The Scarlet Thread (26 page)

He saw the angry flash in the man's eyes.

“You've come poaching from us?”

“I've made inquiries, that's all. I wanted you to know. I don't like being underhanded. You have the best men. If anyone wants a change, I'm prepared to see him.”

“You shouldn't do this,” Maurice said. He was pushing back his chair.

Maxton raised a hand to stop him. “Be realistic. You're the best. There's nothing to touch Monte Carlo anywhere in the world. If anyone working in the casino wants to leave, then they're not good enough for you anyway. I'll only get what you'd have to sack in the end for one reason or another.”

After a pause, Maurice sat down again. “You're a shrewd man, Ralph. You have brains. It's a pity. You could have risen high if you'd stayed with us.”

“Thanks. It's a nice compliment. But we both know I'd gone as high as I was ever going to get. I'd still be doing exactly the same if I were here today. No one who isn't Monégasque or French gets a chance at the top. At least I've got an opportunity to manage something this time.”

“And you think it'll succeed? Against us, against Nice and Cannes?”

“I think so. Not that you need to worry. But the others might.”

Maurice stood up. He told the waiter to charge the casino for their drinks. He held out his hand, and Ralph Maxton shook it formally. There was no friendship, no human warmth, but a business understanding.

“It was good that we discussed this,” the older man said. “I shall tell the directors they needn't worry about the staff. You're quite right. Only the second-rate would want to leave us to work for anyone else. I wish you luck.” He didn't, but Ralph thanked him.

By the middle of February he had lined up a small but competent staff, including one of the best croupiers. He didn't offer them bigger wages. As Steven had instructed, he offered them shares in their own enterprise. Each man would have a stake in the casino. And a personal stake in keeping out the con men and the professional cheats.

He cabled Steven in England, asking him to come down. He got an answer the next day. “Deal completed. Kindly arrange suitable rented accommodation for my wife and self. Arriving Saturday next week.”

Though Maxton wondered why they didn't go to a hotel, he rang up all the best agents and got a list of flats and villas available. But first he telephoned his contact in Monaco to ask when his final commission would be paid on the sale of the Palais Poliakoff. The man, a postwar speculator, was living close to the Italian border. Perhaps he would cross it without honoring his debt. He had been short of money and living on credit, with few assets but the crumbling palace itself. Maxton needn't have concerned himself. The draft was paid promptly into his bank. When Maxton inquired after the owner, he was told that he had taken a long holiday.

“Someone suggested it was Cosa Nostra buying the property. He didn't wait around.”

So that was why he'd paid up so promptly. A German consortium; the Mafia from Naples. Let them all speculate. What did it matter? All they'd ever discover was the name Steven Lawrence. They could make what they wanted of that.

“I hope you like it,” Ralph Maxton said. He had met them at the Nice airport. Steven had hurried down the steps and across the tarmac, Angela on his arm. They passed through customs very quickly in spite of the amount of luggage that came with them. Ralph was well known to the police, the immigration and customs officers. He had smoothed many paths for clients in the old days. He gave Steven a brief report as they drove along the coast road.

“Buildings,” Steven remarked, looking at the construction under way in Nice. “Nothing but new blocks going up. We're in for a boom.”

“It looks like it,” Maxton agreed. He glanced into his mirror. Angela was sitting in the back. She looked pale and hadn't said much.

“We had a bad flight,” Steven had explained at the airport. “My wife didn't like it, did you, sweetheart? Quite a bumpy ride.”

“I've engaged a maid and a cook for you,” Ralph told her. “The villa's ready. Shall we go there first?”

Steven answered. “I'll stop off at Antibes. I want to see how the builders are getting on. You take Angela to the villa and come back for me. You could put your feet up, darling.”

“I'm all right now,” she insisted, and smiled at him. She didn't look it. “It was really awful. I thought we were going to crash.”

They turned in at the gates, and Steven jumped out of the car. The palace was shrouded in tarpaulins, and scaffolding was going up outside.

“Give me a couple of hours,” he called to Maxton. Then he was taking the steps two at a time and vanishing through the entrance into the building.

