True (2004)

by Cordy, Michael

  Bacci nodded. 'I think so.'

  'Good. The contracts must be signed and returned to us by the weekend.'

  There was a knock at the door and Joachim poked his head into the room. 'Carlo, I've been checking your computer records for future clinical trials, and there are a couple of folders I don't understand. One's called "Prosopagnosia".'

  'That's for my daughter. It's got nothing to do with NiL. Some of my work overlaps with her research and throughout the NiL project I've been saving relevant findings to share with her when we go public. What's the other folder?'

  'It's an empty sub-folder in the "NiL Side Effects and Safeguards" folder. You've labelled it: "Zero Substitution Effect".'

  'It's just an early safeguard I put in place. You can delete it.'

  Before Joachim could say more, the phone rang on Bacci's desk. Max watched him glance down at the display and pick up the receiver as soon as he recognized the caller's number. 'Maria.' He put his hand over the mouthpiece. 'My fiancee. Sorry.'

  Max, Joachim and their father moved to leave, but Bacci gestured to them to stay. As he listened, his expression darkened and his face drained of colour. When he hung up he was pale and his hands were shaking. He stood up, went over to a television set in the corner and switched it on.

  On the screen a journalist stood in an alpine setting. Behind him apolice cordon encircled what looked like a large white tent screening off part of the woods. The journalist spoke in a calm, clear voice: 'The decomposed bodies found in these remote woods are believed to be those of Marco Trapani and three employees. The manner of their deaths has led police to suspect the involve-ment of a rival Corsican Mafia.'

  They watched the report in silence. Then Bacci switched off the television and returned to his desk, head in hands. 'It's unbelievable,' he said. 'My cousin's family wasn't involved in the Mafia. Not now.'

  'I'm sorry,' Max said. He hadn't thought of the Sicilian since he had disposed of the man's Corsican rival in St Martin, and had vetted Professor Bacci's background.

  'It's a shock to us all,' said Helmut. 'There's no proof he was linked to organized crime, and we certainly had no reason to suspect his dealings. He might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

  'I can't believe it,' Bacci said again. 'He was such a good cousin. He introduced me to you.' He pointed to the cheque and the contracts. 'He made all this possible.'

  Max saw his father glance away from Bacci with the ghost of a smile on his face. It told Max all he needed to know. 'I think we should close now,' he said. "We'll meet again to discuss any other matters.'

  He waited until his father was outside in the car park before he challenged him. 'Why didn't you tell me you'd killed Trapani?'

  Helmut Kappel lit one of his black cigarettes and took a long drag. For a second, Max thought he was going to deny it. 'Max, Bacci told Trapani something about the drug, not much, but enough to make him curious. He was pressuring us. He had to be stopped.'

  'That's not the point. Why didn't you tell me?'

  His father stopped walking. 'Max, I run this family. I decide who knows what. And I decided you didn't need to know.'

  'What else have you decided not to tell me?'

  Helmut looked at him hard, then slapped Max on the back. 'C'mon, Max, it's no big deal.'

  'What else haven't you told me?'

  'About Ilium?Nothing. You know everything now. Satisfied?' His father didn't wait for a reply, just walked to his limousine.

  25 OCTOBER

  AS THE GRAND GATES OF SCHLOSS KAPPEL OPENED, ISABELLA lowered the limousine window and showed her invitation to the elegantly dressed man with the eyepatch by the gatehouse. He paved the car on, and she glanced again at the gilt-edged card. The handwritten Gothic script informed her that Helmut Kappel requested her presence at a surprise party to be held at Schloss Kappel. All her travel had been arranged and paid for, including her plane ticket to Zurich and the limousine from the airport. No other information was given about the party, but the date, 25 October, coincided with Phoebe Davenport's birthday. She had hardly seen Phoebe since their talk on the night of Odin's fashion show. Isabella had thrown herself into her work and Phoebe had rarely come back tothe apartment: she was spending more and more time with Helmut Kappel - she had even cancelled a number of high-profile assignments to be with him.

  And now it appeared he was throwing her a surprise birthday party.

  Max wouldundoubtedly be there, but if Phoebe and Helmut remained together, Isabella knew she would have to get used to bumping into him.

  As the intimidating grey mansion appeared in the dusk Isabella wondered what sort of party it would be. When she had called Kathryn and Gisele, they had confirmed they were coming but hadn't been able to tell her any more than she already knew. There were few lights in the windows, and the round corner towers and heavy facade brought to mind a grim but worthy institution, a psychiatric hospital or orphanage. She shivered when she thought of her vibrant young friend walking its dark corridors with her ancient lover.

  There were no other cars on the driveway when hers pulled up outside the main entrance, but as soon as she got out, the front door opened and a short man in a tailcoat took her case. 'Guten abend, Dr Bacci.'

  'Good evening.'

  The hall contained some exquisite pieces of furniture, but the dark wood, ancient rugs and staring oil portraits of the Kappels' white-haired ancestors made it too gloomy to be welcoming. Isabella felt as if she had stepped into another world.

  'Herr Kappel and Fraulein Davenport are currently in Zurich. They will return within the hour. I've been asked to show you to your room so you can settle in.'

