The Pirate (12 page)

“C’est la vie,” she called down to him with a smile.

The men were already in the speedboat and it began to move away slowly. The smaller sailor leaped into the boat and turned back to her. Then he laughed and held up his hands in a typically Gallic gesture of helplessness.

Leila started down the pier to the beach when he suddenly appeared out of the shadows under the cabanas. “What’s the matter with you?” he shouted. “Have you lost your mind? You could have given everything away!”

She was startled. “I didn’t see you come from the boat.”

“When I got to the apartment and saw you weren’t there,” Ali Yasfir said, “I almost went crazy. You know you weren’t supposed to leave the rooms.”

“I was bored,” she said.

“So you were bored,” he repeated sarcastically. “So you had to come out and take a ride on a boat?”

She stared at him. “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked. “Who has a better right? After all, it belongs to my father.”

***

It was after four o’clock in the morning when the last of the guests boarded one of the speedboats to go ashore. Jordana was bidding good night to the Princess Mara and Jacques when Youssef crossed the deck to Baydr, who was standing alone. “Shall I leave the girls?” he asked, gesturing to the two actresses who were standing with Vincent.

Baydr shook his head.

“Do you want me to stay aboard?”

“No. I’ll reach you at the hotel in the morning.”

“Okay.” Youssef smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Baydr was gone when Jordana turned back from the ship’s ladder. Slowly she went into the salon.

A steward came up to her. “Anything I can get madame?”

“Nothing, thank you,” she said. “By the way, have you seen Mr. Al Fay?”

“I believe he’s gone to his stateroom, madame,” the steward said and left the salon.

She went down the corridor to her stateroom. Only the lamp at the side of the bed was on; her nightgown and robe were already laid out. Slowly she undressed. Suddenly she felt drained and exhausted. Her face where he had slapped her began to ache again.

She went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of Percodan. She tossed two of the yellow tablets back into her throat and washed them down with a swallow of water. She looked into the mirror. She thought about taking off her makeup but it was too much effort.

She went back into the bedroom and slipped into her nightgown. Wearily she got into the bed and, turning off the night lamp, sank back against the pillows.

The light spilled into her room from the crack under his door. He was still awake. She closed her eyes as the pain began to subside. She was almost asleep when his door opened suddenly. Her eyes flew open.

He stood in the doorway, still fully dressed. For a long moment he didn’t speak. “I want the children on board by nine o’clock in the morning,” he said finally.

“Yes, Baydr,” she said. “I’ll see to it. It will be nice. It’s been a long time since we’ve been together with the children.”

His voice was cold and expressionless. “I asked for my sons. Not you.”

She was silent.

“I’ll return them on Sunday.”

“You can’t make it to Capri and back by then.”

“We’re not going to Capri. I have to be in Geneva early Monday morning. We’ll just go up to St. Tropez and the Porquerolles.”

The door closed behind him and again the room was dark. She looked at the illuminated dial of the digital clock on the table next to her. It was after five.

She reached for a cigarette and lit it. Too late to go to sleep here if she had to have the children at the boat by nine o’clock. Wearily, she turned the light on and pressed the signal button for her maid.

She might as well dress and go back to the villa now. By seven o’clock the children would be awake. She could catch up on her sleep after they had gone.

CHAPTER 12

Michael Vincent came into the dining room of the hotel. His eyes were puffed from lack of sleep, his face lined and whiskey worn. He peered through the morning sunlight looking for Youssef. He found him at a table near the window.

Youssef was freshly shaven. His eyes were clear. On the table next to his coffee was a pair of binoculars. “Good morning,” he smiled.

“Morning,” Vincent grumbled as he sat down. He blinked his eyes. “How do you do it? It had to be six o’clock before you got to bed. Yet here it is only nine thirty and you call for a meeting.”

“When the chief’s around, nobody sleeps,” Youssef said. He picked up the binoculars and gave them to the director. “See for yourself. He’s out there water-skiing already.”

Vincent peered through the binoculars adjusting the glasses until the view of the yacht was clear and sharp. He picked up the Riva as it raced across the bay. Behind it, holding on to the towlines with one hand, was Baydr; the other hand held a small boy sitting on his shoulders. “Who is the boy?” Vincent asked.

