True (2004)

by Cordy, Michael

  She was surprised by how much his clinical dismissal of the episode hurt her. Every last shred of her remaining pride demanded that she change the subject. But she couldn't. She glanced down the table to where the others were immersed in their own conversations. 'I've had crushes and holiday romances before, Max, but this was different. More intense and consuming than anything I ever felt. And I thought you felt it too.' She lowered her voice. 'We said we loved each other, Max. I don't know about you, but I've never said that to anyone before and not meant it.'

  'I've never said it before,' he said. 'But it was a mistake.'

  'A mistake?

  Something flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone. 'I don't do love.'

  'You don't "do love"?' She felt her cheeks colouring: he viewed their two days together as something he had endured radier than enjoyed. 'You talk as though it's a choice - a weakness, like cigarettes.'

  'Isn't it?' Then his voice softened. 'Can I ask you a personal question, Isabella?'

  She almost laughed at his formality. 'Of course.'

  'You live your life so passionately -- so head on. How do you survive? How do you protect yourself?'

  'From what?Love?'

  He shrugged.

  'No one can protect themselves from that, Max. Not even you.' The expression on his face changed and suddenly he looked like a boy. 'You can't control love, Max.'

  'I can try.'

  'Why?'

  He frowned. 'Because it makes us weak and vulnerable,' he said.

  She looked into his blue eyes until he lowered his gaze. Now she thought she understood. Someone had broken his heart. But, then, whose heart hadn't been broken at least once? 'I disagree. Love doesn't necessarily make you weak. It can make you strong -- make you want to be a better person.' She stood up to leave. 'You wonder how I survive "doing love"? Well, I'm not unusual. People "do love" all the time.'

  AS MAX WATCHED ISABELLA MOVE DOWN THE TABLE TO SAY GOODBYE to her friends, he felt an unsettling blend of frustration and admiration. How could someone so smart, passionate and brave be naive enough to believe love made you stronger?

  He admired her, though. She might be an idealist but she had steel too. She didn't flinch from living her beliefs, however flawed. He wondered how Leo could have chosen the wealthy, bland Giovanna over her, then saw that he was about to do the same thing. His safe choice was Delphine Chevalier: she would further the Kappel interests and didn't threaten his emotional status quo. Yet Leo apparently regretted his choice and wanted Isabella back -- it seemed that playing it safe carried its own risks.

  Max felt an uncharacteristic stab of sadness that Isabella, with all her intelligence, should be so deluded as to think you couldn't control love. Her father's drug had destroyed that myth. He glanced at Phoebe and almost sighed. Controlling love was depressingly easy.

  It had been child's play to inject Phoebe covertly with the permanent version of the NiL drug. Odin was a loyal client who had never forgotten how Kappel Privatbank's funding and business consultancy had helped him succeed in the cut-throat fashion world. Max's regular financial update with him had been in the diary for months, and when he had voiced an interest in meeting Phoebe, the Norwegian designer had been delighted to schedule his star model's fitting session so that it followed their meeting. He had shaken her hand, held it a fraction longer than usual -- and that was all the opportunity he needed to deliver it. Arranging the encounter between Phoebe and his father at the fashion show had been simpler still. As for love making you stronger, he had only to look at the devotion in Phoebe's eyes now to see how false that was. Even he had been surprised by the dramatic way in which she had fallen in love at first sight. Love had enslaved Phoebe Davenport, but in his father's eyes he had seen only triumph and lust. As Ilium progressed, Isabella would learn for herself how ruthlessly love could be controlled.

  He had once heard someone say that the more love you gave the more you got back. But that wasn't true. His mother had given more than anyone and received little in return. Love was a tryanny that benefited the loved, never the lover.

  He watched Isabella say goodbye to Kathryn Walker and Gisele Steele, then approach Phoebe. Something in her friend's tone must have reached Phoebe and broken the drug's spell, because she tore her eyes away from his father and followed Isabella into the night.

