Empress Bianca

by Lady Colin Campbell

  ‘She must be planning a dramatic, last-minute entry,’ said Begonia, accurately divining her intention.

  ‘She thinks she’s Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard,’ Hepsibah said.

  ‘She is Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard,’ Rebecca said. ‘Mad, attention-seeking and ruthless. Till my dying day, I will never be able to erase the vision of that woman marrying one man and sleeping on her honeymoon with another.’

  Two guards then returned with four folding chairs. ‘Follow me,’

  Raymond said to his wife and sisters, and they set off for the front row, where the Secretary General of the United Nations, the Commissioner for Refugees, various European politicians and three European princes, one of royal blood and two of the commercial world, were seated along with Dolphie Minckus, Walter Huron, and the Duke of Oldenburg. The men were on one side of the aisle, the women on the other. ‘Here,’ said Raymond to the guard, indicating the central spot, ‘put mine here. And put the others beside it: in a row, like this,’ he continued, pointing to the centre aisle which would then be almost blocked by the four chairs, for the gap between Raymond’s chair and the ladies’was so narrow that only a thin person could get through with ease.

  The guard did as he was told. He opened Raymond’s chair, placed it where ordered then followed Raymond, who by this time had crossed to the other side of the aisle, where the women were segregated from the men.

  ‘Put those two here,’ he ordered, pointing to the end of the front row where Bianca’s name and the names of her good friends Ruth Fargo Huron, Stella Minckus and the Duchess of Oldenburg were displayed on gilt chairs. The congregation by this time was transfixed by the drama that was taking place at the front of the synagogue, and there was a buzz of speculation as to what was going on in the front row. No one who saw Raymond Mahouz’s face could doubt that he was furious beyond words, but no one in the congregation had any idea what the fuss was all about. All they could see was Raymond thanking the guards graciously then taking his seat, along with his wife and sisters, with great dignity.

  No sooner had the Mahfud family sat down than Bianca arrived, on the arm of the European chairman of USNB, Sir Jonathan Richards, flanked by Stella Mickus, Ruth Fargo Huron and the Duchess of Oldenburg, as if this were a wedding and they were bridal attendants.

  The progress upon which Bianca then embarked towards the front of the synagogue was more like royalty greeting an assemblage of acolytes than a widow heading towards her husband’s coffin. She was so busy being gracious, constantly smiling to the right and left that she did not even notice how her arrangements had been altered until it was too late. Only when she could no longer turn back and walk down a side aisle, did she notice Raymond, Begonia, Hepsibah and Rebecca ensconced in the front row, preventing her easy access to Philippe’s coffin. She was so surprised by their temerity in having crashed Philippe’s funeral and frustrated her plans that she let out an involuntary and very audible gasp. Their presence forced first Sir Jonathan, then Bianca and her three female attendants in turn, to squeeze through the narrow passage single-file. While they were doing so, Hepsibah and Rebecca pointedly nodded to each other, knowing that by so doing, they would be sending a message to the watching congregation that would publicly embarrass Bianca.

  Victory in the next round of this public squabble also went to Raymond. The funeral rites having just concluded, eight eminent pallbearers, none of whom had known Philippe well enough to call him a friend but all of whom were household names which bedazzled readers of glossy magazines such as Vanity Fair or The Tatler, stepped forward to lift the dead man’s coffin out of the synagogue. Intent on not being excluded from an honour that was rightfully his, Raymond stepped forward, determinedly taking his place at the front of the company, and shoved his shoulder under the casket. In so doing, Raymond forced one of them to step aside as the deceased’s brother assumed his rightful place as chief pallbearer. This position he maintained until the eight pallbearers had conveyed the coffin to the hearse, and, when it reached the North London burial ground, he once again resumed his place of honour to convey Philippe to the waiting grave. Only when he reached it did Raymond pause, casting his eyes over the open hole that would be his brother’s final resting place. He took in the canvas canopy erected beside it, beneath which reposed little gilt chairs such as one customarily saw at couture shows. Further angered by what he perceived to be the undignified manner in which Philippe’s widow had turned his funeral into a society show, Raymond relinquished his place of honour to the undertakers.

