And to live the life of Mrs Ferdie Piedraplata. Of course, if she could have obtained all Ferdie was offering without being his wife, she would gladly have taken it, kept Ferdie as a friend and remained with Bernardo. Life, however, was not like that. She could not have the benefits of being Mrs Ferdie Piedraplata without being married to Ferdie Piedraplata. And since she could not be Mrs Ferdie Piedraplata without him - and since he was offering her a world beyond anything she had ever wanted, even in her most unguarded moments -she would, of necessity, make him happy.
That, at least, was her plan.
Part Two
Chapter Nine
Switzerland: Easter Sunday, 1969. The sun was dancing on the surface of Lake Geneva as Ferdie and his niece Magdalena walked, past the borders separating the flagstone path from the lawn, down to the shore.
‘Switzerland is so beautiful at this time of the year,’ remarked Ferdie. ‘The one thing I miss in Mexico is the changing seasons. The chill in the air. Invigorating days like this. They remind me of my youth in Romania.’
‘I wouldn’t knock all that warmth and sunshine if I were you. You have no idea what it’s like spending month after month longing for a warm day.’
‘It’s difficult to believe that you’re now a young woman.’ Ferdie said.
‘It seems like just the other day that you were christened.’
‘Tempus fugit,’ Magdalena laughed. ‘But time has treated you kindly, Uncle Ferdie. You still look young. Calorblanco is flourishing. Banco Imperiale is expanding…’
‘You are coming to the opening on Wednesday evening, I hope.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’
‘Your mother is my eyes and ears in Europe. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course, Uncle Ferdie. Grandpa was always going on and on about how important it was that we stick together as a family and trust no outsider.’
‘Papa did sometimes get things wrong. I suspect his experiences in Romania during the war had something to do with it. I never agreed with his scepticism about Raymond and Philippe, but there was no point resisting him, especially when it became apparent that he was dying. He was also wrong about Amanda, as it has turned out.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He practically made me promise on his deathbed to stick with Amanda no matter what. He thought the world of her and believed that I could never go wrong as long as she was by my side.’
‘I gather from Mummy that Grandma backed you up when you decided to divorce Amanda.’
‘She did. It turns out Mama was never as fond of Amanda as Papa was. She says she always found her a little stiff and could never be really comfortable with her.’
‘That’s only because you’ve never been wrong in Grandma’s eyes. Mummy says that’s the way it’s been since she was a little girl.’
Ferdie took Magdalena’s hand and stroked it. ‘It must’ve been rough for your mother, not being the boy. Mama’s never bothered to hide the fact that she adores me and has little or no time for your mother.’
‘Mummy doesn’t mind anymore. She says it was painful while she was growing up, but she’s got over it now. I think because she’s such a powerful businesswoman in her own right, many people treat her as if she’s a man, and I don’t mean that in a pejorative way.’
‘She has the ability of ten men.’
‘And the energy.’
‘Do you like her new husband?’
‘He’s OK, I suppose.’
‘Not a patch on your father, though.’
‘No.’
‘What’s your father up to nowadays?’
‘He’s living in London.’
‘Why London?’
‘His half-sister Sissi lives there. She’s the one who married Professor Alfred Bertram…you know, the owner of the Bertram chain of department stores. He inherited them from his grandfather and had to give up his career as a biochemist to run the business. He says he hates it, but Aunt Sissi has become one of London’s greatest socialites and loves all the kudos that goes with being married to the chairman of the board of Bertram Limited. She’s always entertaining royalty and lives in the gossip columns now that Uncle Alfred’s business profile has raised her social one as well. Uncle Alfred says if it amuses her, that’s fine by him. Daddy’s working for them now. Do you remember their daughter Delia?’
‘Yes, I do. Vaguely. She was a pretty little thing, wasn’t she? Small and dark.’
