Now that they were on the lake, Isabella was struck by how large it was. She glanced back at the sleigh's tracks and heard water rushing beneath the surface of the ice. She shivered. 'Joachim, the water underneath us sounds so fierce.'
'It is.' He pointed to the east, where the river entered the lake, then to the west, where a fjord formed a channel to the sea. 'The current's strong because the river and the sea meet in this bowl.'
'Is the ice safe?'
'It's been an unusually mild winter, and the contractors had to wait for it to thicken before they could build the chapel, but it's safe now. The Gulf Stream stops the coast freezing, but this inland bowl always ices over in winter.' He pointed to the narrow fjord. 'Over there it's pretty thin, but it's fine here and in the centre.'
As the sleighs neared the island, Valhalla loomed tall. Kathryn was right, Isabella thought, it looked more like a hotel than a house and was designed in tiers like a wedding cake. Arched windows lined the lower level, which was modelled on a vast, inverted Viking long-ship. The upper structures, supported by crystal flying buttresses and crowned by the translucent Gothic spire, were angular, with pointed lancet windows. The shimmering walls gave the illusion of transparency while reflecting the light like mirrors, revealing nothing.
A roaring whup, whup, whup broke the brittle silence. Then a helicopter appeared and landed on the ice beside the chapel. Isabella saw it disgorge six people and their luggage, then take off again, heading south. She wondered if Max was waiting in Valhalla.
The dogs yelped and the sleighs halted. As Isabella stepped gingerly on to the icy ground, Gisele caught her eye and whispered, 'I'll say this for Helmut Kappel. The old guy may be weird but he chose a pretty cool place for his wedding.'
'THEY'LL BE HERE SOON, PHOEBE.'
'I know, Helmut. I just wish more of my friends and family were coming.'
Helmut Kappel looked down from the mezzanine level at the guests entering the reception hall of Valhalla. Odin greeted them individually, while his staff, resplendent in furs and gleaming Viking breastplates of his own design, conducted the formalities. The receptionist photographed each guest's face with a digital camera linked wirelessly to the main computer. Then porters took the guests' luggage and showed them to their rooms. 'We've already discussed this. I chose Valhalla to give you a spectacular wedding, but space is limited. Your mother refused to come. There are guests I had to invite, and you agreed to let me handle everything.'
Yes, but you're either with your family or your clients. I hardly ever see you, darling.'
'I can't be with you all the time. I've other responsibilities.' He lowered his voice and looked into her eyes, speaking as a parent to a child. 'If you don't like it, Phoebe, we can still call it off. No one's forcing you to marry me. We don't have to be together.'
'But we do,' she said quickly. He enjoyed the panic that crossed her face. He would tire of it soon, but it still pleased him to have total control of this exquisite creature. He looked down on the atrium and saw Odin greet a target client: Warren Hudsucker. The senator was alone. Excellent. Helmut smiled. 'Relax, Phoebe. The wedding will be magnificent, and after it's over, we'll see much more of each other.'
'Promise, darling? I love you so much.'
'I know. Now, why don't you wait for your friends in your room while I greet some of my guests? I promise to come to you when the bridesmaids arrive.'
'Don't be long.'
'I won't,' he said, and walked away from her down the huge glass staircase to the hall. As he passed a sheer translucent pillar he checked his reflection in the resin surface. Adrenaline surged through him when he considered the carefully selected guest list. Although there would be fewer than a hundred guests, they had flown in from Tokyo, Los Angeles, New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Delhi, Cape Town, Buenos Aires and Sydney. No corner of the world had been overlooked.
One of the three professional photographers hired to record the event snapped him. A Japanese client with links to the Yakuza Mafia stopped to congratulate him and compliment him on the choice of venue.
'I owe it all to Odin's generosity,' he replied, as he reached Hudsucker and the Norwegian designer.
Odin flicked back his mane of strawberry-blond hair and smiled modestly. 'It's a pleasure.' In fact, Kappel Privatbank had paid Odin a significant fee to hire Valhalla. The proceeds from the photographs would also be split with the designer, and he would benefit from the publicity when eventually Valhalla opened as a boutique hotel.
