Empress Bianca (10 page)

‘But you must meet the most fascinating people.’

‘It depends what you mean by “fascinating”. Even people who are genuinely fascinating, because of what they do, are pretty mundane around a dinner table. Unless you’re actually working with them, they’re really very ordinary.’

‘People like who?’

‘People, I suppose, like King Hussein of Jordan and Nubar Gulbenkian.’

‘Well, I’m sure I’d find King Hussein or Nubar Gulbenkian interesting, even if it were only over a dinner table.’

Begonia laughed. ‘Oh, Bianca, it’s so good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit. Not really. You’re the same wonderful, funny, enthusiastic Bianca we all knew and loved.’

‘Life was made to be relished, no?’ Bianca said, laughing.

‘Come,’ Begonia said, taking her former classmate by the hand. ‘I want to introduce you to my husband and his brother Philippe. They’re going to be working together in partnership with Ferdie Piedraplata.’

Light at the end of the tunnel. Finally. Begonia was offering on a plate what Bianca had expected to have to acquire through her own resources. Clearly Begonia was someone she should add to her circle of friends and not only because she liked her, although she did. If she developed a friendship with Begonia, Bianca was aware that she would in the ordinary course of events meet Ferdie and Amanda Piedraplata at the house of Begonia and her husband on a regular enough basis to develop a solid social acquaintanceship. Mexico City social life followed an established pattern whereby people who were in business together fraternized outside business hours at each other’s houses and clubs. ‘It’s wonderful to see you, Begonia,’ Bianca said, light-headed with anticipation, as Begonia walked
her across the veranda onto the lawn. ‘We must swear not to lose touch again. There are so few kindred spirits in Mexico.’

‘We’ll have a lot of fun.’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, here’s my guy,’ Begonia said, stopping in front of a short, squat, podgy, balding man in his late thirties. ‘Isn’t he the sweetest, most loveable man you’ve ever seen? Darling, I want you to meet an old school friend: Bianca Barnett. Bianca, my beloved Raymond Mahfud.’

‘It’s actually Bianca Calman now,’ she said, stretching out her right hand for him to kiss. He took it and shook it.

‘Did the Academy churn out only beauties, or am I mistaken?’ Raymond said with a glint, more of humour than anything else, in his eye. ‘You’re almost as beautiful as my wife.’

‘Almost,’ Bianca laughed good-naturedly, knowing very well that she was much better looking than Begonia. ‘And she was named after a flower, while I have to make do with merely being the colour of one.’

‘I can see that my husband likes you,’ Begonia said, wagging her finger playfully at Raymond, who started flirting mildly with Bianca.

‘“Like” is not the word. If I were not married, I would throw down my cloak for you to walk upon. Fortunately, Begonia knows she can trust me. My eye is the only thing that roves.’

‘You’re funny,’ Bianca said, laughing appreciatively.

‘Your country is beautiful and exciting,’ Raymond continued, changing tack. ‘It reminds me of home. Have you ever been to Baghdad?’

‘No,’ Bianca replied, ‘but I want to one day. My mother’s from that part of the world. She’s Palestinian.’

‘Ah, then we share a common bond,’ Raymond laughed. ‘We both shook off the yoke of the Ottoman oppressor.’

‘But we’re Jewish.’

‘So are we.’

‘I didn’t know you were Jewish,’ Bianca said to Begonia.

‘I wasn’t. But I am now.’

Another short, squat, podgy, balding man walked up to them at that point. Before Begonia even introduced them, Bianca knew it was Raymond’s brother. ‘Philippe, I want you to meet my old school friend, Bianca Calman. But you’re not allowed to flirt. She’s safely married.’

‘But I’m not,’ Philippe Mahfud replied. ‘Though it’s not for the want
of Begonia trying. You’re the first friend of hers I’ve met in ages who isn’t marriage material. And what a pleasure it is to meet you.’

Tempted though she was to riposte, Bianca limited herself to a throaty laugh, sexy and appreciative. It wouldn’t do to flirt too outrageously with a strange man in front of his sister-in-law. Not when she hoped the sister-in- law would assist her in reaching the pinnacle of her ambition: admission into the social circle of Ferdie and Amanda Piedraplata.