‘She’s tall and dark now. Thin as a rake and very popular with the boys. She’s at RADA studying to be an actress and has just become engaged to a young actor called Charles Candower.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘You will. He’s very blond and very handsome and has star quality stamped all over him. They mix with a very smart set because Delia went to Benenden with Princess Anne, and they’re the greatest of friends.’
‘You young people are really growing up. You’re all developing lives of your own.’
‘It’s your life that concerns me, Uncle Ferdie, if I may be so bold. It was wrong of Amanda to adopt Anna Clara without your permission, but couldn’t you have forgiven her? Everyone always thought you were so happy together.’
‘It’s too late now. She’s in Mexico getting the divorce, and I’ve met someone else I want to marry.’
‘Does Mummy know?’
‘Not yet. Give me a chance, for goodness sake. I only got here late last night,’ Ferdie said jocularly.
‘Who is she?’
‘She’s the ideal woman. I’ve known her for some time but only as a family friend. Amanda was never crazy about her so I only saw her at friends’ houses. But it gave me an opportunity to size her up as a human being. She’s warm-hearted and generous-spirited with a magnanimous personality. A real family woman. Great with her kids. Great with her husband. Great with her friends. A gracious hostess and good fun. You’ll love her. She’s got a great sense of humour and is game for anything. She’ll be a good mother to Manolito, and I like her children. I can see many happy years of family life ahead of us.’
‘But she’s married?’
‘She’s in the process of getting a divorce. Her husband - a nice guy, actually - has been seeing another woman for some time now. A few weeks ago, matters came to a head between them when she returned home from a day out with me. I’d taken her down to Sintra to show it to her. With her husband’s approval, I hasten to add. When she got back she found a shirt of his rolled up in the laundry basket smeared with lipstick and a book of matches from the Fountainbleau Hotel in Miami with a girl’s name and telephone number written on it. Bernardo had stayed there only a few weeks before, poor schmuck. Imagine being caught out like that. You can’t help but pity him. She asked him to leave their home immediately and has filed for divorce on the grounds of his adultery.’
‘Does he know about you?’
‘No. I mean, he knows me, but doesn’t know that Bianca and I are planning to get married.’
They reached the shore. Ferdie started throwing pebbles into the lake in a manner reminiscent in Magdalena’s eyes of a young and carefree man.
‘Try to throw the next on into that ripple,’ Magdalena said, getting into the spirit of things.
The pebble sailed out of Ferdie’s hand in the direction of the everexpanding ripple just as Clara’s butler came running towards them. ‘A long distance call for you, sir. From Mexico.’
Ferdie smiled, thanked the butler. ‘That will be Bianca,’ he said to Magdalena. ‘She’s helping me finish Sintra. She’s been having a hell of a time finding certain things. But she’s such a wonderful woman, she won’t settle for anything less than what I want. The pains she goes to are heartwarming. They show me I’ve made the right choice. Third time lucky, as the saying goes.’
With that, Ferdie disappeared into the house, built in the style of the Second Empire. He did not emerge for another twenty minutes. An hour later, Magdalena, Ferdie and Clara were sitting on the terrace wa
iting for the managing director of Calorblanco Switzerland to arrive when the butler came out yet again to announce another telephone call from Mexico. ‘That will be Bianca again,’ Ferdie said proudly, walking back inside to take the call. ‘Tell your mother about her, and I’ll fill her in on the rest of the details when I get back.’
Fifteen minutes later, Ferdie returned.
‘Madgalena tells me you’re getting married,’ Clara said.
‘Yes. She’s the most amazing woman, Clara. You’ll love her when you meet her.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Bianca Calman. Her father is Harold Barnett, the British aristocrat who has a surveying practice in Mexico City as well as a finger in one or two pies with Julius Finkelstein.’
‘Bianca Calman,’ Clara echoed in disbelief. ‘Not Bianca Calman whose house Philippe Mahfud took me to last year when I was in Mexico?’
‘It must be the one and the same. There’s only one Bianca Calman…of that I am sure,’ Ferdie said, radiating pride.
