The Account

by Roderick Mann

  People were glancing at them.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Julia said.

  ‘You were with him last weekend, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Julia said quietly.

  ‘I knew it.’ His voice was thick. It was obvious he’d had several drinks already. ‘Where did you go? Some intimate hotel in the country; somewhere we’ve been together? Or does he have his own favourite love nest?’

  ‘We went to Corsica,’ she said.

  ‘Corsica!’ He gave a hoot of bitter laughter. ‘How romantic. I suppose he wanted to be sure no one saw you.’

  ‘It was a business trip for him.’

  ‘What was it for you?’

  ‘I wanted to see the island.’

  ‘Interesting, was it? What you saw of it. Or did you never leave the hotel room?’

  Julia knew she should get up and walk out. But she had instigated this meeting. She didn’t want it to end on a bitter note. ‘That isn’t worthy of you, Michael.’

  ‘Is what you’re doing worthy of you, Julia? Are you going to sit there and tell me Brand didn’t fuck you in Corsica?’

  ‘If he had it would be none of your business,’ she said.

  He looked at her accusingly. ‘God, how you must have laughed when I told you about going to Australia. “I’m thrilled for you.” Isn’t that what you said?’

  ‘I was genuinely pleased.’

  ‘So you’d be free to see your rich friend.’

  ‘That’s unfair, Michael.’

  ‘Is it? Is it? How do you expect me to react when I find the woman I’ve spent a year of my life with is bedding another man? You think he’s going to marry you, is that it? You think you’re going to inherit the Brand millions? Forget it. Mistresses always get dumped in the end. Don’t you read the papers?’

  Julia started to rise.

  ‘Sit down,’ Michael snarled. He grabbed her arm fiercely. Looking at his handsome face, now twisted with anger, Julia was shaken. It was like seeing a stranger.

  ‘Let me go.’

  ‘First tell me this,’ he said. ‘What’s he got that I haven’t? Apart from a hundred million or so? What is it? A bigger cock? Or are you just turned on by his private plane?’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ Julia said quietly. ‘I don’t understand it myself. I certainly never intended to hurt you –’

  ‘You didn’t intend me to find out, you mean.’

  ‘There was nothing to find out. I had dinner with him once. I went to Corsica with him for the weekend. That’s all.’

  Michael closed his eyes. Julia saw that he was close to tears. She reached out and touched his arm.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, pulling away. ‘You want me to be stiff-upper-lipped about the whole thing – right? May the best man win. The British tradition.’

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe nothing.’

  He covered his eyes with his hand. She felt anguished for him; angry with herself. He had every right to be furious. She felt a sudden need to make up for the hurt she had caused him.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Oh go to hell.’

  Julia got up and pushed her way out of the pub. She half expected him to follow her. But when she turned, the street was empty.

  Well, she thought, that’s the end of that.

  ‘You can’t wait any longer,’ Emma said. ‘You’ve got to make a decision about that conference in Mexico.’

  Julia had not slept well after her meeting with Michael. She felt tired and dispirited.

  ‘Remind me.’

  ‘They want you to speak on public relations and the hotel business.’

  Julia glanced out of the window. It was a dull, grey day with rain threatening. ‘Call them,’ she said. ‘Say I’ll be delighted to participate.’

  ‘I told you not to tell Michael,’ Lisa said.

  ‘I didn’t. He knew.’

  ‘He didn’t know. How could he know? He was guessing and you fell for it.’

  ‘He asked if I’d seen Robert. What was I supposed to do? Lie?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that. Not to Michael.’

  ‘You’re hopeless,’ Lisa said. ‘You don’t deserve to succeed as a wanton woman.’ She paused. ‘Did he call you a rotten lying slut?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Men always call you a rotten lying slut if you go off with someone else. Don’t let it upset you.’

  They had been to see a film in Leicester Square. Both had hated it. On the way home they had stopped in Piccadilly for a pizza.

  ‘If you want my opinion –’ Lisa began.

  ‘I’m not sure I do,’ Julia said.

  ‘You’re getting it anyway. You shouldn’t have called Michael. That’s over. He’ll go off to Australia and meet one of those bronzed bimbos. You’re better off with Robert Brand.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘What the hell is going on at the bank? Why did that partner of Paul’s commit suicide?’

