“Damage you? Why the hell would he want to do that?”
Daniel gave a wolfish smile. “It’s just office politics. You know what? Fuck this—fuck all of it. I was home early today because I have a surprise for you. Fuck Felix, fuck his stupid arguments, and fuck Stone Enterprises. I left something, on the side in the bedroom. Go on, go and get it.”
Kris felt nervous as she went through into the bedroom. The atmosphere was wrong, but nonetheless she did as she was told and Daniel followed her, pausing in the doorway.
There was an envelope on her side of the bed. Written on it in Daniel’s handwriting were two words. Happy Birthday.
When she opened it, she saw two tickets for flights to Nice and then onto Monaco, and reservations for a hotel for four nights. Another birthday gift.
“I’ve never been to Monaco,” she said. Nor had she ever mentioned it, but now was not the time to say that.
“I know. I thought it would be a treat. Happy birthday, darling,” he said, his voice warm, the anger gone now as he came behind her and hugged her. “I love you, very much you know.”
She turned and looked up at him. The tics that had inflicted themselves upon his face only moments before were gone now, and a warmth emanated from his eyes. “I love you too,” she said, then pressed her face into his chest.
Chapter Fifteen
The plane had landed in Nice just after noon and from there they had taken a helicopter to Monaco. With a certain glee, Kris told Daniel that it was the first time she had ever been in a helicopter, a fact that made him laugh. So many of the things that he took for granted were surprises to her, but she was determined to enjoy them. She was also glad at his laughter: since the argument with Felix he had often been in a dark mood.
They had left London on a somewhat dreary December day but here, nestled alongside the Mediterranean, the sky was clear and bright. The principality was another surprise, being both smaller and larger than she expected. The entire length of it could not have been much further than from Highgate to Islington, but it seemed as though every square metre of the city was built up into the sky, a panoply of high rise blocks against the squat, low mountain scattered with green behind it and buildings even extending out into the blue harbour where yachts were parked in orderly rows.
“It looks like something out of a Ballard novel.”
“A what?” Daniel asked her.
“J. G. Ballard. My dad liked him. I remember reading a book when I was younger, about how all these high rise cities would stretch out across the Med, and people would live their days in idyllic ease.”
“Welcome to Monaco,” he’d said at this, stretching an arm out expansively.
Indeed, thought Kris. If she remembered correctly, that ease had not been a blessing, rather a deadening of souls as people fell into a slumber. That was truculent of her, however. Today was her birthday and this was her present. She did not like to tell Daniel that it was the small, plainer sculpture that meant more to her than anything. She suspected he knew that in any case: this was to be another experience for her to celebrate and enjoy.
Their hotel was the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo, and when she saw its baroque exterior, pillared colonnades overlooking the harbour, the dark roof etched against the bright sky, she fell in love with it immediately. As they were led to one of the diamond suites, a series of rooms each one more brilliantly and lavishly decorated than the last, she felt ashamed of her earlier chagrin and went from room to room, touching and caressing each luxurious item.
She gave herself to him there and then once the porters had left, and he sank into her with a desire that seemed to indicate that he, too, needed to forget himself. As they lay on the bed beside each other, she placed her head on his shoulder. He seemed at last to have relaxed, which in turn put her more at ease.
“I’m surprised you don’t have an apartment here, somewhere more permanent to stay. I mean, I love the suite. It’s fabulous, absolutely fabulous, but I would have thought that Monaco would be one of the places where you had a permanent residence.”
“I did consider it,” he said, one hand gently stroking the upper surface of her breast as she let her fingers fall on his warm chest. “I’ve been here a few times, to the casinos—and to see the Grand Prix, of course. But despite the allure of the tax breaks, it’s probably a little too... Ballardesque for me.” He winked her as he said this. “You’ll love Monte Carlo, however.”
The evening had been perfect, and he was as attentive to her as he had ever been, courteous and gentlemanly in every respect. He had another surprise for her: an opera by Puccini was to be performed in the Grimaldi Forum, a low, modernist building of glass, steel and concrete set by the water’s edge.
“I’ve never been to the opera before,” she told him.
“Another experience,” he whispered in her ear and she squeezed his arm.
Although she understood very little Italian, notes and translations enabled her to follow La rondine. In any case, it was the spectacle that she adored. Daniel had booked a private box to the right of the stage, and she watched in fascination as the singer playing the part of Magda, the mistress of Rambaldo, sang how she had lived a life without love. The stage was adorned impeccably, and half the time Kris would spend her time scanning the wealthy patrons who filled the seats below and the boxes that stretched around the auditorium. Daniel himself was in black tie, looking more magisterial and distinguished than she had ever seen him before, and she herself felt like one of the Grimaldis dressed in a long, dark blue dress with a diamond brooch pinned to her chest, other gifts for her birthday.
By the end of the performance, however, she felt somewhat disquieted and something even of a fraud. Catching her mood, Daniel asked with a slight frown on his face: “Didn’t you enjoy it?”
“It was wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile. No, she told herself, he was not the type of man to bring her to such a place to leave a hidden message in such a public performance.