‘But surely Philippe’s been having an affair with her.’
‘No. They’re just good friends.’
‘Puhleeeze,’ Clara drawled sarcastically. ‘You’re sounding like a spokesman for MGM commenting on the relationship of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton during the making of Cleopatra, and we all know how penetrating that friendship was.’
‘Seriously,’ said Ferdie pleasantly, well used to his sister’s frankness, ‘they’re really only friends. Everyone in Mexico has known of those rumours for ages, but he’s just a family friend. In fact, it’s through Philippe that I got to know Bianca. He used to take me with him when he dropped in to see the family… after Amanda and I hit the buffers, of course. And it really was a family gathering every time: Husband…children…the whole shooting match.’
‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,’ Clara said, clearly not convinced by her brother’s disclaimer. ‘I’ve found that adage to be only too frequently true.’
‘Not in this instance, I can assure you. I’ve even talked it out with Philippe, man to man.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I asked him outright. It was the second time he took me to her house. We were on our way home and I said to him: “You know what all Mexico says about you and Bianca. Is there any truth in it?” He assured me there was not.’
‘For God’s sake, Ferdie, you’re a grown man. Of course he was going to deny it to you. Would you tell him if you were having an affair with a friend’s wife…right under his nose? Of course you wouldn’t. No man…no gentleman…would. I saw them together with my own two eyes, and I have to tell you, it was my impression that there was something between them. No man and woman can have that level of understanding without intimacy. Have you ever asked her?’
Ferdie shifted uncomfortably. ‘There’s never been any need to. I’m confident that Philippe told me the truth, and the question has never arisen between Bianca and myself… at least not directly. It did come up obliquely, though. The first time I took her to see Sintra, I told her I’m not the sort of man to have affairs, and she said she’d never have one either. So I suppose she did confirm to me in a roundabout way that she and Philippe were not having an affair.’
‘Ferdie, you’re my brother, and I love you, but I have to tell you…not for the first time, as you know only too well…you give Voltaire’s Candide stiff competition when it comes to naïveté. I don’t suppose it matters, though, whether she and Philippe did have an affair or not. All that matters is that she makes you happy.’
‘And that she does,’ Ferdie said, closing the subject as the butler led Hannes Veitbech, the managing director of Calorblanco Switzerland, out onto the terrace.
While the meeting was going on, Magdalena, who had been a silent but avid listener to the conversation between her mother and uncle, withdrew into the house. To kill time until the meeting was over, she telephoned a friend.
Unusually for most private homes of that time, Villa Favorita had two telephone lines, the second of which Clara had installed so that she and Ferdie could speak at length when he was in Mexico and they had business to discuss without inconveniencing the other members of the household. Ten minutes into the telephone call, Magdalena heard the other line ring. She ignored it, safe in the knowledge that the staff would pick up the call. It was with a mixture of amusement and incredulity that she saw her uncle walk past her on his way to the library. Their eyes locked.
‘Bianca again,’ he said, a bright smile on his face, pride emanating from every pore. ‘She’s having a problem with something to do with Sintra and needs me to steer her through it.’
By the end of that first day of Ferdie’s stay at Villa Favorita, the pattern of calls from the absent Bianca had been set. For the remainder of his eight-day visit, the only variable within the pattern was the quantity of communications emanating from his new love. Every day she telephoned at least four times, more usually six - and one day, nine. Nor was the telephone the only vehicle for her ministrations. Telegrams, still a feature of life at that time, showered down upon the object of her desires at least once a day, and more usually three or four times.
Although Ferdie was clearly pleased by all this attention from the woman he had described as ‘perfect’, Clara could no longer stand it by the day of the official opening of the new Geneva Headquarters of Banco Imperiale Geneva. ‘Ferdie,’ she said over breakfast in her most sisterly way after the latest telegram was delivered on a silver tray by the butler, ‘don’t you think it’s a bit excessive for any woman to bombard a man with telephone calls and cables the way this woman is doing?’