‘There’s my husband,’ Bianca said, catching sight of Bernardo in the distance and signalling him over. ‘You must meet him. He’s the most darling man in the world if I say so myself, present company excepted, of course. Do you remember him? Bernardo Calman?’

‘I didn’t know him, Begonia said. ‘You must remember that our time together was spent in Panama, not here.’

‘Of course, silly me. I met Bernardo when we moved here from Panama.’

Just as Bernardo was approaching from the left, Amanda and Ferdie Piedraplata came into view on the right. Torn, Bianca could not decide whether she was glad that she would have the distraction of introducing her husband at the same time as Begonia was introducing her to the Piedraplatas - thereby distracting her and reducing the rush of adrenaline which might overcome her - or whether she was rattled because one of the decisive moments of her life was being adulterated. Fortunately for Bianca, Ferdie and Amanda came up to their group just before Bernardo reached them. The alternative, that Ferdie and Amanda might shy away rather than break up an introduction, was a distinct possibility, although Bianca could see the likelihood of Bernardo arriving after introductions were underway. This, indeed, was what he did, slipping in beside his wife and taking her hand in his.

Bianca was careful to say ‘How do you do?’ as demurely as possible, while Begonia made the introduction to Ferdie. She purposely saved the full force of her charm and her warmth for Amanda. This was a wise move on her part. In the eyes of a good many people, the wife of a rich man comes a very poor second to her partner. Bianca was wily and she understood the power of womanhood.

Moreover, she was no rebel. On the contrary. She had respect, almost reverence, for the code governing feminine conduct. She functioned by the rule that no sane sensible woman ever undermined another woman
who was not a direct competitor for the hand of a man. No sane sensible woman ever trampled on the toes of another woman - unless, of course, she was after her man. That objective aside, a woman always respected the feminine code and functioned through other women, not through their men. To function through a man when he had a wife was to call the whole principle of feminine solidarity into question. It was to declare yourself a traitor to the feminine cause - and the feminine cause was a woman’s cause - every woman’s cause. Bianca’s cause.

Bianca’s one ambition in life, after being happy, was to climb to the rung on the social ladder where she would be acknowledged as one of Mexico’s elite socialites. Bianca therefore grasped the initiative of this special moment and stepped back just enough so that she, Begonia and Amanda formed a triangle. The men, they all knew, usually preferred speaking among themselves, and now that Bianca had subtly broken up the group into two segments, she set about working the magic of her charm upon Begonia and Amanda in varying but deliberate degrees.

‘I always thought you must photograph well because it’s impossible to find a bad picture of you,’ Bianca said to Amanda, hoping that her charm would work its old magic. ‘But you look so much younger in the flesh that I now see I was wrong. Don’t you think so, Begonia?’ she added, taking care to include her schoolmate, her bright and smiling eyes flicking from one to the other.

‘It’s true. Trust Bianca to notice it and say so. She was always so outspoken and generous, even as a young girl. One of the few pretty girls in the school you never felt threatened by.’

‘Why, Begonia, that’s one of the sweetest compliments I’ve ever received. Two compliments in one, in fact. You’d better be careful, or you’re going to give your old school friend a swollen head,’ Bianca said, tongue in cheek, for it was obvious to both Begonia and Amanda, who were also pretty women, that Bianca was as used to compliments as they were.

Amanda smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I confess I seldom like myself in photographs. I look as if I’m the same generation as my mother or the Duchess of Argyll. Quite what the answer is, I don’t know.’

‘I wouldn’t concern myself with it if I were you. How could a newspaper picture capture your eyes? They sparkle more than the most fabulous jewels ever could. And what a colour! If you were an actress,
they’d be comparing your eyes to Elizabeth Taylor’s. Wouldn’t they, Begonia, my beautiful friend?’ Bianca said, taking care to keep Begonia suffused with the glow that she was spreading elsewhere.

‘Do you have children, Bianca?’ Begonia asked.

‘Yes, three. Two boys and a girl. And you?’

‘One,’ Begonia said. ‘A boy. But we’re going to get a daughter soon.’

