The Account

by Roderick Mann

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Moscato says your paths have crossed before.’

  ‘When he was Managing Director at the Palace on Lake Como I was a replacement receptionist one summer.’

  ‘So whatever took place between you happened there?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him, sir.’

  ‘I intend to. I want to get to the bottom of this.’ The Sultan sat forward on the sofa. ‘Look, Julia, let me be frank with you. The Burlington is not doing as well as I’d hoped. I have invested millions in it; it is, you might say, my folly. I came into the hotel business too late – I know that now – when the cost of rooms was going up and business was going down. There are just too many hotels.

  ‘My financial advisers want me to sell the Burlington to one of the big groups. I am reluctant to do that. So Moscato is my last hope. He made a great success of the Palace on Como; I intend to give him the chance to do the same thing here. If he fails the hotel will go on the block. It’s as simple as that.’ He sat back. ‘That’s confidential, of course.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m sorry to hear all that, sir. This is a fine hotel.’

  ‘But it’s losing money. I am a businessman, not a philanthropist.’ He got to his feet. Julia rose too. ‘I have high hopes for Moscato,’ he said, walking with her to the door of the suite. ‘That is why I want you to settle your differences. Will you try?’

  Settle her differences. Her differences? Why didn’t she come right out with it and tell him the truth? The man you’ve hired to run this hotel raped me when I was just seventeen years old. And you expect me to forget about it? Not a chance.

  She took a deep breath. She could not tell him. He was her employer. This was too personal.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Goodbye to you.’

  Chapter 14

  Julia had agreed to have a drink after work with Bryan Penrose, who was soon to marry Pam Helmore, the Burlington’s chief cashier. She did not get home until nine o’clock. She was deeply discouraged. Any hopes that she would be able to work alongside Guido Moscato, despite her loathing for him, had been dashed by her meeting with the Sultan. Moscato would go on complaining about her and eventually the Sultan would pay off her contract. She would be out. The thought depressed her. The Burlington had been her home and her pride for so long she could not envisage working anywhere else. Now she had to face the fact that her days there were numbered.

  Even if she went back to see the Sultan and told him what had happened on Como, what good would that do? He was not about to remove Moscato. He would once again offer her the job at the Royal Malaysian. If she turned it down, that would be the end of it. Perhaps, she thought, she should seriously think about Robert Brand’s offer to go to New York. At least she’d be working for a friend.

  After taking a hot shower she considered getting straight into her robe. But it was too early to wind down, she knew, so instead she put on her tracksuit and running shoes and, feeling virtuous, set off for the streets around nearby Regent’s Park. On the way home she stopped at the deli at the top of the road to pick up a pasta salad.

  The red light on her answering machine was steady when she returned but she pushed the playback button just in case. No messages. She had not heard a word from Michael since their dinner at the Connaught. And she had not called him. Sitting in the kitchen, eating her salad, she wondered how Robert Brand was getting on in Scotland.

  Just then the telephone rang. It was Brand, calling from the plane.

  She felt a rush of excitement. ‘How was Scotland?’

  ‘Wet.’ He sounded so chipper she found herself smiling for the first time that day.

  ‘You know what someone called Scotland?’ she said. ‘A 400-mile car wash.’

  She heard Brand’s throaty laugh at the end of the line.

  ‘I had a thought,’ he said. ‘I have to fly to the South of France this weekend for a business meeting. I wondered if you’d care to come down, see the yacht. We could talk more about your move to New York.’

  Out of the blue – literally – there it was. Just what she needed. A couple of days out of wintry London. Two days not to think about her rows with Moscato or her problems with Michael. Two days to forget about her cool meeting with the Sultan.

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ she said. ‘When would we leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow around 10 a.m. That’ll get us there in time for lunch. Back sometime Monday.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll pick you up at nine.’

  Julia called Emma to say she was feeling unwell and might not be in on Monday. Then she did a little dance around her bedroom. Amazing, she thought. I’ve had a hell of a day. Yet all it needs is one phone call and I’m glowing.