  By the time Philippe had been buried, Raymond could no longer contain himself. Although a great adherent to the principles of dignity, he was so outraged by a funeral that he saw as both a farce and an insult to not only his late brother but also to himself and his sisters, that he was no longer prepared to contain his fury. On his way to rejoin Begonia, Hepsibah and Rebecca, who were standing at the end of a row of gilt chairs occupied by Bianca and her socialite friends, he deliberately chose to walk in front of his sister-in-law. Getting as close to her as it was possible to do, he brushed past her knees and forced her to pull in her feet under the chair to avoid having them trodden upon. As she glowered at him with the set smile that he knew meant hatred, Raymond glowered back at her. ‘You think you’re so clever,’ he said. ‘Just you wait.’

  Pedro and Manolito, no longer surprised by any of Bianca’s antics, moved in to restore a semblance of decency to their stepfather’s leavetaking.

  They approached Raymond in full view of everyone before he could reach his wife and sisters.

  ‘Please accept our condolences, Uncle Raymond,’ said Pedro, intent upon righting, insofar as he could, Bianca’s wrong, ‘and my apologies for my mother’s deplorable conduct.’

  ‘And mine too, Uncle Raymond,’ added Manolito. ‘Uncle Philippe must be dancing a jig at what’s gone on here today.’

  ‘Thank you, boys,’ Raymond said. ‘It’s awfully decent of you to do this. I know how fond you kids all were of your Uncle Philippe, and I want you to know he would be proud of you right now.’

  ‘Will we see you at the reception?’ asked Manolito. ‘It’s in the ballroom at Claridge’s.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Raymond said. ‘We haven’t been invited.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Pedro said. ‘The Praying Mantis can’t very well throw you out. If she tries anything, I’ll say that I asked you to come.’

  ‘It’s good of you, boys, but no. We’ll go back to our hotel and remember your Uncle Philippe the way he would really want to be remembered.’

  ‘When will you be returning home?’ Pedro asked.

  ‘Maybe next week.’

  ‘Me too. I’ll look you up when I get back.’

  ‘You do that. You too, Manolito, when you’re next in Mexico.’

  ‘Right, Uncle Raymond,’ Manolito said and kissed Raymond three times Middle-Eastern style. The people surrounding them craned their necks to get a better view of Bianca’s child and stepchild showing solidarity to the very person whom she had tried to exclude from the proceedings.

  The time had come for Raymond to leave. So, having said goodbye to the boys, he crossed over to Begonia, Hepsibah and Rebecca and, linking arms with his wife, said: ‘It’s time we went.’

  In declaring war on the Mahfud family so publicly and so callously, Bianca had not only hardened those four relations into real enemies, but she had also ignited the fuse of public speculation. Before the day was over, half the people in the congregation who witnessed the spectacle of the Mahfuds having to crash their own blood relation’s funeral had spread the word far and wide about the war between Bianca and Philippe’s family.

  As so often happens when people have something important and painful to discuss, once the Mahfud family were in their suite, they delayed having their conversation about what to do next. First they changed out of their funereal clothes into something more comfortable and ordered a light supper of soup, white wine and fresh fruit. Then t
hey decided to wait until it had arrived, for they did not want to be interrupted by waiters walking in with food while they were in full flow.

  When the food arrived they thought it advisable to eat first, lest the subject they were about to discuss ruin what was left of their appetites.

  Raymond, Begonia, Hepsibah and Rebecca were therefore on their coffee, with the afternoon’s happenings still not touched upon, when the phone rang.

  Being the nearest, Begonia answered it. She was monosyllabic throughout the call, which did not last long. ‘That was Conchita Perez de Guellar,’ Begonia announced after she had hung up. ‘She’s at Claridge’s, and she says the party is in full swing. The only alcoholic beverage being served is vintage champagne. There’s an array of fruit juices and a lavish buffet, with several two-kilo silver bowls full of Iranian gold caviar doing the rounds in the hands of liveried footmen. She says there’s a real air of celebration and that Bianca hasn’t stopped laughing since she arrived to hold court.’