“The chief’s younger son, Samir,” Youssef answered. “He’s four and named after his grandfather. The older son, Prince Muhammad, is skiing off the Riva just behind his father. He’s ten.”

Vincent, who had been following Baydr, hadn’t noticed the second speedboat. He swung his glasses and picked up the boy. The ten-year-old was a miniature of his father; slim and strong, he too held the tow with one hand. “Prince Muhammad?” he questioned. “Is Baydr a—”

“No,” Youssef said quickly. “Baydr is first cousin to Prince Feiyad, the reigning prince. Since he has no male heirs, he has indicated that Baydr’s son will be the successor to the throne.”

“Fascinating,” Vincent said. He put the glasses down as the waiter came to the table. “Is it too early to get a Bloody Mary?”

“Not here,” Youssef smiled. “Bloody Mary.”

The waiter nodded and disappeared. Youssef leaned toward the director. “I apologize for disturbing you so early but the chief called me this morning and I must leave with him for a few days so I thought it important that we conclude our business.”

“I thought everything was agreed on last night,” Vincent said.

The waiter returned with the drink. Youssef waited until the man left and Vincent had taken his first sip. “Almost everything,” he said smoothly. “Except the agent’s commissions.”

“I have no agent,” Vincent said quickly. “I always conduct my own negotiations.”

“You have this time,” Youssef said. “You see, it’s a matter of custom. And we are great people for custom.”

Vincent was beginning to understand but he wanted to hear Youssef say it. “And who is my agent?”

“Your greatest fan,” Youssef said urbanely. “The man who recommended you for the job. Me.”

Vincent was silent for a moment, then he took another sip of the Bloody Mary. He felt his head beginning to clear. “The customary ten percent?” he asked.

Youssef shook his head, still smiling. “That’s the Western custom. Our custom is thirty percent.”

“Thirty percent?” Vincent’s voice expressed his shock. “That’s an unheard-of amount.”

“It’s not unfair in view of your fee for this film. A million dollars is an unheard-of amount. I happen to know it’s five times what you received for your last film. And you would not have been offered that if I hadn’t known that this picture had been a dream of Baydr’s for a long time and that he should make you an offer that would ensure your cooperation.”

Vincent studied Youssef’s face. The Arab was still smiling but his eyes were deadly serious. “Fifteen percent,” he offered.

“I have many expenses,” Youssef said. He spread his hands in a deprecating gesture. “But you are my friend. I will not bargain with you. Twenty-five percent.”

“What expenses?” Vincent was curious. “I thought you worked for Baydr. Does he not pay you well?”

“Well enough for a good existence. But a man must think of the future. I have a large family to support and must put a few dollars aside.”

Vincent fished in his pocket for cigarettes. Youssef anticipated him. He clicked open a gold cigarette case and held it toward the director. “That’s a beautiful case,” Vincent said, taking a cigarette.

Youssef smiled. He placed it on the table in front of the director. “It’s yours.”

Vincent stared at him in surprise. He just didn’t understand this man at all. “That’s solid gold. You just can’t give it to me like that.”

“Why not? You admired it.”

“Still that’s not enough reason,” Vincent protested.

“You have your customs, we have ours. We consider it a blessing to give gifts.”

Vincent shook his head in resignation. “Okay. Twenty percent.”

Youssef smiled and held out his hand. “Agreed.”

They shook hands. Vincent put the cigarette in his mouth and Youssef lit it with a gold Dupont lighter. Vincent dragged on the cigarette, then laughed. “I don’t dare admire your lighter or you’ll give that to me too.”

Youssef smiled. “You learn our customs quickly.”

“I’ll have to,” Vincent said, “if I’m going to make this picture.”

“Very true,” Youssef said seriously. “We will work very closely together on this film and when the time comes I think I can show you how we both can make a great deal of money.”

Vincent picked up his Bloody Mary and sipped it. “In what way?” he asked.