Helmut turned to Hudsucker and shook the senator's hand. 'Warren, so glad you could make it. Has the receptionist taken your picture yet? Good, in that case let me show you to" your room. Someone will bring your bags for you.'
Hudsucker followed him. His usual confidence had deserted him, his face looked pale beneath the tan. He seemed tired and nervy. Helmut led him to a room on the first tier. 'You're in room eight. It has one of the best views.' He pointed to the sensor pad and monitor by the door. The model, InterFace 3000, was printed beneath the pad. 'Odin's a stickler for security. Place your hand over that sensor pad and the computer will compare the genetic facial profile in your DNA with the photograph the receptionist look when you registered.' Hudsucker did as he was told and his face appeared on the monitor. Then the door clicked open. 'Only you can enter the room.'
Hudsucker stepped inside and stared out of the large picture window at the darkening mountains. 'You're right. It is a fantastic view.'
'If we're lucky we might see the Northern Lights. You have to be above the Arctic Circle to guarantee a sighting, but Odin says that they're occasionally visible here at this time of year.'
Hudsucker took off his jacket and threw it on to the bed. His wallet and a creased photograph slid out of the inside pocket. He replaced them, but not before Helmut had seen the picture. Well thumbed, it had obviously been unfolded and scrutinized countless times. It was the one Max had sent Hudsucker with his invitation, a picture of the bridesmaids, focusing on Isabella Bacci's face.
'Good trip?'
Hudsucker nodded.
'You decided against bringing your wife?'
'She wanted to come but it was difficult. Kids' school starts soon.'
'Sure, sure. Anyway, I invited you, Warren. I wanted you to share in my good fortune. This is a magical place.' Helmut gazed at the snow-covered terrace and the view beyond. 'May I speak frankly?' Hudsucker sat on the bed and frowned. 'Sure.' 'I've a feeling something important is going to happen to you here. I feel this because something important has happened to me. I know the world doesn't understand how I managed to win Phoebe -- they think I must have some dark secret.' He patted Hudsucker's shoulder. 'If I did I certainly wouldn't share it with everybody. But if, for example, a client of mine found himself preoccupied with someone -- as I was with Phoebe -- someone they couldn't stop thinking about, someone whose face filled their waking hours and interfered with their work and sleep, I'd want to help them.'
Hudsucker was staring at him. His eyes narrowed. He was evidendy uncertain as to where this was heading. 'How?'
'In any way I could,' Helmut said earnestly. 'For example, let's say you desired one of the bridesmaids at my wedding. I wouldn't stand in your way. In fact I'd help make it happen.'
The colour drained from Hudsucker's face. 'But I'm married and I've never even met any of the bridesmaids.'
'Come, come, Warren, I'm playing "what if. I'm certainly not trying to judge you. I just want to share with you the secret of my happiness. Play a game with me, Warren. How much would you give to meet the object of your love? Let's say . . .' he looked Hudsucker in the eye '. . . it's Isabella Bacci.' Her name hung in the air between them. 'How much would you give to meet her and have her return the love that has tormented you for the last few weeks?'
Hudsucker's jaw dropped, but he said nothing.
Helmut continued: 'If I said you could meet Isabella Bacci tonight, have two days of bliss, then leave with her and live happily ever after together, how much woul
d that lifelong happiness be worth to you? A million dollars?A billion? Everything you own? More?'
Hudsucker sat statue still, stunned.
'Apologies, Warren, you must be tired. I'll let you get some rest.' He had to prime the other three target clients before the cocktail party. 'Forgive me for talking nonsense. I'm just overexcited about marrying Phoebe. I still can't believe that someone like her, who could have had anyone in the world, chose me. See you tonight.'
VMSO GLAD TO SEE YOU GUYS,' PHOEBE SAID. SHE WAITED FOR Joachim to leave the room then ushered Isabella and the others into a small antechamber by the reception hall. 'Isn't this place incredible?'