  ‘It’s an outrage the way she’s behaved,’ Hepsibah commented to Raymond.

  ‘I always said she was no good,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘There is nothing that woman does that surprises me,’ Rebecca said bitterly. ‘She is a monster. A pretty, sugar-coated monster. But a monster nevertheless.’

  ‘It hurts me to think that we never got to see Philippe before his coffin was sealed,’ Raymond remarked.

  ‘She did that deliberately,’ Rebecca said, ‘to prevent us from seeing him.’

  ‘I had a right, as his brother, to see him before he was buried. I had a right to say goodbye to him. To see him in death, as I had seen him in life.’

  ‘We all did,’ said Hepsibah.

  ‘And how dare she bury him in North London, when he has an Israeli burial plot on Mount Herzl and always said he wanted to be returned to the land of our forefathers? What sort of person doesn’t ask her own husband’s family to his funeral but invites 830 guests to that same celebration…I mean funeral…’

  ‘How do you know how many people she asked?’

  ‘Gisele told me. There were only twenty-seven refusals.’

  ‘You’re right to confuse it with a celebration. The arrangements were more appropriate to a wedding than a funeral. Guards standing outside the synagogue with guest lists, checking off names. Ushers in morning coats walking everyone to their seats, all of which had been allotted as if it were a theatre or some other sort of public function instead of a funeral,’ said Begonia.

  ‘That woman is such a rampant social climber,’ observed Rebecca.

  ‘The whole event was more about her showing off to her smart social friends than saying goodbye to our brother in a seemly and dignified manner…an appropriate Jewish manner. By God, she’s behaving like a shiksa, and one without any religion either.’

  ‘Do you realize, if it hadn’t been for the television and press coverage of his death, we might never have known about it until after his funeral? I mean, finding out from the television that your own brother has died as a result of a fire: is that any way to learn of your brother’s death?’ said Raymond. ‘I don’t know why she hates us so much.’

  ‘It’s because she’s afraid that we can see through her,’ observed Hepsibah shrewdly.

  ‘She never used to hate us when she lived in Mexico,’ Begonia said. ‘On the contrary, she was all over me like a rash in those days.’

  ‘Those days, dear wife, are long gone. Nowadays, we’re small fry to her.’

  ‘Is it true, what Juan told you?’ asked Hepsibah. ‘About the will?’

  ‘Yes,’ Raymond said. ‘Philippe changed his will less than two weeks ago in favour of Bianca. She inherits everything except for small bequests to the two of you and to a university in Israel for a Chair for Jewish Studies.’

  ‘Doesn’t it seem suspicious to you, that Philippe would sell the bank and change his will then die in a tragic accident, all in such a short space of time? I detect the hand of Bianca behind all of this. I bet she engineered his death,’ Hepsibah said.

  ‘Never say that,’ Raymond said sternly. ‘Never. Not even to yourself.’

  ‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t,’ Hepsibah retorted, ‘when everyone in Mexico has been saying for years that she killed Ferdie Piedraplata.’

  ‘That is precisely why none of us must ever say that we suspect her of killing Philippe.’

  ‘Raymond, what you’re saying doesn’t make sense,’ Rebecca said. ‘If Bianca has killed our brother…and killed another husband before him… what possible reason would we have for not going public with our suspicions? Don’t you want to see your brother’s murderess brought to justice? If Bianca really is behind Philippe’s death, then she is his murderess whether she actually did the deed herself or not.’

  ‘I don’t want her being exposed…not when it will mean destroying Philippe’s reputation and our family name.’

  ‘I don’t see how accusing Bianca of causing Philippe’s death will destroy his reputation and our family name, if that’s what she’s done,’ Hepsibah said. ‘And, knowing her the way I do, I wouldn’t put it past her.’

  Raymond shook his head. ‘Trust me on this one,’ he said sadly. ‘Let’s just leave it alone.’

  ‘No,’ Rebecca said fiercely. ‘Why should we? He was our brother too. She damaged our relationship with him during his lifetime. Now that he’s dead, and she may have had a hand in his death, you want us to let her get away with it? No, I say. A thousand times no.’

  ‘Then you leave me no alternative,’ said Raymond quietly. From the expression on his face, they knew something momentous was coming.