“It's chaos in there,” Ralph remarked. “We're only about fifteen minutes away. I hope you like the villa,” he said again. “I think you will. It was the best one available.”

It wasn't a big villa. He'd had Angela in mind more than her husband when he was viewing those on the list. She wouldn't want a vulgar, overpowering place. This was charming and intimate. Comfortably furnished in French Provincial style, it had a beautiful garden. The Parisian owner wanted to let it for a year. It was up in the hills, with plenty of shade against the scorching summer sun.

He didn't know how long they intended to stay or how often they would come. But the Palais Poliakoff would take at least a year to repair and furnish. He could imagine Angela being happy at the villa. He'd rented it.

He brought her inside, and the maid appeared. She was a thin-faced woman in a blue smock. Angela shook hands with her.

“I'm Janine,” she announced. “Welcome, madame. My mother is in the kitchen. Shall I tell her to prepare something for you?”

“Some coffee, please,” Angela said.

“I've ordered lunch,” Ralph explained. “They're a good couple and they won't fight, as two strangers might. Here.” He helped her off with her coat. “Let me take that. Now, do you want to have a quick look around and then do as your husband suggested—put your feet up, have your coffee?”

“I want to look around first,” Angela said. “This is so pretty, Mr. Maxton. I know I'm going to love it. You've been so kind, arranging everything.”

“It's what I'm paid for,” he remarked lightly. “But it's been a pleasure. This is the drawing room. The dining room adjoins. It's not too big, but you'll have plenty of space. Some of the places around here are so vast they can be rather gloomy.”

She looked less pale already, exclaiming with enthusiasm over the reception rooms. And then, with her disarming candor, she said, “This is the prettiest bedroom I've ever seen. And look at the view over the garden!” She opened French windows and stepped out on a balcony.

“It'll be quite cool,” he explained. “If you're here in the summer.”

“Oh, we will be,” she said. “I don't think Steven wants to go back till he's seen things taking shape. Let's go down and find our coffee, shall we?”

The cook came in with a tray. She was plump and cheerful, as a cook should be.

Angela sat down and said, “I feel at home already. Steven will love it here.”

“You're feeling better, aren't you, Mrs. Lawrence,” he said. “You looked really rough when you arrived. It must have been very stormy.”

“It was terrifying,” she admitted. “We were thrown all over the place. Steven didn't mind; he kept telling me not to be frightened, but I couldn't help it. I'm afraid I made rather a fuss. I'm not used to flying.”

“Personally,” Ralph Maxton admitted, “I loathe it. I like trains and cars and ships. My mother used to say that if God meant us to fly he'd have given us wings. It was one of the few things she said I heartily agreed with!”

He laughed his high-pitched laugh, and she thought suddenly,
That's the only thing I don't like about you. That cold laugh
.

“Does your mother come down here?”

“No, Mrs. Lawrence. She's dead, I'm afraid. She wasn't the sort of person who came to the Riviera. She and my father liked to stay put.”

“Please,” she said. “Call me Angela, won't you?”

“You're very kind. Are you sure Mr. Lawrence won't mind?”

“Good Lord, no. He's the most informal person.”

“Well, if you say so, Angela it is.”

“More coffee?” she asked him. “Do you go home often?”

“I never go home at all,” he said. “The last time was for my mother's funeral.”

“Oh! Where is your home?”

“Derbyshire. In the bleakest, coldest corner of it, to be exact. And where do you come from?”

“Haywards Heath,” Angela said. “My father is a doctor. He's retired now. We've always lived in the village. He still does. I do hope he'll come out here and stay with us. He's rather a stick-in-the-mud too, like your parents.”

Maxton smiled politely at the idea. He couldn't imagine any resemblance between a country GP and his awe-inspiring father.

“My son's coming out for Easter,” she said.

He was adept at hiding his surprise at most things. But he was taken unawares. “I didn't know you had any children.”

“I was married before,” she said. “During the war. He's sixteen now.”

“Oh, I see. You must have married very young.”

“I did.” Angela finished the coffee. “You're not married, are you, Ralph?”