Gisele looked through the glass wall at the other guests. 'It's like a fairy-tale, Phoebe.'
'Helmut arranged everything.'
'It's stunning,' said Claire.
Phoebe hugged her sister. 'I only wish Mummy was coming.'
Isabella saw Claire lower her eyes. 'I know,' she said, 'but it's a long way and you know how she feels about flying.'
Isabella hugged her friend. 'You look fantastic, Phoebe.'
'So do you guys in your furs.'
As the others embraced Phoebe, Isabella looked up at the ceiling: the wooden beams were carved into spear shapes with crystal tips. To their right was a plaque, which explained that Valhalla was named after the great hall of Odin, the chief god in Norse mythology. The Valkyries, Odin's flaxen-haired warrior maidens, flew over battlefields and selected only the bravest slain warriors to take with them to Valhalla, where they would eat and drink at Odin's table as they waited for Ragnarok, the final conflict between good and evil. Isabella wondered if Odin was his real name. She doubted that even the most doting parent would christen their child after the chief of the gods.
Isabella turned back to Phoebe. 'How do you feel? Excited?'
'Of course. But a little nervous too.'
Isabella studied her friend for a sign that she had been given the drug, but there was nothing. The only clue was that Phoebe seemed totally in Helmut Kappel's thrall and appeared to have surrendered her fiery independence. The old Phoebe would never have allowed someone else to organize every aspect of her wedding, however much she loved him.
'Welcome.' The door to the lobby opened and Helmut Kappel entered with a tray of four glasses. Phoebe's face lit up. 'Joachim told me your journey was smooth.'
'It was great, thanks,' said Gisele.
'The sleigh ride was fantastic,' said Claire.
'Good. I thought you'd prefer that to a helicopter. Phoebe, pass these to your bridesmaids, but be careful -- the glasses are made of ice.'
Obediently Phoebe handed them round.
'It's one of Odin's concoctions,' Helmut said. 'A blend of the local aquavit and mead -- a kind of vodka and honey liqueur.' He held Isabella's gaze briefly, then flashed a cool, knowing smile. 'Odin's christened it the Perfect Marriage in our honour. I'm told it's best to down it in one.'
Isabella drank the sweet, yet fiery cocktail as she observed the hall. She recognized Klaus Kappel when he arrived with yet more guests. Then Max entered with Delphine, their arms linked, and an older, distinguished-looking couple, who were clearly her parents. She felt an irrational stab of jealousy. After what she had discovered about her father's drug and his Antibes experiment, she no longer trusted Max. If his father had abused Phoebe then Max might have been involved. But however much she wanted to hate him, she missed his strength.
As she watched Max, she became aware that Helmut was staring at her, with a small, cruel smile. 'Phoebe,' he said, 'why don't you show the ladies to their rooms? I must greet our other guests.'
SHEDIDN'TKNOW WHETHER IT WAS DOWN TO HELMUT KAPPEL'S welcome drink or the journey, but Isabella felt suddenly fatigued as Phoebe showed her the bedroom plan by the main stairs. Isabella recognized some of the names: minor royalty, politicians, captains of industry. She estimated that around a hundred guests would occupy sixty rooms, located mainly on the outer perimeters of the three upper tiers. The two main rooms, high in the tower, had been allocated to Helmut Kappel and Phoebe. A separate section marked 'Private' was presumably Odin's quarters.
Isabella's room was on the second tier. She searched the plan and saw that Joachim's room was four doors away. Good. She hadn't forgotten about the contents of his aluminium case.
As she used the DNA face-recognition sensor to enter her room, she noted that her hospital used the same system -- the InterFace 3000. In her room she found a printed social schedule on the table beside the bed and a mask hanging on the door. It had two eye slits and was designed to cover the top half of the face. It was painted gold and gilded feathers hung on each side like flaxen hair. The top of the mask resembled the front of a Viking helmet with two mother-of-pearl horns. According to its tag, it had been moulded in a stylized likeness of Freya, the wife of Odin, chief of the gods.