  ‘The reason why we have to let her get away with it is that Philippe is rumoured to have been the one who arranged Ferdie’s death for her. Now that you’re forced this out of me, do you see why we have to let this rest?’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Hepsibah said.

  ‘It’s not true,’ Rebecca echoed.

  ‘I’m afraid it is possible and, if the original investigation in Mexico is accurate, it’s also true. I made it my business to get hold of the findings years ago.’

  ‘Philippe would never have done something like that,’ both sisters said in unison.

  ‘Maybe he wouldn’t have…maybe he would…I don’t know. All I know is, Ferdie Piedraplata did not commit suicide and Bianca did not act alone.’

  ‘Sweet Jahwe,’ Hepsibah said as she absorbed the enormity of it all.

  ‘That isn’t to say that we have to let her get away scot-free,’ Rebecca said. ‘Let’s wait awhile and see how much more press interest there is in Philippe’s death. When things quieten down a bit, we’ll sue her.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Hepsibah said. ‘Remember how frantic she was when Clara sued her after Ferdie’s death? I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown.’

  ‘Well, she’ll be even more nervous this time. The last time there was no press interest. This time, what with the international attention Philippe’s death has been getting, she’ll be terrified that a skeleton will fall out of her closet. We might rethink things before the day, but for the moment I’d recommend that we get ready to dispute the will when the right time comes,’ Rebecca said, looking directly at her brother. ‘That will give her sleepless nights…and we can drag the process out for years. Yes,’ she went on gleefully, ‘years of sleepless nights, wondering which skeleton will topple out of her crowded closet next.’

  While the Mahfud family were having that conversation at the Carlton Towers Hotel in Chelsea, a block away in Cadogan Place, Clara d’Offolo was sitting in Amanda’s drawing room, talking about Philippe’s death with Amanda and Magdalena.

  ‘I’ve got the inside track on what’s been happening in Andorra,’ she announced. ‘The story is that the manservant has confessed to having set the curtains alight to bring fire hazards caused by the security system to Philippe’s attention.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Amanda.

  ‘Etienne Reynau
d, the local chief of police and his wife Elise are good friends of my niece Delia’s husband Charles Candower’s brother and his wife, who are tax exiles in Andorra and live right next door to him,’ she said. ‘Either Etienne Reynaud’s reckless - which I doubt - or he’s spreading stories deliberately…which I wouldn’t put past him, knowing how the Andorran authorities function. Whatever the reason, he hasn’t been able to resist the temptation to show his friends that he’s a central figure in the biggest news story to come out of the principality since its inception. They’ve passed on everything to Charles, and either he or Delia have been keeping Magdalena and me abreast of developments.’

  ‘Philippe’s death certainly smells fishy,’ Amanda remarked.

  ‘You can say that again. Knowing the way Bianca functions, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t deliberately entice that male helper into setting the curtains on fire. I wonder if he knew that his actions would result in Philippe’s death? Not, it has to be said, that I care much one way or the other how Philippe died. Over the years, I’ve come to recognize the part he played in Ferdie’s death, so his end has a certain symmetry to it,’ Clara said.

  ‘I gather that crook Juan Gilberto Macias is here,’ Amanda said sarcastically, ‘holding that most fortunate widow’s hand.’

  ‘And acting on her behalf very openly, I might tell you. I spoke to him yesterday, just before lunch,’ Clara said. ‘He telephoned me, doubtless to pick my brain at Bianca’s behest to see what I had to say for myself. He went on and on about what a terrible trauma this has been for Bianca: how she had to be ushered out of the apartment by the police while pleading to be allowed to stay until she could see for herself that Philippe was safe. He said she broke down in front of the officers when they refused her request to stay in his bedroom. He said that they gave smoke and fumes as the reason for her to leave. Then he said…with a certain amount of disapproval, it has to be said to his credit…that Bianca had arranged for Maximilien to open up their shop especially for her yesterday, so that she could choose a new coat to wear to the funeral in case the weather turned. He said she bought a sable and - if you can believe it in this day and age - a new leopard-skin coat, muff and hat.’