  The Gulfstream IV, its gleaming white fuselage broken by a dark blue streak down each side, was parked in the private section of Luton Airport. Two pilots, both wearing neat blue uniforms, stood at the bottom of the steps waiting for them.

  There were no formalities. Parsons drove the Daimler straight out to the plane, the luggage was loaded and they went aboard. The steward, a tousle-haired young man, also in uniform, collected their passports and showed them to an Immigration officer who had sauntered out to the plane. He merely glanced at them and waved.

  The interior of the plane was comfortable but not particularly opulent. There were no regular airline seats. Instead, two large swivelling armchairs, in blue and gold, were placed on either side of the aisle. Behind one of them were two chairs on either side of a small conference table. At the rear was a banquette capable of seating three people or turning into a bed. Behind that were the galley and toilet.

  ‘I’ll show you the flight deck later,’ Brand said. ‘We can travel 5,000 miles nonstop. It’s so computerized it can be programmed to take off and fly automatically from one runway to another.’

  Determined not to appear too impressed, Julia nodded gravely. He was like a small boy, she thought, showing off his most expensive toy.

  As the plane made an effortless climb to 40,000 feet above the wintry English countryside, Julia closed her eyes and sat back. She felt spoiled and cosseted. Once, she reflected, crossing by ferry from New Haven to Dieppe for a week at a small Left Bank hotel in Paris had been her idea of a great adventure. Now here she was flying in a multimillion-dollar jet. Would this trip be any more memorable than those long ago jaunts to the French capital when, carefree and happy, she had walked the boulevards with boyfriends and lingered over coffee at pavement cafés? Well, she thought, I’ll soon find out.

  Even in France, it seemed, Brand’s name carried weight. They landed at Nice at midday and were escorted through Immigration by a courteous official who, bypassing Customs, led them straight to a waiting car.

  Julia had been to the South of France with Michael, staying in the mountain village of Eze, but she knew little of the history of the region. Brand, on the other hand, seemed to possess a detailed knowledge. After lunch, as they drove along the Promenade des Anglais, he kept pointing out places of interest.

  ‘That’s the Regina; once the grandest hotel in all Europe. Now it’s a condominium. Matisse stayed here. So did Queen Victoria. She used to ride her donkey, Jaquot, up and down this street with footmen walking ahead calling out: “La Reine passe!” Hard to imagine, isn’t it?’

  On the drive along the seashore, past the restaurants and beach pavilions now shut for the winter, Julia determined that, however spectacular Brand’s yacht proved to be, she would act like a sophisticated woman. But when she saw the all-white yacht in Monte Carlo harbour her resolve to behave like a femme du monde crumbled. To her The White Dolphin looked enormous. She had no way of comparing it to other famous boats she had read about, but the size and opulence of Brand’s yacht astonished her. Brand had explained that he rarely used it more than once or twice a year. She found this extraordinary. The idea that he should maintain a hugely expensive yacht for the infrequent visit, much as a Londoner might keep a Rolls
-Royce in his garage on the off chance of needing it for the occasional weekend in the country, seemed to her preposterous.

  After boarding, while Brand went to his study to make some phone calls, the captain, a ruddy-faced former Royal Navy man named Alistair Buchanan, took her on a tour. She learned there was a crew of thirty, including valets, a masseur and two chefs. There was a small cinema, a swimming pool and gymnasium.

  Her own stateroom was carpeted in white, with a king-size bed facing a large picture window. On its elaborately decorated headboard a panel of buttons controlled the curtains and lights. One entire side was composed of wardrobes. When the maid allotted to her, Sylvie, explained how everything worked – at the touch of a button the outer wall lowered hydraulically, forming a platform from which she could dive straight into the sea when they were at anchor – she gave up all pretence of being unimpressed.