  He watched his father frown, and smiled.

  ONE HOUR LATER

  'WHATIS ITWITH ME? JUSTWHEN I GET OVER LEO, AND NEVER want to see him again, he comes crawling back. And then the man I think I do want says he doesn't want me because he doesn't "do love".'

  Phoebe poured Isabella another glass of Amaretto. 'There's no logic with love.'

  Isabella sipped her drink, willing it to calm her. Being in Phoebe's kitchen helped. Like the rest of her open-plan penthouse, it was warm and welcoming: natural wood and Italian tiles complemented by pale terracotta walls. Beyond the kitchen and the spacious living area, a large window opened on to a roof terrace and presented a spectacular view of Milan's Duomo, lit up against the night sky. Inside, the apartment was surprisingly homely for one whose lifestyle was as glamorous and nomadic as Phoebe's. She collected small penguin sculptures and didn't seem to care if they had come out of a Christmas cracker or were exquisite crystal figurines for which she had paid a fortune. There were, however, few pictures of her - except in the bathroom, whose walls were adorned with framed Vogue covers. As she liked to say, 'It's hard to take yourself too seriously when you're on the loo.'

  Calmer now, Isabella said, 'Thanks for coming back with me. You didn't have to.'

  'You're my friend.'

  'I know, but I'm sorry if I ruined your night.'

  'Don't be stupid. I had a great time.'

  Isabella smiled. 'I noticed. What exacdy was going on with old man Kappel?'

  'He's not that old.'

  Isabella couldn't believe it: Phoebe Davenport, the coolest, most desirable model on the planet, was blushing over an encounter with a geriatric. 'C'mon, Phoebe, you can't be serious. This is too weird. He's Max's father, for Christ's sake.'

  But Phoebe wasn't laughing. 'So what? I know it's weird, and I can't explain it, but I've never felt like this before. When I saw his face, it was like I'd always known him. It was electric. I felt this rush - this need to be with him.'

  'So what happened to your promise never to let anyone get under your skin until you were good and ready? Remember the Italian count? He was gorgeous, courted you for months and promised you die world, but you said you weren't ready for commitment. Now, after one night, an old guy who smokes like a chimney, speaks like he's chewing sandpaper and has had half as many wives as Henry the Eighth claims your heart. What's going on, Phoebe?'

  Phoebe shrugged. 'All I know is that even now I need to see him again. Perhaps he reminds me of my father -- maybe I'm looking for a father figure.'

  Isabella clinked her glass against Phoebe's. 'Well, good luck, girl.' This was beyond weird, but love didn't obey the rules of logic, and who was she to tell her friend how or who to love? 'Let's just hope Max isn't a chip off the old block and your relationship with a Kappel pans out better than mine did.' She would never forget the thunderbolt when she had seen Max on the beach. Or, even more so, when she had been inches away from death and he had stepped out of the shadows to rescue her. She still marvelled at the contrast between his cold courage against her attackers and his later gentle-ness. That was why it was so hard to forget or hate him: she had fallen in love with his deeds as much as his looks.

  Perhaps that was how it was with Max's father and Phoebe. Because the beautiful Phoebe couldn't possibly have fallen for the old man's face.

  THREE DAYS LATER

  HELMUT KAPPEL STEPPED OUT OF HIS CHAUFFEUR-DRIVEN MERCEDES and strode across the car park towards Carlo Bacci's laboratory. He couldn't recall ever having felt so alive. He remembered the look on Phoebe Davenport's face when she had first set eyes on him. The sexual power had surged through him and he had felt like a young
buck, the envy of every man. But that wasn't why he was so excited. Phoebe was just an exhilarating stage in the Ilium project, which itself was only the starting point in fulfilling his greater destiny. He was excited because of Joachim's phone call.