“No, no, no, not me. Nobody'd put up with me on a permanent basis. Good Lord, look at the time. I'd better go and pick up your husband.”

“And this time,” Angela insisted, “you stay for lunch.”

When he had gone, she went upstairs. The maid had unpacked most of her suitcases already. She wandered through the guest rooms, inspecting the place that would be her home for how long? She didn't know. It had a restful atmosphere. She had imagined some awful Gothic monstrosity with turrets and phony battlements; she'd seen a number of them dotted along the coast behind their ornamental gates, many of them slightly rusted, relics of a vanished age. This was a charming house, where she and Steven could be happy.

She was downstairs and, on impulse, asked if there was anything special in the wine cellar. She had been cowardly and silly on the flight, and she wanted to make it up to Steven. Yes, she was told. The maid, Janine, reeled off a list of spirits, wines and liqueurs. Champagne, of course. Would Madame like that before lunch? Mr. Maxton had told her to put some on ice in case. Mr. Maxton had thought of everything.

When Steven came in, he hurried to her and hugged her. “Angelina, you must come down with me after lunch and see it. There's been so much done already.”

She saw Ralph Maxton in the background. He could blend so that you hardly noticed him. Or not, if he chose to make his presence felt. He wasn't looking at either of them, and yet she knew he was.

Lunch was relaxed; excellent food and some choice wines. Maxton set out to be amusing; he had a sharp tongue, but the joke was often at his own expense. Angela liked him for that. When he started telling anecdotes about the casino they forgot the time. He was a gifted storyteller with a light touch. He had Steven's whole attention.

He's enjoying himself, Angela thought, playacting, holding the stage. He's not really at ease with Steven, and this is his chance to get a little closer to him.

Like a true actor, Maxton knew when to bow out, leaving his audience wanting more. “I am sorry,” he said. “I've bored the two of you to tears with all these old stories. I must be on my way.”

“I've enjoyed it,” Steven said. “You must tell us some more.”

“Oh, I will, if you give me any encouragement. Some of the early stuff is fascinating. Before the Great War, when the Russians used to come for the winter season.”

“Like Count Poliakoff?” Angela asked him.

“Yes, there are some amazing stories about him. Anyway, thank you for lunch. I'll call in tomorrow morning, Steven, and we'll go through the estimates and progress reports if that suits you.”

“Nine o'clock,” Steven suggested.

“Nine o'clock it shall be.” And with a little bow to Angela, Maxton left them.

“He's a strange man,” she said that night. “I can't quite make him out.”

“Don't you like him, darling?” Steven frowned. “I thought you got along well.”

“Oh, of course we do. He's very nice, very amusing too. It's just that he's different. He spoke about his home and his family in such an odd way. How much do you know about him?”

“Everything,” Steven said. They were sitting in front of the fire, holding hands. He was a very physical man, always touching her, claiming her. They hadn't gone back to the building. He said she looked tired and he'd been selfish to suggest it. Tomorrow they could spend a lot of time there. “I know everything about him,” he continued. “I had him checked out before I made any contact. You're right, sweetheart, he is an odd guy. His father's some English lord. Ralph started gambling in the clubs and private gaming parties in London. He got mixed up with some crooks, who fleeced him, so he was sent to the States. They should have known better. He borrowed a lot of money and lost it. He was in hock so deep he took his mother's jewelry and tried to sell it. The family paid him off. I guess they wrote him off in the end. So he got a job with the casino, and he stayed clear of the tables for ten years.”

“But why did they employ him? Why did you?”

“Because with his background, he knew everybody. He knew how to handle his own kind. He puts on a very good front. You've seen it. People fall for that sort of thing. And being a cheat himself, he's good at spotting cheats. He did a wonderful PR job for them in Monte Carlo. He's sharp as a tack, darling, and that's what I need. He's got class. I like that. And he knows all the press. They'll write us up when the time comes. This Count Poliakoff who built our place was some relation. He doesn't know I know that. I just wanted to make sure he didn't have a stake in selling it. He didn't. Just the commission.”