  After Sylvie had unpacked and put her things away, Julia went around inspecting everything. Until that moment, she realized, she had not really faced the truth about Robert Brand. He was a titan. He owned this sea-going palace. It gave her the uneasy feeling of being a trespasser. This was Grace Brand territory. It went hand in hand with great wealth, private planes, armies of servants and opulent villas. It had absolutely nothing to do with her.

  Yet here she was.

  She changed into a white off-the-shoulder dress and put on rope sandals. She was about to leave the suite when Brand came to get her. He was wearing white cotton trousers and espadrilles and a French matelot’s jersey that left his tanned, muscular arms bare. He looked considerably younger than his years.

  ‘Got everything you need?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘What do you think of her?’

  ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘She’s an ostentatious old tub. She was Grace’s idea; not mine. Grace never cared for Ari Onassis and wanted to cap his yacht, the Christina. So we got The White Dolphin, fifteen feet longer than Ari’s yacht. Silly, really. I use her mostly for business meetings; makes the tax man look more kindly on us.’ He took her arm. ‘Let’s go up and have our welcome drink.’

  They took the lift to the deck bar where a steward was waiting with a flute of champagne and a glass of orange juice. Brand took the flute and handed it to Julia. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’ve got two and a half days. Where would you like to go?’

  ‘You decide.’

  ‘What about Corsica? You know the island?’

  Julia shook her head, instantly excited. It seemed anything was possible with this extraordinary man.

  ‘Then Corsica it is.’

  ‘What about your business meeting?’

  ‘I’ll wrap that up this afternoon.’

  Around 2.30 p.m. a heavy-set man in a grey business suit came aboard. While he and Brand had their meeting, Julia went up on deck for a swim in the heated pool. Afterwards she set out to explore the yacht properly. Brand, she found, was still in his study, talking. The door was open. She peeked in.

  Brand looked up and smiled. ‘Ah, Julia, come in. We have just finished. Let me introduce you. This is Hans Siebel of the Deutsche Bank.’ He turned to the man and introduced Julia in fluent German.

  The German bowed. ‘Angenehm,’ he said, beaming.

  He and Brand wound up their conversation in German and then Herr Siebel shook hands with them both.

  After he’d gone Brand ordered tea.

  ‘I didn’t know you spoke German,’ Julia said.

  Brand shrugged. ‘A smattering. It helps in business.’

  Julia, who had attended a summer course in Heidelberg after she left school, wondered why he was being modest. His German accent was faultless and he was clearly fluent in the language. She had heard enough to know that. She was puzzled for a moment. Then, excited by the prospect of the cruise, she quickly put it from her mind.

  While Brand finished a report Julia returned to her stateroom and took a nap. She awoke to the sound of mooring lines being brought aboard as the yacht was prepared for sea.

  Rousing herself, she went into the bathroom and drew a bath. The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the suite with heavy Turkish towels, expensive-smelling soaps and cosmetics of every make. Robes embroidered with the logo of the yacht, a leaping white dolphin on a blue background, hung behind the door. As she lay in the tub, soaping herself, for a fleeting moment she wished the people at the Burlington could see her. She dismissed the thought as unworthy, an adolescent desire to show off, but it remained at the back of her mind.

  At seven o’clock there was a knock on the door. It was Sylvie. ‘Madame would like me to help her dress?’

  ‘What? Oh … no.’ Julia felt embarrassed. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  This is the way to live, she thought, as the maid made a small curtsey and withdrew. No more problems. No more doing dishes. No more waiting for taxis. No more Moscatos. She smiled to herself and started to dress for dinner.

  After a cocktail in Brand’s study, they adjourned to the dining room, waited upon by white-jacketed stewards. The meal – cold salmon and asparagus, with strawberries and cream for dessert – seemed to Julia just perfect. After the stewards had cleared away, she and Brand took their coffees to the aft deck and, wrapped up in blankets, lay side by side on the chaises longues.

  Lying under a sky studded with bright stars Julia felt deeply content. When I am old, she thought, I will remember this night. She tested herself for guilt and felt none. Cold wintry London, with all its problems, seemed to belong to another life. This man beside her, like some Oriental magician, had transported her to a different world.