  From the start of Ilium, Helmut had briefed Joachim discreetly on a related but separate project, and over the last month Joachim had not only worked with Bacci to master his NiL technology but had trawled through the professor's records and samples to find what Helmut sought. Two days ago he had called to say that today he would have something to show him. The prospect was so thrilling that Helmut had arrived early for his update meeting with Bacci and Max.

  His younger son was waiting for him at the doors to the laboratory, hair neatly brushed, rimless glasses level on his nose, bright bow-tie showing above a white lab coat. 'Professor Bacci's out for lunch, Vati. He'll be back for our meeting at two so we've got at least an hour.' A pause. 'Do you want to wait for Max?'

  'No. We'll keep this to ourselves for the time being.'

  'As you wish.'

  It was the first time Helmut had been into Bacci's laboratory, but he had no interest in the gleaming apparatus as he followed Joachim to the red door.

  'This is the sample room. It's an Aladdin's cave.' Joachim opened the door and Helmut felt a blast of cooler air. The storeroom was lined with refrigerated, glass-fronted cabinets filled with vials. Each was clearly labelled 'NiL' with a hash sign, then a number. Below this was a small barcode. 'This room contains every iteration of the NiL drug.'

  Helmut ran his fingers over the refrigerated glass cabinets, reading the labels. He tried to remember what number Bacci had said it was. Then his finger settled on NiL #042 and he turned to Joachim. 'Is this it?'

  Joachim took a palmtop computer and an electronic wand from a ledge by the door, then extracted a vial from the cabinet. The palmtop beeped as he ran the wand over the barcode at the bottom of the label, and the screen changed. Joachim scanned the text and pissed Helmut the palmtop.

  Helmut scrolled down the screen, ignoring the scientific jargon, and read the summary notes. Its effects were as Bacci had described, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. 'This works? This is the one Bacci tried on himself?'

  Joachim nodded, and gestured to the vials around the room. 'He's tried most of them.' He raised the NiL #042 vial in his hand. 'With this one, his exact words were, "It works too well." Basically, it's more intense and less discriminating than NiL Sixty-nine or NiL. Seventy-two. It features the same obsessive-love aspects, but none of the sexual chemistry. NiL Forty-two has no gender bias.' Joachim smiled at Helmut, then reached into his coat pocket and extracted a PowerDermic vaccine gun. 'As you requested, Vati, I made this up at Comvec. It's NiL Forty-two imprinted with your genetic facial code.'

  Helmut took the primed vaccine gun and rested it in his palm. It felt warm on his cold skin.

  'As you asked, I used the same stock vector that Bacci uses for thepermanent Nil Seventy-two. It'll insert the genesinto the subject's stem cells and last for his or her lifetime.'

  'But you could use a different vector? One you've developed at Comvec?'

  Joachim narrowed his eyes. 'Given time, I could use any vector to deliver the genes. But why--'

  Before he could say more, Helmut embraced his son, clasped the back of his neck with his right hand, and pulled his head close to his own. 'You've done well, Joachim, very well,' he whispered. 'I won't forget this.'

  At first Joachim looked shocked. Then he flushed with pride. Helmut couldn't remember when, if ever, he had embraced either of his sons. When he stepped back, he kept his left hand on Joachim's shoulder. With the other he slipped the now spent vaccine gun into his jacket pocket. If he was to fulfil his dream, he needed Joachim's unquestioning loyalty. And by tomorrow morning he would have it. 'Say nothing of this to anyone.'

  'Not even to Max?'

  He squeezed his son's shoulder. 'Not even to Max. This is our secret.'

  Joachim beamed, and Helmut could almost see his son grow in stature. 'Is this a new project, Vati? Separate from Ilium?'

  Kappel paused. 'I see it more as a sub-project.' He thought of the possibilities and a frisson ran through him. He would not only match Dieter Kappel's achievements in furthering the Kappel dynasty, he would eclipse them.

  'What do we call it?'

  Helmut shrugged. 'Keep it simple. Name it after the goddess of love, Venus.'