  'Have any other guests arrived yet?'

  'You are the first, Fraulein.'

  'How many are coming to the party?'

  'A few,' the man said vaguely, as he led her up the wide staircase and down the seemingly endless first-floor landing. Stags' heads with full antlers adorned the dark-panelled walls. 'You're in the east wing.' Eventually he stopped outside a door and turned its large brass handle. 'This is your room.' It was a large chamber with a towering ceiling, tall windows dressed with thick dark curtains and a huge bed. There was an adjoining bathroom. She quelled a nervous urge to laugh. It was like the surreal set of an Addams Family film. Even the butler, or whatever he was, looked straight out of Central Casting. She couldn't imagine living in this house.

  'I hope you find the room comfortable,' the man said. 'There's a phone by the bed. If you need anything dial zero. You're requested to come down to the library at seven thirty for drinks.'

  After she had unpacked, Isabella lay on the bed, but she couldn't settle. She got up, went out of her room and began to explore the old house.

  A light at the far end of the landing drew her and, walking towards it, she was struck by the silence. Apart from the smell of cooking wafting up from the kitchens and the occasional sounds of servants preparing for the evening ahead, the place seemed deserted. A few paces down the corridor she came to a recess, which featured a small collection of curios. Each item was individually lit and when she read the explanatory cards she discovered they were tools of assassination.

  The card next to a needle-thin lance explained how it could impale a target's internal organs and be withdrawn without leaving an external mark. Three beautiful fabrics in a glass box were silk garrottes, designed to strangle a victim with minimal bruising. A refrigerated case displayed needle-sharp ice darts of frozen poison, designed to enter a victim's warm body and dissolve. She could tell from the worn handle on the lance and the soiled garrottes that they had been well used. The macabre exhibits were in keeping with the dark house, and she wondered which member of the Kappel clan had collected them. It did not occur to her that they had once been tools of the family's ancient trade, and mat its past members had designed each one.

  She walked on past mullioned windows. Through the gloom she could see a lake and, on a raised plateau above the house, some small domed buil
dings. Eventually she came to an open door, which led to a spiral staircase. She realized this must be the eastern corner tower.

  'Hello?' she called. When there was no answer she stepped through the doorway. This area felt different. The stairs were of light oak, with gleaming brass stair rods and a bright aquamarine carpet. The walls were decorated with brilliant contemporary prints. Her spirits rose. When she looked down the spiral staircase to the ground floor, she saw that it serviced a side entrance. She began to climb the stairs.

  At the top she stepped through an open doorway and found herself in a circular loft space with a beamed ceiling and a wooden floor covered with Oriental rugs. Photographs of coastal views and undersea scenes dominated the pale walls. The pictures were beautiful, but strangely desolate and devoid of people. In one section of the room a desk and a dining-table stood alongside a sofa, two chairs and a television. In another area, steps led to a mezzanine level, and through the balcony rail she could see a huge bed.

  Then she noticed the driftwood-framed photograph on the sideboard by one of the circular windows. Unlike the pictures on the wall, it featured people: a tanned boy with white hair and the bluest eyes stood on a tropical beach with a tall, beautiful woman holding him close.

  'Can I help you?'

  Startled, she swivelled round. He stood in a doorway to her left, expertly manipulating a black bow-tie. A dressing room and bathrobe were visible behind him. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I was just looking around and the door was open. I called up to see if anyone was in,' she said lamely.

  Max wore an immaculate black dinner suit, which accentuated his broad shoulders and set off his lightly tanned skin. He knotted the bow-tie, checked his collar and smiled. 'Don't worry about it,' he said. 'This is just the apartment I use when I'm working in Zurich. My real home's in the South of France, not far from where we met.'

  'It's beautiful. Very different from the rest of the house.' She winced. 'Not that the rest of the house is--'

  'Grim?' He laughed. Tf you think it's creepy, imagine spending your childhood here. But it's convenient.'

  She indicated the photograph of the boy and the beautiful woman. 'Your mother?' She remembered Max telling her in Antibes that she had died when he was young.

  He glanced at it. 'Yes.'

  There was a knock on the open door behind her. Another man appeared in a black dinner suit, with a garish bow-tie and matching waistcoat. He looked similar to Max, but was slighter and paler, a younger version of Max's father. Watery blue eyes stared at her through rimless glasses. He didn't step across the threshold.

  'Isabella, this is Joachim, my half-brother.'

  Joachim was staring at her. 'You're honoured, Isabella.' His eyes moved to Max, and a humourless smile curved his lips. 'Max never lets anyone into his eyrie, not his family or even Delphine, his fiancee.'

  Isabella's heart jolted. How could Max be engaged? He'd said he didn't 'do love'. She was surprised by how much the news had shocked her.

  'I'll see you downstairs, Joachim.'

  After Joachim had left Isabella turned to Max. 'Fiancee?'

  'Not yet. My father might want her to be, but she isn't.'

  'But she is your girlfriend?'

  He shrugged. 'I suppose so.'

  She headed for the door. 'I'm sorry I intruded.'