  ‘You could sail round the world in this,’ she said.

  ‘You could,’ Brand agreed.

  ‘Do you fancy the idea?’

  ‘By myself? I’d be bored stiff.’

  ‘Then make up a group. A few friends.’

  ‘I did that last year. Spent a month cruising the Mediterranean. By the time the cruise was over we were at each other’s throats.’

  Julia raised herself up on her elbow. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’

  ‘Not too personal, I hope.’

  ‘It’s about … well, what happened a year ago.’

  He hesitated. ‘You mean Jane Summerwood?’

  ‘You never mention her.’

  He looked at her levelly. ‘It’s a very unhappy subject.’

  ‘You’d rather not talk about it?’

  ‘No. No. It’s not that. It’s … well, for a long time I couldn’t … I couldn’t bring myself to even mention her name. Now it’s easier.’ He finished his coffee and put the cup down on the deck. ‘Look, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Julia. My marriage is a sham. But for many reasons I won’t bore you with, our lives are intertwined. My wife has warned me repeatedly that she could – and would – do me untold harm if I ever try to leave her.’

  Julia frowned. ‘What could she do?’

  ‘I can’t go into details, Julia. But believe me, she could do me great damage.’

  ‘But she couldn’t stop you divorcing her, not if you want to. Surely it’s just a question of money?’

  He shook his head. ‘It goes far deeper than that, Julia. It’s very complex.’ He was silent for a moment, looking out across the moonlit water. ‘But you asked about Jane. I was very much in love with her. When she found she was pregnant I went to talk to Grace. I hoped, I suppose, that she might be sympathetic. Instead she went berserk.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, you know what happened. Jane was murdered in London. It destroyed me. It seemed my last chance of finding happiness had been taken away.’

  ‘I gather they never found who did it.’

  ‘No. I made my own enquiries. They came to nothing.’

  ‘How awful for you.’

  ‘I lost interest in everything for a while. Then I had a heart attack. My doctor told me to ease up but I found that impossible. I took the cruise I told you about and went right back to work.’ He paused. ‘A sad little saga.’
He looked at her and rose. ‘I won’t be a moment. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  When he returned five minutes later he was carrying a small, slim case. He sat on the edge of the chaise longue. ‘Now may I ask you something, Julia?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘When we had that lunch in London I asked if you were involved with anyone. You said you were. But here you are on the yacht with me. Is your involvement not serious?’

  Julia hesitated before replying. Since their dinner at the Connaught, she realized with a pang, she had not even thought about Michael. ‘I’m very fond of the person,’ she said. ‘But, no, it’s not serious.’

  ‘Was he the man I saw you with at the Connaught?’

  She nodded. ‘Michael Chadwick. He’s a graphic designer. A wonderful one. He’s going to work in Australia.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear that,’ Brand said. ‘Soon, I hope.’

  Julia smiled. ‘Quite soon.’

  Brand finished his coffee. ‘I have to take a long trip myself after this weekend. I have meetings in Buenos Aires and Lima.’

  ‘Will you be away long?’

  ‘God, I hope not,’ Brand said. ‘I want to keep pressing you to come to work for me.’ He handed her the slim case. ‘Anyway, I got you something to remember me by.’

  ‘What is it?’ Julia felt suddenly nervous.

  ‘Open it and find out.’

  Inside the case a jewelled necklace sparkled against its black velvet base. She stared at it, dumbstruck.

  She met Brand’s gaze. ‘These are diamonds.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I can’t take this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well …’ Julia floundered for words. ‘It’s much too expensive. And …’ For a moment she was unable to put her thoughts together. ‘You don’t … I mean – This is the sort of gift you give a woman … you know …’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Julia looked again at the glittering stones.

  ‘Van Cleef and Arpels will exchange it if you don’t like it,’ Brand said. ‘Mr Duvall is the man there.’