Blood Stones (43 page)

‘Dick,' Arthur Harris said, ‘you've been drinking. It shows.'

‘I know,' Kruger said miserably. ‘And I've just made a bloody fool of myself.'

Harris said quietly. ‘You were bound to sooner or later. I did warn you. What happened?'

‘I went to Ruth's office. We had a row and I hit her.'

‘Oh, for God's sake,' Arthur exclaimed. ‘Is she hurt? Dick, how could you do such a stupid thing?'

‘She goaded me,' he muttered. ‘I only slapped her. You'd have done the same if she'd said those things to you!'

Arthur doubted if Ruth could have matched Christa at her best, but he didn't argue. He came and put a hand on Kruger's shoulder. He looked wretched and ashamed in spite of his bluster. A big man brought to his knees by the bite of a small, deadly asp. That's how he pictured Ruth Fraser. Small and quick, with a lethal strike.

‘You're well rid of her,' he said. ‘Just be thankful you didn't marry her. That's the mistake that matters. Do you think she'll use it to make trouble? I might have a word with her and defuse the situation.'

‘No,' Kruger dismissed that. ‘She's got what she wants. I'll bet it's not the first time a man has thumped her. Jesus, to think I left Valerie for her – all that alimony, the house, all the aggro …' He rubbed his hands across his face. He looked at Arthur. ‘You're a real friend. I won't forget it when we sit down round that table and anyone starts shooting at you. I'll nail Andrews to the bloody wall!'

‘Not if you're half-full of Scotch,' Harris said. ‘You've got to pull yourself together, Dick. Stop boozing and feeling sorry for yourself. Julius will be here in a week's time, and we'll be fighting for our business lives. Andrews has turned his coat. He's going to speak against me at that Board, and my guess is that when he's done it he'll resign, just to emphasize the point. He was bad enough when he came back, losing control and making wild accusations. When he heard that Russian had been dismissed from his job, he went right over the edge. He's blaming me for that, too. Makes you wonder just how friendly they got …'

They glanced at each other, the follow-up unspoken.

Kruger sneered, ‘Yes, doesn't it! But if it comes to a vote, you'll win, Arthur. You've got a bomb-proof case. Nobody could expect you to agree to those bloody terms, they were outrageous, open blackmail. Don't worry, I'm with you. David's loyal, he's coming by Concorde specially, just to support you. Johnson's never taken a stand about anything, he's not interested.'

The distinguished mining engineer was well known for his view that Board meetings and bumf, as he called them collectively, were a waste of time.

‘Hastings,' Arthur murmured. ‘What about him? I tried to talk him round, but he didn't respond.'

He was relieved to see that Kruger had sobered up. He'd drunk several cups of coffee.

‘He'd vote down his own mother if it suited him,' Kruger snarled, the mention of Hastings always enraged him. ‘I don't know what he'll do. If he votes against you, and you win, he's in an impossible position. At worst he'll abstain. So, on the face of it, you've got the head count, even without Andrews. I don't know why Julius bothers, he must know he can't vote you off. He likes to bully, that's all.'

‘Maybe,' Arthur said. ‘We'll see. I have this gut feeling that it won't be resolved without a lot of blood-letting. On all sides.'

‘Don't let it worry you,' Kruger insisted. He was feeling very emotional and protective towards Arthur. They had been colleagues and good friends for many years. Arthur gave him his gentle smile.

‘Oh it won't,' he said. ‘So long as I win.'