Ferdie laughed good-naturedly. ‘She loves me. No one’s ever put me first the way she does, except Mama. Don’t be jealous just because you don’t have someone going to such lengths for you.’
‘I wouldn’t want it,’ Clara replied. ‘I’d be too nervous. Normal women don’t behave like that. Only geishas go to such extremes to please a man. It’s disturbing, Ferdie, and I wouldn’t be fulfilling my duty as your sister if I didn’t point that out to you.’
‘No, no,’ Ferdie said, waving Clara’s concerns aside. ‘This is how she is. She’s the kindest, most generous, most unselfish woman I’ve ever met.’
‘That surely isn’t the Bianca Calman whose house Philippe took me to. Admittedly, she was a charming and gracious hostess, and admittedly she made a great show of how feminine a personality she is, but no woman would fail to recognize the steel underbelly of that butterfly. And that ostentatious love of luxury: everything calculated to impress and bedazzle in that garish house of hers. I ask you, Ferdie, can you be blind to how phoney the place is, and what it reveals about the character of the woman whose home it is? Please, Ferdie, please…don’t rush into this marriage. I have an awful feeling you’re going to live to regret it.’
‘I’ve asked her to meet me in Paris the week after next. Come, spend a day or two with us and get to know her better. You’ll change your mind, I’m sure.’
‘Do Philippe and Raymond know about your marriage plans yet?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any objection to my telling them?’
‘No. In fact, it will make things much easier for me if the news comes from you. Even though I’m sure there’s never been anything between Philippe and Bianca, there’s little doubt in my mind that he’s always carried a torch for her.’
The most important aspect of the reception that evening at the Banco Imperiale’s new Geneva headquarters turned out not to be the president of Switzerland and his minister of finance. Nor was it the Dom Perignon vintage champagne or the Beluga caviar served in antique Russian silver pots containing two kilos apiece, or indeed any of the other myriad indices of serious wealth that were the specialty of Ferdie Piedraplata and the Mahfud brothers. It was not even the guests, who were the targets of the arrangement, even though they consisted of a cross section of the new international elite which was emerging upon the world stage. The in
clusion of such names as Greek shipping tycoons Aristotle Onassis and Stavros Niarchos, heiresses such as the American Duchesse d’Uzes and the Dutch-Egyptian Baronne Marie-Helene de Rothschild; the art collector Baron Heini Thyssen-Bornemisza and his beautiful Brazilian wife Denise, the son and grandson of Manny Silverstein’s Romanian patrons King Carol II and King Ferdinand, the exiled King Michael, with his wife Queen Anne and her Bourbon-Parma great aunt Zita, last Empress of Austria, supplied only a sideshow to the main action of the night.
This took place right after Ferdie, the senior business partner and Clara, his official hostess, led the president and finance minister into dinner in the boardroom, followed by Philippe and Raymond Mahfud and the twenty-four most prominent guests. Sitting with the president on her left and Philippe on her right and following protocol, which required a change of conversational partners with each course, Clara started conversing with Philippe.
‘I think the reception went with a bang. How about you?’ she opened.
‘I hope it will have the desired effect. The national papers, the Wall Street Journal, the Herald Tribune and the fashion magazines such as Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and Women’s Wear Daily all sent their correspondents, and they seemed complimentary about the guests and the headquarters. If we get the publicity I expect, we should be on a roll.’
Clara smiled and decided to plunge in headfirst.
‘Thank God Ferdie’s health hasn’t been affected by the break-up with Amanda.’
‘I can take some of the credit for that,’ Philippe said, making the fishing expedition Clara was embarking upon easier than she had anticipated. ‘I’ve kept him busy. Immersed him in family life, in fact. He’s spent practically every evening and most weekends with me at Bernardo and Bianca Calman’s house. I figured that what he’d miss most is family life, so I’ve made sure he got even more of it than he had when he was married to Amanda.’
Empress Bianca Page 17