The way Begonia phrased her reply caught Bianca’s attention. She wondered whether she should ask if Begonia’s son were adopted or not but decided against doing so in such a public place. Instead, she thoughtfully acted as if she had not noticed the implication and said: ‘Boys are great, aren’t they? One of my boys is the absolute love of my life, though that doesn’t mean I love my other son or my daughter any less.

‘Do you have children, Amanda?’

Bianca could have sworn that Amanda blushed at the question, but she could not be sure, as the half-light might have been playing a trick with her eyes. ‘Not yet. We’ve only been married for three years so there’s still plenty of time. But I do want at least two: a son and a daughter. My husband teases me and says I display all the qualities of a typical Jewish mamma, even though I’m not actually Jewish.’

‘Then your children will be very lucky. Raymond tells me I’m a typical Jewish mamma too. He says I’m the best mother in the world after his own, of course, with whom no earthly presence can compete,’ Begonia said pithily. ‘As far as he’s concerned, not even the Virgin Mary was a patch on her.’

Amanda and Bianca erupted into laughter.

‘What is it about Jewish men and their mammas?’ Bianca asked as their laughter subsided. ‘I’m sure the reason they make good husbands is that they are such adoring sons. I really pity a woman who doesn’t marry a Jew. That’s where you’re lucky, Begonia. You didn’t marry one of those Panamanians or Mexicans who give their wives so much trouble. That’s why you’re glowing with fulfilment.’

‘As are you,’ Begonia replied.

‘Yes, I’m a lucky girl, and I know it. I have the most wonderful husband in the world - after the two of you, of course,’ Bianca said then added as an aside: ‘plus three gorgeous children and a father that I frankly worship. My mother isn’t too bad either, though it must be said that she and I don’t always drink the same brand of tea.’

The women then rejoined the men, and the conversation shifted to beach houses. Begonia, who was always on the lookout for signs of the state of a marriage, observed Bernardo slipping his hand into Bianca’s. It was Begonia’s inflexible maxim that she would never become friendly with unhappily married couples, believing that marital unhappiness was as contagious as whooping cough. She watched as they remained holding hands long after they needed to and, when they stopped doing so, touched each other fleetingly but lovingly while they spoke to everyone else in the group. Bianca, she decided, could become her friend.

Begonia had also noticed in the past that the Piedraplatas enjoyed a good marriage as well. They too touched more than the average married couple and, when they were separated and talking to other people, Begonia had observed the way Ferdie and Amanda kept on looking across the room at one another, as if each were checking to see that the other was all right. It was, Begonia concluded, lucky for her that two such young and attractive couples could be so happy. Perfect additions to the group of friends she hoped to acquire against the loneliness she would otherwise feel in a country where, she had reason to believe from Raymond, they would stay for a very, very long time, possibly even for the rest of their lives.

Without realizing it, in her desire for friendship, Begonia Mahfud had just become the catalyst for changing all their lives forever.

N
ew York: 1965. The last thing on the mind of either Ferdie or Amanda Piedraplata was Bianca Calman, her charm or her ambitions, as the first snow of the winter fell at lunchtime that November afternoon. By five o’clock, there was a fluffy white blanket covering the Columbia- Presbyterian Hospital in uptown Manhattan, and Ferdie was nervously pacing up and down by the window of his father’s room, looking out at a view that was both beautiful and bleak at the same time.

‘Where’s the damned oncologist?’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘He was due here fifteen minutes ago.’

‘He’s most likely running late, darling,’ Anna Piedraplata said quietly. ‘Why don’t you and Amanda find a Coke machine and get a drink?’

Amanda looked at her mother-in-law. Her expression conveyed that whatever Ferdie wanted would be fine with her. Ferdie, his mother knew only too well, was a handful. Impatient. Volatile. Nervy. Edgy. Self-willed. But always fascinating. And kind. Decent too.