“It’s not necessarily Puccini’s best,” he told her, “but it was the only one playing on your birthday, and I wanted you to see something like this.”
Again she took his arm, holding him close but not looking up at him. All she could think of for a moment was the final scene where Magda, revealing her past to Ruggero, the man who loves her and wants to marry her, is forced to fly like a swallow back to Rambaldo. The truth changes everything, she thought, and that made her feel cold inside.
Nonetheless, she kept up her smiles and indeed her disquiet eventually disappeared. She was being oversensitive—superstitious even. When they arrived at the restaurant that Daniel had booked for a meal following the performance, she had settled into her special day once more, and was even a little flirtatious with the waiter who came to take their order, much to Daniel’s amusement. Her blue eyes flashed across the table to Daniel all the time, however, as though to say: others may look, but I’m yours, all yours.
They ate and talked and amused themselves for an hour. When he went to pay, Kris opened her bag and noticed that her phone was flashing. She had been receiving irregular messages from family and friends throughout the day, and opened it expecting some other innocuous message.
It was from Maria. Joyeux anniversaire à toi mon amour. Reading this felt like a knife of ice had been stabbed through her heart, and she quickly deleted the message. When Daniel returned, she forced herself to smile at him, but her lips were brittle and her eyes slightly glazed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, noticing immediately the difference in her attitude.
She shook her head slightly. “Just tired,” she told him. “It’s been a long day. Take me home, my darling love.”
He smiled at this, a look so open that Kris had to bend her head a little, averting her gaze from his. That night, as he held her and took her she twisted away from him, presenting him her buttocks so that he could slide into her from behind, his hands holding her breasts as he penetrated her. Her moans were loud, perhaps a
little too loud, but she forced her performance to present her as a woman who was not distracted, not ungrateful.
The next day, it was Daniel’s turn to be somewhat apologetic. He had to dispose of a meeting while he was in Monaco, a financier who had done business with Stone Enterprises, and that their visit allowed them an opportunity to meet up with the man. In other circumstances, Kris would have been annoyed by the suspicion that her birthday trip was in fact a chance to kill two birds with one proverbial stone, but after her own infelicities the night before this offered her a chance to be the gracious lover. For some reason, although she had hated him as he had said it, Felix’s own words came back to her. If you have any feelings for him at all, then make sure you stay with him and get him to where he needs to be.
“That’s okay,” she told him. “Why don’t I come with you?”
He hesitated at this. “No,” he said at last. “It’s better that I do this one on my own. Don’t worry. It won’t take long—I’ll be with you by two this afternoon.”
And so she had taken herself out to look around Monte Carlo. Leaving the hotel, she was dressed conservatively in dark jeans, a light blouse and black Dolce and Gabbana jacket. As with so much else, it was another of Daniel’s gifts, and she felt both spoilt and a little embarrassed at wearing it. Yesterday had been her twenty-ninth birthday, and she had never in her life ever received such a wealth of gifts. Why then, she asked herself, should she feel that it had been a little too much after he had given her the sculpture.
Shaking her head, she made her way along the escarpment that was the site of the ward of Monte Carlo, the oldest part of the city from where she could gain the best view of the Maritime Alps and the French Riviera stretching along the coast. It was admittedly beautiful, but so small. Within half an hour she had traversed the narrow streets that circled around the famous casino and Palais Princier, and it took her little longer to the church of Saint Charles and a few other pretty but tiny historic buildings.
Descending the hill towards the marina, she soon found herself frustrated by the fact that the wider roads frequently had no pavements. In this tiny space the rich drove everywhere, and before long she was longing for the freedom of Lisbon, or even London. Around her were the real temples of Monaco, stores devoted to Yves St Laurent and Gucci, but these left her cold. This was what it was like, she thought, to be a prisoner in a gilded cage.
Returning to the hotel, she felt that she had let Daniel down, but in any case she was now wondering as to his real reason for bringing her here. There were so many other places to visit, and now she was regretting not having accompanied him to New York. She was climbing the last steps to the Hôtel de Paris when she heard her phone ringing. Assuming it would be Daniel, she pulled it from her pocket but her smile fell away when she saw the name.
For a whole minute she stared at the phone. It would be the easiest thing to let it ring out, but she still dreaded blocking Maria, fearful of what she might do. Better to get this out of the way, she thought at last.
“Yes.” Her voice was cold as she answered.
“I know you’re angry with me. Don’t be. Please.”
“How did you know it was my birthday yesterday? Did Daniel tell you?”
“No, it was...”
“Jorge.” Kris finished the sentence. Still, if Jorge was not banned from speaking to Maria, then presumably neither he nor, more importantly, Daniel, suspected anything—not unless the driver had his own, secret agenda, something that Kris could not believe of him. “Why do you keep phoning me?”
There was a pause. “I want to see you. I told you.”
Kris snorted contemptuously. “You want to see Daniel, you mean.”
“No. Perhaps... I do want to see you as well.”
Again, Kris let out a small, cynical laugh. Instead of the vitriol she had considered pouring on the woman, however, she simply asked: “Why?” The word was short, cutting. She did not really care about the answer, though part of her was intrigued at what lies Maria would come up with.