  Joachim grinned. "What's it about? Who are you going to use the drug on?'

  'I'll tell you everything tomorrow, including the refinements I need you to make. And don't forget -- we keep this to ourselves.'

  His younger son rubbed the back of his neck absently as he nodded. Then the door to the main laboratory opened and he ushered Helmut out of the sample room.

  WHENMAX ENTERED THE LABORATORY AND SAW HIS FATHER'S hand laid casually on his half-brother's shoulder, he sensed that something significant had occurred between them, from which he had been excluded. The trademark cravat his father used to hide the cancer scar on his throat was a brighter silk than usual, and its pattern was similar to Joachim's bow-tie. And Helmut's new, more youthful haircut made him look uncannily like his younger son. It was as if they were wearing a matching uniform and the effect increased Max's irrational but growing feeling of isolation.

  Since the night of the fashion show he and his father hadn't discussed Phoebe or what had happened. Helmut hadn't even acknowledged Max's role in bringing them together -- and now he seemed to be favouring Joachim, as though his half-brother were leading the project.

  'Have I missed anything?' he asked.

  His father shook his head. 'No, you're just in time.'

  Max kept his face impassive. 'Bacci here?'

  'Having lunch with his fiancee,' Joachim told him. 'Said he was making some last-minute arrangements for his wedding.' He grinned at his father. 'Everyone seems to be getting married these days.'

  Max heard the door open behind him and Professor Bacci appeared, wearing the same ill-fitting suit he had worn on his first visit to Kappel Privatbank. He smiled broadly at Max, and as he shook Bacci's hand Max felt a sudden fondness for him. Something about the man's smile reminded him of his school swimming master- he'd been one of the few people who had helped him after his mother's death by teaching him to control his pain and exorcize his guilt through exercise and self-discipline.

  'I hurried back,' Bacci said. 'Have you been here long?'

  'Just got here,' said Max.

  'Likewise,' said Helmut.

  Bacci turned to Joachim. 'Everything okay?'

  Joachim took his seat at the computer. 'Of course.'

  Helmut reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope and handed it to Bacci. Why don't we let Joachim get back to work we go into your office to discuss business?'

  In his office Bacci sat behind his desk and opened the envelope. His eyes widened. 'This is a cheque for three million euros.'

  'Look at the money as a down-payment, a show of our faith in you and proof of our intentions,' said Helmut.

  Max opened his briefcase, took out a bound document and laid it, with three copies of a contract, on the desk. He tapped the bound document. "This is our business proposal for getting your discovery to market. It's basically a hard copy of what I've already presented to you, and details all timescales and budget breakdowns. Check it and tell me if you have any questions.' He tapped the contracts. 'These are our terms of engagement, which we need you to sign.'

  Bacci picked up the top copy and glanced through the text.

  'We believe in your venture and are willing to take all the risk,' Max said. 'We'll provide full funding and consultancy services till the first sales kick in, including all regulatory and technical support via Joachim and Comvec. In effect, we'll be buying a majority shareholding in the venture without the control. It's your vision and you'll retain control of the project's direction. Once we reach the market you'll be encouraged to use your share of the profits t
o buy us out at the revised market value.' Max smiled. 'Kappel Privatbank is a bank and our offshoot Comvec was created to launch set-ups like yours successfully on to the market. We're not a pharmaceutical company. We want to get you up and running, then walk away with a good return on our investment. A very good return.

  'Make no mistake, though. This is a serious commitment on our part because, as I explained in our proposal, it could take some time to reach the market. Your technology is potentially controversial so we need to ensure we're seen to be ethically sound before we approach the European and American drug regulatory bodies. Both safety and efficacy clinical trials will need to be conducted with painstaking care, and that'll require patience from both of us. In return for this commitment and long-term view, we need an assurance that if anything happens to you, all your hardware, laboratory equipment and records come to us. That way we'll be able to claw back at least some of our investment. Does that sound reasonable?'