For Amanda, dealing with Ferdie, whether he was well or ill, had been made immeasurably easier by the support of his parents. Early on in the marriage, Anna had given tangible evidence of her and Manny’s support for their son’s aristocratic and loving wife by pressing a velvet pouch containing a perfectly matched, twenty-two millimetre double length of South Sea pearls - worth the price of a brownstone on the Upper East Side in New York - into Amanda’s hand one afternoon with the words: ‘These are for you. For you to remember that Ferdie’s father and I appreciate the way you treat our son more than words can express.’ Anna
Piedraplata recognized that Ferdie, the most compassionate and generous of men, was lucky in having married a woman with a commensurate degree of compassion and generosity of spirit.

Anna, however, was Ferdie’s mother: not his wife. As they waited for the oncologist to see Manny, Ferdie was getting on her nerves. ‘Go on,’ she encouraged. ‘Go get a Coke. No point remaining here, working yourself into a frenzy. I’ll send the nurse for you when the doctor arrives.’

Just then the door opened, and Dr Abraham Mankowitz stepped into the room. He was dressed in hospital whites and had a stethoscope dangling from his neck. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly and generally, but without a jot of levity in his voice. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘That’s OK, doctor,’ Manny said, shifting his weight from one side of the bed to the other.

‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Tired. Very tired. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as tired as I do right now.’

‘Would you prefer that we speak alone?’

‘No, doctor. You’ve met my wife, son and daughter-in-law,’ Manny said, looking around at Anna, Ferdie and Amanda. ‘You can talk freely in front of them.’

Ferdie shifted his gaze from the beautiful, snow-clad grounds of the hospital to Dr Mankowitz. Before the oncologist had a chance to say anything more, he had already assessed the situation. ‘The news is bad,’ Ferdie told himself.

‘Mr Piedraplata, the results show that you have late stage-three Hodgkin’s Disease. There’s quite a lot we can do to make you comfortable. For instance, we can give you steroids, which will give you a lot more energy than you have at present and will counteract a lot of the tiredness you’ve been suffering.’

‘Is fatigue a symptom of the disease?’ Manny asked.

‘It is. We can also put you on Cytoxan and Vincristine. We’ve been having encouraging results from them for some time now. There’s a lot we can do…’

‘To make my father comfortable,’ Ferdie said, crossing from the window to the side of the bed.

‘Yes, sir,’ Dr Mankowitz said. He was at least fifteen years Ferdie’s senior, and as soon as he uttered that one word ‘sir’, he confirmed to the four Piedraplatas that he must have read about Ferdie’s tremendous
wealth. The fortune, however, was not Ferdie’s alone. His sister and parents were equal partners, so Ferdie was only a quarter-owner of the fabled Piedraplata fortune.

‘Why not an operation? Can’t you operate? What about a cure?’ Ferdie asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

‘Mr Piedraplata, Hodgkin’s Disease is a cancer of the lymphatic system. There’s much we can do, but when it has spread to the liver, as it has in your case, Mr Piedraplata,’ Dr Mankowitz said, shifting his focus of attention from son to father, ‘surgery is not a valid option.’

‘What are we speaking about in terms of time, Doctor?’ Manny said. ‘You can tell me. I’m a tough old warhorse. Give it to me right on the chin.’

‘Four to six months, if nothing else goes wrong.’

‘What could go wrong?’ Ferdie asked.

‘You must take extra special care not to catch so much as a cold. Don’t go near anyone with flu,’ Dr Mankowitz said, looking directly at Manny. ‘Hodgkin’s Disease is indicative of the fact that you have a flawed immune system. If that weren’t the case, you wouldn’t have Hodgkin’s Disease. The drugs we give you will also affect your immune system. You’ll have very little resistance. Many patients with your condition are not carried off by the disease but by a bug they thought was harmless. I can’t emphasize that enough.’

‘So it’s only a matter of time?’ Anna said to the doctor, as the tears poured down her cheeks.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Piedraplata.’

‘You wouldn’t feel slighted if we asked for a second opinion, would you?’ Ferdie asked. ‘Maybe Sloan-Kettering will offer us some hope.’

‘I wouldn’t discourage you from trying there,’ Dr Mankowitz said, looking directly at Ferdie. ‘If I were in your shoes, I’d also get a second opinion. Maybe even a third. However, I’m sorry to tell you this but oncology is a narrow enough field, and you’ll find that the experts at Sloan-Kettering are interchangeable with the doctors at Columbia-Presbyterian in terms of knowledge and treatment. Truth be told, we all know each other and exchange information.’