“I... I see what Daniel sees in you. I was... arrogant when we met. But I can’t forget that night.”
“I can.” That was Kris’s own lie. Occasionally a memory would flash through her memory and she would shudder with revulsion. She did not allow herself to consider whether that revulsion was an addition after the event. “Listen. I want you to stop phoning me. Don’t call me.”
“Come to Paris. Please! Or I can visit Lisbon.”
“Don’t you dare! Anyway, I’m not in Lisbon.”
“Where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter. But soon Daniel and I,” she took great pleasure in saying that, “will be on our way to New York.”
There was another pause and now it was Maria’s turn to laugh, a bitter sound on the other end of the phone.
“I should see you before you go,” she said. “I could tell you all about his club. Or if you don’t want to see me, ask him what he does in that... club of his yourself.”
Kris could feel her anger rising. “Listen,” she said fiercely. “Don’t call me again. I’d be happier if you never spoke to Daniel either, but... whatever. Just leave me alone. Do you understand that?”
She did not wait for an answer but simply switched off her phone. Her temperature was rising when she entered the hotel and made her way to their suite, but when she arrived Daniel was already there, in a mood of his own and thus not particularly attentive to her own temper.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He looked sourly out of the window, but did not answer her. When he turned his head in her direction, he looked at her from head to toe in a fashion that made her feel small and insignificant. “You’ll need to change out of those jeans,” he said. “Get a dress. One of the Prada ones should do it. The jacket’s okay.” His tone was brusque and abrupt, and Kris felt her hackles rise. She opened her mouth but paused before speaking. What was wrong with him?
“Where are we going?” she asked at last.
“I need some recreation,” he said. Glancing at his watch he said: “The casino will be open now. You don’t need to be too formal before eight, but they won’t let you in with jeans, even if they are Armani.” So saying, he stood and went into one of the other rooms, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.
Evidently the meeting with this nameless financier had not gone as Daniel intended, but Kris dressed quietly, not daring to ask him any questions. For the first time in months she felt trapped by him, by his wealth and power. He had brought her here, he had lavished so much on her that to neglect his wishes felt like a betrayal—and yet this arrogance of his had been absent for so long now.
The Casino de Monte-Carlo was one of the largest buildings in Monaco and, in its own way, impressive. As she walked through the porticos and entrance halls, however, with a mixture of art-nouveau and plush modern interiors, she could not help but feel that it was slightly tackier than she would have expected. She had visions of James Bond, but then she realised that in the movies there would only be a small group of the fabulously wealthy—and fabulously beautiful—people there. Here the clientele were more numerous and, though obviously extremely rich, the men at least would never have adorned any poster in a young woman’s room. 007 movies also didn’t show Casino Royale full of slot machines.
Daniel at least looked the part in a dark jacket and matching trousers, though his mood was evidently a mean one. He had not apologised for speaking so brusquely to her, something which smarted, but he had complimented her when she appeared in a lavender Prada dress that came just below the knee, a pair of low-heeled matching shoes on her feet. The compliment had, however, been a somewhat brisk one and he had marched out of the hotel and strode ahead of her all the short distance between the hotel and casino.
Inside, after buying some chips for an amount that made Kris’s head spin, he went straight to a Blackjack table and threw some of them down after nodding to the croupier. To Kris’s shock, he also stopped a pass
ing attendant and ordered a whisky. When that was brought to him, he knocked it straight back and ordered another.
It did not take him long to start losing—and to start losing hard. Kris did not hover too close to him, but even she could see that he was playing recklessly, throwing away chips on poor cards. After half an hour of this, he moved to a roulette table, his stash of chips halved already. He downed a third and a fourth whisky while he watched the wheel spinning, but this time it took even less time for him to lose everything.
“How much was that?” she finally dared to ask him as he started back to the cashier.
“A million. Maybe two. What does it matter? It’s only money.”
“Daniel,” she said, reaching out to touch him on his arm.
“What!” he shouted at her. Nearby, people turned and stared, most of them turning away immediately when they saw the size and bulk of the man who had raised his voice. Nonetheless, their presence civilized him for a moment.
“What?” he asked more quietly. There was a tic in his right cheek which made his scars flutter, and his eyes were glazed and unfocussed.
“Come on,” she said carefully, sliding her arm through his. “I think we should get you back to the hotel.”
“Do you like Monaco?” he asked as he stumbled into the lobby. “City of fucking whores and thieves!” he said more loudly, again causing people to stare. Kris was blushing as she pushed him into the elevator. She was genuinely starting to feel frightened now, but as the lift rose he simply stared at the lights, muttering under his breath.
In the room, he went immediately towards the drinks cabinet. “Daniel,” Kris began to speak, scared to speak too loudly to him in case she made him even angrier.
“What!” he said again, the blunt word like a blow. Pouring out a generous whisky, he came across to her. “Do you like it here?” he said again, and now she could see a genuinely menacing glare in his eyes. “Do you like your new clothes? Do you like it with all the whores and thieves?”
Fragile Crystal: Rubies and Rivalries (The Crystal Fragments Trilogy) Page 14