Stella couldn't stop shaking. She wanted a drink so badly, she had rushed out of the hotel to stop herself calling room service and ordering a bottle … any bottle of anything. She walked at a frantic pace through Hyde Park, fighting the impulse to have just one to steady her nerves before she went to the airport to meet them. A group of joggers looked back at the woman swathed in expensive furs, talking loudly to herself. Quite off her trolley. She was talking to Jacob, trying to persuade him that facing her father was too much to ask, without even a little crutch. Like one stiff vodka. But Jacob wouldn't agree. He argued in her head, calm and persuasive as usual, that she was brave enough to carry it off. Drink had nearly destroyed her. She'd promised him so often that she would never slip downwards again. Then, when justice was done to him, she'd have something to live and work for in her own country. He wouldn't give way, however hard she pleaded. In the end, she slumped down on a seat by the Serpentine and watched a gaggle of au pairs with small children, teaching them to throw bread to the ducks. It was cold, but she was warm, snuggled in the fur. She'd bought it to spite her father, but he'd only said, ‘Good, glad you're being sensible. Hope it's a nice coat.' Jacob had convinced her; she wasn't going to have a drink. She was going back to the hotel and get in the chauffered car and drive down to meet her father and stepmother at Heathrow. And, when the moment was right, she'd give them the report on Reece as a Christmas present. She gloated over the scene in her imagination. Julius, incredulous, outraged, and then accused in turn. That was the finale she had planned. Herself centre stage, confronting him with his guilt. Denouncing him for Jacob's murder. She clung to the scenario, she whipped herself up into fury and vengeance. She had to, because she couldn't admit that the unloved child inside was longing to see her father and be in his good grace. She explained that to Jacob, too, and he understood. She left the seat and started back to the Dorchester. Crisis over. Stella still sober and in control. On her way to play the reformed dutiful daughter and give her father a hug and a kiss in the airport after a long, sad separation. She was still talking to herself, and some of the foreign girls with their children looked after her and laughed among themselves.

It wasn't so difficult after all, she thought as she looked back on that meeting. Not nearly so awkward. He had moved with his long stride towards her, and for a moment she felt dizzy. Then he was holding her, kissing her heartily on both cheeks, and saying loudly, ‘Suki … so very good to see you … So good.'

Her cheeks were wet. It was silly not to have expected a little age after so long, but it shocked her to see grey in his hair and lines that hadn't been there last time. He was such a big, overpowering man, he seemed to swallow her into himself while they embraced. Then Sylvia; elegant, handsome, coming to kiss her and say how well she looked. Last time they had seen each other, Stella had screamed abuse and called Julius a murderer. Her stepmother showed no sign that she remembered.

They had driven back to London together, lunched in the restaurant, and then Julius had set off for his office. When he had gone, there was a moment when Sylvia let the pretence drop.

‘I'm very glad you're reconciled,' she said. ‘I do understand what a terrible time you had after Jacob's death. But it was hard for your father too. He's not a young man any more and he's got a lot of business worries at the moment. So I do hope, Stella, that you won't do anything to upset him.'

A voice like cracked ice. No pleasant smile this time.

‘I won't,' Stella answered. ‘I've stopped trying to hurt myself and everyone else. You don't have to lecture me.'

‘I wasn't,' Sylvia said. ‘I just happen to love your father, that's all. And I know he loves you. Now, I'm going upstairs to sort out my luggage and have a rest. He never seems to get jet-lagged; I'm exhausted. We'll see you in the bar around eight o'clock. If being in the bar worries you, we don't have to meet there.'

Stella stood up. ‘I always go there in the evening,' she said. ‘And I never drink anything but orange juice and Perrier. See you at eight. Sleep well.'

She went up to her own suite, kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bed.

I know he loves you
.

She shut her mind to the warm feeling creeping over her. It had been more of an ordeal than she realized. She fell asleep immediately.

When she woke it was late afternoon. The idea was in her head as if someone had put it there while she slept. Punishing Reece isn't enough. You've written the finale, but it's not a curtain call. You've got to have proof, or you'll never be able to do it. And there's only one way to get that.

The next morning she made an excuse to Sylvia who wanted to go shopping for Christmas presents, and took a taxi down to Bickenhall Mansions in Marylebone, Flat 27. The names were on the front door beside the entry phone.
Mr P. and Miss J. Reece
. She pressed the button and waited. A tinny voice answered, ‘Yes? Who is it?'

‘Stella Heyderman. I'd like to talk to you.'

Joy was tempted to keep the door shut. But if she did, and Heyderman was told, it would react on her brother. Curiosity played a part; she had never seen the woman and she wondered what she would be like. An arrogant bitch, lording it over the employee's sister. She might try, Joy decided, but she wouldn't get away with it. But why had she come there at all? Joy felt suddenly uneasy. It must mean trouble of some kind. Maybe Stella was in trouble and was seeking out Reece behind her father's back … That must be it. She opened the flat door. Stella was tall; she wasn't prepared to look up at her. She said in her nasal voice, accentuated by the persistent cold, ‘Come inside. I'm Joy Reece, Piet's sister.'