‘Thank you for your honesty, Dr Mankowitz,’ Manny said. ‘It’s much appreciated. Really.’

‘We’ll begin a course of treatment tomorrow,’ Dr Mankowitz said. ‘I’d
like you to stay in New York for at least another three or four weeks. Once we establish how you’re responding to treatment, we can look at things again. Maybe then you can return home to Mexico, and our regimen can be implemented by the doctors there.’

‘Will I have to stay in hospital the whole time?’

‘I see no reason why you can’t leave here after a week or ten days and check into a hotel.’

‘You can use my rooms at the Towers,’ Ferdie said, referring to his suite at the Waldorf Towers with the modesty that Amanda had taught him was the mark and true sense of good breeding.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more encouraging,’ Dr Mankowitz said. ‘I truly am.’

‘It’s all right, Doctor,’ Manny said. ‘I’m an old man. I’ve lived a full life. I’ve been more richly blessed than most. My only regret is that I die without having a grandson.’

Dr Mankowitz left the room. Anna immediately got up from the chair where she was sitting, and sat on the bed with him, holding his face in her hands and kissing it as their tears co-mingled. ‘We’ll do all we can, Manny,’ Anna said. ‘Anything you want, we’ll do. I just can’t believe it’s come to this.’

‘Papa, I’m sorry we haven’t given you a grandchild,’ Ferdie offered. ‘Amanda can tell you it hasn’t been for the want of trying. That’s true, isn’t it, darling?’

‘Yes. We’ve been to doctors here and in England, Papa. We’ve even been to the Queen’s gynaecologist. They all think we might never have children of our own, but they can’t be sure.’

‘So why don’t you adopt?’ Manny said.

‘Papa, we’re still young. Every day there are medical breakthroughs. I figured if we exercise a little patience, everything might turn out all right,’ Ferdie said. ‘And if it doesn’t? Do you have anything against adoption, Ferdie? Amanda?’

‘It’s an option we’ve been considering,’ Ferdie replied. ‘But only as a last resort.’

‘And what if there is no medical miracle? What if no breakthrough comes? Or it comes when you’re sixty? Ferdie, a couple don’t make a family. They make a couple. Family is God’s greatest gift. Is all the knowledge and wealth - spiritual wealth, I mean, not money - that our
family has amassed over the centuries to die out when you and I die? What about what my father taught me, and his father taught him, and I taught you? Aren’t you going to hand that on to a son? You do realize that if you don’t, you will be the end of the line, and it will all die with you.’

‘But Papa, an adopted child won’t have your father’s blood, or yours or mine.’

‘All this rubbish that people talk about blood…don’t they realize that this was the basis of Nazism? Blood without heritage is nothing. Heritage without blood is still heritage. I am speaking about heart. About culture. About knowledge. About spirit. That’s what I want to keep alive.’

‘So you think I should adopt a son?’

‘Do you want a son?’

‘Of course I do, Papa. It’s the only thing I don’t have in life that I truly want. Amanda too.’

‘And a daughter,’ Amanda interjected with a smile as she wiped away her tears.

‘You’re a lucky man to have this girl,’ Manny said to Ferdie. ‘We couldn’t have wished for a better daughter-in-law. Remember that and always take care of her. You’ll never go wrong with her by your side, of that I am sure…eh, Anna?’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ she said, nodding her head and wiping away the tears.

‘I will die a happy man if I can hold my grandson in my arms, if only once,’ Manny said. ‘Now you ladies leave us men to talk business for half an hour, if you please.’

Anna got up and kissed her husband on the cheek, then she and Amanda left the room together, Amanda stepping aside to let the elder woman exit first through the door that Ferdie now held open for them.