Fighting off sleep, Isabella collapsed on the bed and read the schedule, which was printed in eight languages and began with a champagne reception that evening. Tomorrow there would be sleigh rides and helicopter trips to the Arctic Circle, followed by a New Year's Eve masked ball in the great hall. The wedding ceremony was scheduled for New Year's Day in the ice chapel. She changed her watch to local time, just after three o'clock.
Suddenly she thought of her father. His betrayal made her miss him more, not less. When he had died, her one consolation was that everything between them had been resolved. They loved each other and that was all that mattered. But now that he had made her doubt his love, her anger stopped her grieving properly. If only he had spoken to her about his project, perhaps she could have helped and guided him.
She set the alarm clock to wake her in three hours' time, then checked her luggage, which stood neatly by the door to the adjoining bathroom. She opened her suitcase, reached for her sponge-bag and looked inside. There were the foil strips of sleeping tablets she had used occasionally since her father's death, and the canister she had taken from the hospital. She unscrewed the cap and looked inside. The contents were a last resort and might not work, but if her worst fears were justified they were all she had. Then she lay on the bed and surrendered to sleep.
ELSEWHEREIN ODIN'S CRYSTAL PALACE, THE OTHERBRIDESMAIDS also slept, dreaming of strangers. The subjects of their dreams sat alone in their rooms, obsessing over photographs of the women they had been dreaming of recently. In a matter of hours they would meet the objects of their desire.
FOUR HOURS LATER
THE GREAT HALL AT VALHALLA HAD BEEN MODELLED ON AN upturned Viking ship, but as Helmut Kappel looked up at the huge ribs that formed the sweeping arched vault that supported the roof's curved glass panes he felt as if he was standing in the belly of a vast crystal whale. Tables laden with glasses and salvers of food lined the hall while staff in full Viking livery served food and drink to the guests.
A corpulent figure approached him through the throng and Helmut opened his arms in greeting. 'Feliks, good to see you.' He embraced the Russian, then steered the man towards a far corner of the room. 'There's someone I want you to meet.'
Fifty-eight-year-old Feliks Lysenko's expensively cut dinner-suit couldn't disguise his obesity. He had thick eyebrows and a thin moustache, and his bald, tanned head gleamed under the crystal chandeliers. His haunted dark eyes searched the room and finally settled on Kathryn Walker's face. Immediately an ecstatic smile wreathed his features.
Helmut smiled to himself. Love's poison weakened even the most ruthless mind. Soon he would teach the world how dangerous it could be.
'May I introduce one of Phoebe's bridesmaids? Kathryn's one of the New York Walkers.'
'I know,' Lysenko said, barely able to contain himself. 'Kathryn, may I introduce a friend of mine? Feliks Lysenko.' Helmut watched her step away from Isabella and Phoebe to greet the Russian. It was no surprise that Lysenko was delighted to meet her: even if he hadn't been under the influence of the drug Lysenko, the social pariah, would have drooled at the prospect of hobnobbing with a beautiful y
oung socialite like Kathryn. But it was her reaction that made Helmut laugh inwardly. Normally, he was sure, she would have greeted the arms dealer politely, then moved back to people of her own age and class. But now she looked at the short, bald, obese Russian with the shocked wonder that Phoebe had displayed when she had first seen himself at Odin's fashion show in Milan.
Helmut stepped back and watched one of the official photographers take a picture of the couple, with himself in the background. He had briefed all the photographers to ensure that his face appeared in at least half of the pictures. He turned to see Giscard Corbasson, the French pornography baron, striding through the crowd towards Gisele Steele, who had joined Isabella and Phoebe. From the look on Corbasson's face and the startled expression on Gisele's, no introductions would be necessary.
Helmut lit a cigarette and inhaled. Earlier, after talking to Hudsucker, he had primed the other target clients. Now each one was walking headlong into his dream, unaware of the nightmare to come. Nadolny was deep in conversation with Claire and after Helmut had steered Hudsucker to Isabella, Project Ilium would be poised for the final act.
True (2004) Page 21
