following Sunday night.'

The manager was a large, imposing man, but this kind of enquiry upset his nerves. The last time a lady had lost two pieces of jewellery out of her room and the police had to be called, he hadn't been able to eat for three days, it upset his stomach so much.

‘They seemed a very pleasant couple,' he said. ‘Very quiet.'

‘Yes,' Miller said. ‘They usually do. Is the room vacant? Could I see it?'

‘It's occupied,' the manager said. ‘But I can tell you anything you want to know about it – I don't see what difference it makes?'

‘Has it single beds, or a double?' Miller asked.

The manager coughed. ‘A double. He asked for that when he telephoned to make the booking.'

‘Yes,' Miller said. ‘I see … Tell me, is this the lady who was registered as Mrs Ryan?' He produced a street snap of Reece's secretary leaving the office.

The manager shook his head. ‘Oh no,' he said. ‘That's not her. This was a smaller woman, dark-haired, not very nice looking. Younger than this one. I heard him call her Joy, if that's any help.'

‘Just to make sure,' Miller said. ‘Would you mind identifying him? Is that the man who came here? It's only a formality, but we've got to be thorough. Finding the woman is going to be a nuisance, though. I can see that.'

The manager looked at another street snap, this time taken outside Reece's rented flat. Miller had a very good man on street photography. People never knew they were being taken.

‘Oh yes,' the manager said. ‘That's him. And that's the lady who was with him just behind there! That's her! I'd know her anywhere from that photograph.'

Miller took the print back and looked at it. There were several similar prints in his file at the office, part of a series, and one of them showed this same girl holding Reece's arm. They hadn't bothered to investigate her because the hall porter had told his man that she was his sister. The card in the entrance hall said,
Mr P. and Miss J. Reece. Flat 27
.

‘You're sure this was the woman?' he asked. ‘You couldn't be mistaken?'

‘Definitely,' the manager said; he was feeling pleased with himself for recognizing her. ‘That's the one; just as I described her to you. Small and darkish and no oil painting. I told you, he called her Joy.'

‘That's right,' Miller said. ‘So you did. Well, thanks very much. I'll have to have a record of this entry in your register, but you shouldn't be troubled again. Thanks very much for your help.'

‘Not at all,' the manager said. He cleared his throat. ‘You mentioned a criminal offence …'

‘Yes,' Miller said. ‘So I did. This looks like being very nasty.'

He went outside and found a pub around the corner and ordered himself a beer. Nasty wasn't the word for it. He wondered what Miss Stella Heyderman would make out of this when she got his report.

‘It's not very nice, Miss Heyderman,' Miller shook his head. ‘But there it is; you never know what you are going to find when you start looking into people's private lives.'

Stella was still reading it. She had come down to the office when he phoned her, and she had read the report there. ‘You're sure this is right? You're absolutely sure it's his sister?'

‘No doubt at all,' Miller said. ‘I was going to get in touch with you at once, but I thought we'd better make a few more checks just to be sure. I asked a contact in Spain to look up the hotel where they stayed earlier in the year – he asked a few questions and it was the same answer. Mr and Miss Reece. Single rooms this time, because they had to show their passports on registering, but in adjoining rooms. Same identification as the hotel manager in Bath. Brother and sister. Oh, and we uncovered something else. This isn't very nice either, I'm afraid. One of the Spanish maids talked her head off after our contact gave her a couple of hundred pesetas. She said they were always in one room during the afternoon siestas, and she told our chap that one day she was looking through the sister's drawers and she found a cane hidden in the clothes. So it looks as if it was incest with trimmings.'

‘Christ,' Stella said slowly. ‘They were into that, too …'

Miller shrugged. ‘I have had cases like this before and you do find that there's an element of perversion in it apart from the incestuous relationship. The point is, what do you want done with this?'

‘I've been trying to think of that,' she said. ‘I know what I'd do with it if I were in the Union. I'd send it straight to the police, but I don't know whether it's an offence here or not.'

‘Oh, it certainly is,' he said. He looked quite pained at the suggestion that there wasn't an English law to provide for all contingencies. ‘This is a criminal offence. They'd both go to prison for this. No doubt about it. But is that what you want? I mean you can't just inform on them and then drop out. We'll probably have to give evidence if it comes to court and we can't guarantee to keep your name out of the papers. I don't want to mislead you, you know. You'd better think it out.'

‘I have thought it out,' she said. ‘I am leaving for Johannesburg on the twenty-second of December. It'll take the police a few days to get their teeth into this, won't it?'

‘Oh I should think so. Slow but sure we are. I was in the force for years and I've got a lot of friends still there. They wouldn't rush the thing; they'd have to question the couple and make their own enquiries to corroborate what we've told them, that is if you've decided that you want us to tell them anything.'