‘Piet.'

Stella had never heard a Christian name for him before. It was always Reece, the sexless ambiguity. Sexless. She shuddered, looking at the plain dumpy girl. She was wearing an overall and she'd been cleaning, because there was a duster and a tin of spray polish on the table by the door. She followed her into the sitting-room.

‘Sit down, won't you?'

Joy was playing hostess, raking Stella with sharp eyes. Noting the expensive clothes, the scent, the trappings of money. But the face gave her away, she thought spitefully. She looked raddled, much older than her late thirties. The face would never recover from the disgusting life she'd led.

‘What can I do for you, Miss Heyderman? My brother's at the office, if you were wanting to see him.'

‘No,' Stella said. ‘I really came to see you. Do you mind if I have a cigarette?'

Joy grimaced. Filthy habit. Typical.

‘I do have a cold,' she said.

‘Then I'll try not to blow smoke your way,' Stella said and took out the pack and her lighter. She was quite calm; there were no tremors, no nerves like the day before. Knowledge gave her command of the situation. She saw the woman's hostility and contempt but it couldn't touch her. She knew what she was going to say.

‘How did you enjoy Bath?'

The question brought a gasp from Joy Reece. Her mouth fell open and then shut like a trap.

‘We had a few day's holiday. It was very nice.'

‘I'm sure it was. The Royal Crescent is a lovely hotel. That's where you stayed, isn't it?' Stella inhaled and then turned her head aside, blowing smoke away from her. ‘Registered as husband and wife.'

She thought the woman was going to collapse. She turned a ghastly grey colour and caught hold of the back of the sofa to steady herself. She didn't say anything, she just swallowed and stared wildly at Stella.

‘I've seen the hotel register,' Stella went on. ‘I had you and your brother followed. Very interesting. What a close relationship you have.'

The sound was like an animal. A snarl, choking in her throat.

‘That's a filthy lie. We shared a room to save money.'

‘You couldn't economize in Spain in the summer, but you managed. Especially in the afternoons. Why don't you sit down, you don't look very well.'

Niggers, Reece called Jacob's people. Kaffirs. Fit only to be servants, the permanent underclass born to submit to the whites. Stella knew the type, she knew how they thought and spoke among themselves. The perverted creature had openly insulted her because she had been married to a black.

She showed no mercy. ‘There's no use denying it. And it's a serious offence. You and he would go to prison.'

Joy Reece was not a coward. Cornered, she instinctively fought back.

‘You can't do anything to us,' she said at last. ‘You try it and I'll drag the Heydermans down with us. Starting with your father.'

She had recovered by now; bright colour burned in her cheeks. It was Stella who turned pale.

‘How could you touch my father? You're just bluffing … Miss Reece.' She made the term sound like an insult.

Joy was gathering strength. ‘You owe my brother everything,' she spat out. ‘Covering up for you. All these years – and after what he did for your father!'

‘You mean getting my husband murdered?' Stella said it very quietly. ‘Isn't that what he did? I know about that, too.'

Joy made a gesture of contempt. ‘You can't prove anything … Blacks murdered a black. That's what they do all the time.'

‘Jacob's murderers were paid.' Stella kept her voice steady but it was becoming an effort. ‘Paid by your brother. I have proof. That's why I'm here.' It was a lie but it was her one chance.

Joy uncoiled her body from the sofa and sprang up. ‘This is the thanks my brother gets. Trying to protect your rotten family! He's loyal, that's his trouble. He just had to protect the great Mr Julius, his hero. “Think what the scandal would do to him if that marriage gets out!” That's what he said. You try to hurt either of us, you dirty bitch, and I'll say your father
told
him to get rid of your black. I'll swear it, and I'll make Piet swear it too. So what are we going to do about that, eh?'

Stella picked up her bag; there was no ashtray. She stubbed the cigarette out on a plate holding a cactus in a pot. She felt almost light headed.