‘You’ll soon be on your own, son,’ Manny said as soon as the door was shut. ‘Your old Papa won’t be here to act as a sounding board. I remember how lonely I felt when I no longer had my Papa to talk things over with. Money creates such isolation. You have to be careful whom you trust. My advice to you is: never put a hundred percent of your trust in anyone who isn’t a member of our immediate family. Don’t completely trust any friend or partner. Never forget, the world is full of people who seem kind and decent and trustworthy until you discover that they aren’t. Your mother is no businesswoman, so she won’t be of any use to you when you discuss
the mechanics of business, but she’s a good judge of character…she understands what motivates people. Your best ally, however, will be your sister Clara. With her mind and knowledge of the world, she combines a lot of your mother’s virtues with a businessman’s perspective.’

‘But Papa, Clara lives in Italy.’

‘She does, it’s true, but she nevertheless has a gift for business. Take my word for it. She runs Calorblanco Europa far more efficiently than either you or your mother has ever given her credit for. Even putting aside her business acumen, her general knowledge alone is worth five consultants. And she’s much sharper about people’s baser motives than you are.’

‘I suppose I do sometimes find it difficult to accept that people I like can be as self-interested as they sometimes are.’

‘Ferdie, this is not a criticism. My only concern is to protect the family from the vultures that will encircle you all once I’m gone. They will, believe me. You have a reputation - a just reputation - for kindliness. Is there another businessman in Mexico, or indeed the world, who has done more for his workers than you have done for ours? Every time I think of the Calorblanco Foundation, my heart bursts with pride at having a son like you. Who else but you would have had the idea to build schools throughout the length and breath of Mexico for Calorblanco workers’ children? Who else but you would have subsidized those schools, paid the teachers, given the children uniforms and schoolbooks at below cost? Set up adult education classes? Is there another businessman in Central America who has built housing developments for his workers? Who rents those apartments and bungalows out to the workers at a cost to ourselves? Do you remember when you had the idea to build that first medical clinic for the workers in Taxco? How many clinics and hospitals do we now have? Twelve? Fifteen? All fully staffed. At no cost to our workers. No, Ferdie, you are a good man with a big heart, and I love you all the more for it. Hopefully, one day your son will give you the opportunity to be as proud of him as I am of you. You have exceeded every hope and dream I had for you, but your Achilles’ heel is your big heart, which you must guard against, otherwise you will let in people who will take advantage of you. When I’m gone you’ll have no one to turn to except your mother and Clara.’

‘I’m sure I’ll manage, Papa.’

‘I’m not sure you will, Ferdie. That’s the point I’m making.’

‘Clara lives in Italy, Papa. I can’t very well call her every time I need to work something through.’

‘Why not? You can afford the cost of the telephone call.’

‘It just doesn’t seem particularly practical. And I do have some good men around me. Look at Raymond and Philippe. They’re great guys. They’re on the ball. Our interests coincide on many levels. They’re even Jewish.’

‘I would especially warn you against Raymond and Philippe. Yes, they’re charming. Yes, they’re capable. Yes, they’ve done well with the Banco Mahfud Mexico and even better with the Banco Imperiale, but I want you to remember that they owe most of their success to our funding. But for our backing, the Banco Imperiale would not exist. While their interests coincide with ours in a limited way, in other respects their interests clash with ours.’

‘Let me remind you that you’re the one who encouraged us to start up Banco Imperiale.’

‘I know. I know. Undeniably the Mahfud boys are brilliant and energetic, and they’ve served our purpose well in giving us footholds in other countries. We were uncomfortably focused on Mexico for awhile, and though I have nothing but thanks for the welcome Mexico has given us, we as a family must never forget that one day in the future Mexico might also turn against us, as Romania would have done had we stayed there - and as it did with all our relations who did stay there. We’re lucky that Calorblanco is a family concern and all our interests coincide, but with the banks, that is not the case. You must never forget that today’s partner can become tomorrow’s adversary. Our money is what is propping up the Mahfud brothers, Ferdie. Without us, Banco Imperiale would not exist and Banco Mahfud Mexico would fold, or at the very least, struggle to survive. Either way, don’t rely too much on the Mahfuds. See them for what they are. Lean only on your sister. I know you’re selfwilled and don’t like to be curbed, but in this, I am begging you, listen to me. If you do not, the potential for disaster is too horrific to contemplate.’