“The money they would ask you to pay for services and material is much more than they would ask from me,” Youssef said. “Together we might be able to save the chief a great deal and at the same time find some reasonable benefit for our diligence.”

“I’ll remember that,” Vincent said. “I’ll probably call on you a great deal.”

“I am at your disposal.”

Vincent looked across the table. “When do you think the contracts will be ready for signature?”

“Within the week. They’re being drawn in Los Angeles and will be telexed here when completed.”

“Why Los Angeles?” Aren’t there good lawyers in Paris?”

“Of course there are, but you have to understand the chief. He demands the best in everything. And the best film attorneys are in Hollywood.” He glanced at his watch. “I must go,” he said. “I’m late. The chief wants me to gather up the girls and bring them on board with me.”

Vincent rose with him. He was puzzled. “The girls? But won’t Mrs. Al Fay object?”

“Mrs. Al Fay has decided to remain in the villa in order to give the chief more time to spend alone with his sons.”

They shook hands and Youssef walked out into the lobby. Vincent sank back into his chair. There was so much about these people he would have to learn. They were not quite as simple as they had first seemed. The waiter came up and he ordered another Bloody Mary. Might as well start the day right.

The actresses and Patrick were waiting in the lobby with their luggage when he came out of the restaurant. He asked Elie to have the bagagiste carry the bags to the pier and place them on board the Riva.

“You go ahead,” he told them. “I’ll be with you in a minute. I have one more call to make.”

He made his way up the small landing to the telephones and placed a call to Jacques at the Martinez. The telephone rang ten times before the sleepy voice answered.

“C’est moi, Youssef,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” Jacques’ voice was surly.

“The chief has asked me to go on the boat with him for a few days and I am leaving now. I wanted to know how you left it with her.”

“She is supposed to call me.”

“Do you think she will?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have much trouble getting her to whack me off.”

“She will call then,” Youssef said with satisfaction. “The first step in getting in between her legs is getting it in her hands.”

“When will you be back?” Jacques asked.

“Sunday evening. The chief is leaving for Geneva that night. And if you haven’t heard from her by then, I will give a dinner party for the American director and you will meet her then.”

“I don’t have to come with that Princess Mara again, do I?” Jacques asked. “I can’t stand that woman.”

“No. This time you will come alone.” Youssef came out of the booth and gave the telephoniste a few francs tip. He fished in his pocket for the cigarette case, then remembered he had given it away. He swore to himself, then smiled as he went down the steps toward the street. It wasn’t a bad deal. The three-hundred-dollar cigarette case got him the last five percent. And fifty thousand dollars was not to be laughed at.

***

She was standing at the window looking out at the sea when he came into her room. “Are you packed?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said without turning back to him. “My father’s boat is leaving.”

He came to the window and looked out. The yacht was turning and moving out to sea toward the Estérel. The sky and the water were a matching blue and the sun was bright. “It will be warm today,” he said.

She still didn’t look at him. “He was water-skiing with his sons.”

“Your brothers?”

Her voice was bitter. “They are not my brothers! They are his sons.” She turned back into the room. “Someday he will find that out.”

Ali Yasfir was silent as he watched her cross the room and sink into a chair near the bed. She lit a cigarette. She didn’t realize how much her father’s daughter she really was. That slim strong body was not her mother’s lineage. Her mother, like most Arab women, ran to weight.

“I remember when I was little he would take my sister and me water-skiing with him. He was very good and it was such fun. Then after he divorced my mother, nothing. He never even came to see us. He threw us away like old shoes.”

Despite himself Ali found himself defending Baydr. “Your father needed sons. And your mother could bear no more children.”

Leila’s voice was contemptuous. “You men are all alike. Maybe someday you will learn that we are not just creatures of your convenience. Even now, women are giving more to the cause than most men.”

He didn’t want to argue the point with her. That wasn’t his job. His job was to get her to Beirut and then into the mountains to the training camp. After that she could argue all she wanted to. He pressed the button for the porter.

“What plane are we making?” she asked.

“Rome via Air France, then MEA to Beirut.”

“What a drag,” she said. She got out of the chair and walked back to the window and looked out. “I wonder what my father would think if he knew I was here?” she asked.