  'You didn't,' Max said softly. 'I'll see you at seven thirty.'

  In the doorway she turned back to him. She had to ask. 'How long has she been your girlfriend?'

  He looked directly at her, blue eyesclear and cool. 'Before Antibes.'

  AT LEAST NOW SHE UNDERSTOOD. OR THOUGHT SHE DID. TO MAX SHE had been no more than a passionate holiday fling, the other woman, a break from his girlfriend, a moment of madness. As Isabella showered, it felt like she was washing away any vestigial feelings for him, and by the time she had changed into her gown and left the room she felt herself wishing Delphine luck, convinced she would need it. When she met Kathryn and Gisele on the stairs she focused her thoughts on Phoebe.

  Kathryn kissed her cheek. 'Do you have any idea what tonight's about, Izzy?'

  Isabella brandished the gift-wrapped Swarovski crystal penguin she was carrying. 'I thought it must be a surprise birthday party.'

  'Same here,' said Gisele, as they reached the hall.

  Kathryn frowned. 'But it's not like she's twenty-one or anything,' she said, and pointed at two women ahead of them. 'So why has her mother flown all the way from the States? She hates flying.'

  Phoebe's mother stood outside the library with her younger daughter, Claire, who waved at them. Isabella had last seen Phoebe's sister in Antibes but she hadn't seen their mother since she had left the States over a year ago, and she shared Kathryn's surprise that she had flown over for Phoebe's birthday. Mrs Davenport looked pale and appeared distant as she kissed Isabella and the others before accompanying them into the library.

  The library was a grand room with crystal chandeliers and a shoulder-high mantelpiece. Servants in white jackets carried silver trays of canapes and champagne, while the four Kappel men and their partners stood in a line to greet their guests. The overall effect was striking. Not only did all the men look similar but so did their partners. All the women were different shades of blonde. Phoebe was easily the most beautiful, but the others were of a similar type. Delphine was fair and willowy, and even the older woman with the bearded Kappel was attractive. Isabella shuddered to think of her friend becoming one of them.

  'Where are all the guests?' Gisele hissed under her breath.

  'I think we're it,' Kathryn whispered.

  Isabella took a glass of champagne and smiled politely as Max introduced her to Delphine. The way Delphine scrutinized her and gripped his arm possessively made her feel uncomfortable. She moved on to Joachim, then to the bearded man who introduced himself as Klaus, and their wives. The introductions had been formal and vaguely surreal, but not as surreal as the sight of Phoebe standing with Helmut Kappel by the fireplace. He looked different from how she remembered him, younger and more flamboyant. His white hair was cut shorter in a fashionable, spiky style, and he wore a red cravat and cummerbund. Phoebe was rubbing her wrists and Isabella could see faint marks on her skin. As the couple greeted Kathryn and Gisele, Phoebe glanced anxiously at Helmut, as though to check he was still there. She seemed excited but not surprised by the gathering, except when Isabella presented her birthday gift.

  'Oh, you remembered, Izzy. Thanks.'

  'Of course I remembered. It's your birthday party.' She paused, 'Isn't it?'

  Phoebe flashed a knowing smile and Isabella suddenly realized that it was the guests who were in for the surprise.

  'What's going on, Phoebe?' Isabella whispered.

  Phoebe squeezed her hand. 'You'll see, Izzy. You'll see.'

  Isabella wanted to shake her and insist she told her what was going on, but before she could think of acting on that impulse, they were summoned into a cavernous dining room where she found herself sitting between Max and Klaus at a long table laden with crystal glasses, silver cutlery and gilt-edged china. Khaus was polite but cold. He hardly spoke or drank, and kept looking around the table as if he were watching over the proceedings.

  As the first course of scallops were served, Helmut rose from his seat at the head of the table. 'Thank you all for coming tonight. I'm sorry for keeping you in the dark about the reason for the party, but because of the media we had to be discreet.' He looked down at Phoebe, on his right. She gazed up at him adoringly. Then he turned to Phoebe's mother, on his left. She looked down at her plate, pale and unsmiling. 'I have an announcement to make. It may come as a shock to some of you, but at my time of life I need to act fast. I've asked Phoebe to marry me and I'm honoured and delighted to say that she has accepted.'

  A gasp echoed round the table. Isabella couldn't believe Phoebe hadn't told her what she was planning. She and Helmut Kappel had met only a month ago -- if that. And she couldn't believe Phoebe was being so quiet now. It wasn't like
her to defer so completely to someone else. Kathryn had almost spilt her wine and Gisele looked equally stunned. Phoebe's sister was frowning in evident disbelief. The only people to look on impassively were the Kappels and Phoebe's mother. No wonder she had been so tense: she must have known.

  Apparently oblivious to the reaction, Helmut continued, "We plan to get married on New Year's Day and we'd like you all to be there. Naturally Phoebe's mother will be the guest of honour. My best man will be my elder son, Max.' Isabella turned to Max, but he was looking straight ahead. How long had he known? Then Helmut looked in turn at Gisele, Kathryn, Claire and Isabella. 'You four are Phoebe's dearest friends, and she'd like you to be her bridesmaids.'