  Grace Brand glowered at her husband across the breakfast table. She was not a woman who liked surprises and his unexpected arrival in Acapulco the night before had put her in a foul mood. His explanation that he was on his way to South America and had decided to drop by to say hello had further irritated her. She knew him well enough to know he did not drop by anywhere unless there was a good reason.

  Brand put down his newspaper, frowning. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘The Herald Tribune had the story. It was that older man, the one who’s been with Paul from the beginning. He walked into the lake.’

  Brand, shaken, stared at her. ‘Di Marco? Was that the name?’

  ‘Could have been.’

  ‘Good God! How terrible.’

  Grace looked at him suspiciously. ‘You told me you’d just seen Paul. How is it you didn’t know?’

  ‘I saw him last month.’ Brand shook his head. ‘I can hardly believe it. Why would he have done such a thing?’

  ‘Who knows? But I’m concerned. It draws attention to the bank.’

  ‘Paul must be devastated.’

  ‘Unless it was his fault,’ Grace Brand said caustically. ‘It probably was. I’ve never trusted that bastard. He’s a devious son of a bitch.’

  Brand passed his hand over his eyes. He felt a slight headache coming on. ‘I’ll call him when I get back to London,’ he said. ‘See what I can find out.’

  Grace rose, her caftan billowing behind her. ‘I thought you were en route to South America?’

  ‘Then I fly back to London.’

  ‘You’re spending a lot of time there these days,’ she said. She made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice. ‘What’s the attraction?’

  ‘It’s the base for our European operations,’ Brand said.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ she said. She paused by the door. ‘I have some people coming to dinner tonight at nine. Will you be joining us?’

  ‘If that’s all right?’

  ‘Please yourself,’ she said.

  People claimed that Acapulco had the most beautiful bay in the world; more spectacular, even, than Rio de Janeiro. Brand had never cared for the bay or the town. It might prove a welcome sight to sun-starved travellers arriving from wintry Europe or Canada, but the fierce sun and heat always drained him of energy. And the chasm between wealth and poverty depressed him. If you lived in the Las Brisas area it was easy to convince yourself that the place was as glamorous as the travel brochures proclaimed. A trip down the hill into the teeming town would quickly disabuse you.

  It was twenty-five years since Brand and his wife had completed Casa Shalimar. It had six guest houses, each with a private swimming pool. The marble-floored living area was completely open on one side to the sea. There was a dining room seating sixty and a smaller eating area, down by the rocks, that boasted a giant aviary of exotic tropical birds. House and Garden had called it ‘one of the most extraord
inary houses in the world’. Brand, who had become a Mexican resident and built the house solely for tax purposes, now spent as little time as possible in the place. There was a good reason.

  He could not bear to be near his wife.

  Finishing his breakfast he retreated to his air-conditioned office to finish the newspaper. But he was preoccupied. Since flying down the night before he had found his thoughts turning more and more to Julia Lang. Only once in his thirty-five-year marriage had he attempted to make a break from his wife. Determined to marry Jane Summerwood, he had flown to Acapulco to plead with Grace. He had been utterly shocked by the fury she unleashed on him.

  ‘You treacherous bastard!’ she shrieked, striking him across the face, a blow that resulted in deep scratches down his cheek. ‘You think you’re going to walk out on me after all this time? Think again.’

  ‘She’s pregnant,’ Brand said quietly.

  For a moment he feared she would have a stroke. Her face went mottled; her eyes seemed to glaze over. ‘After what you did to me, you dare tell me that?’ she shouted. ‘You dare? She can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned. She’ll never have your name. Never.’ Her eyes, flecked with red, filled with hate. ‘Leave me, and your whole goddamn empire will crash down around your ears. You hear that?’

  A month later, after Jane had been found murdered in London, Grace had called him in New York.

  ‘There is a God,’ she crowed. ‘The whores of the world do get punished. Now what are you going to do?’

  Repelled and nauseated, Brand had hung up on her.

  Now here he was again. Trying for the second time. Since his trip to Corsica with Julia, he had determined to make one last effort to lead a normal life, to have a marriage, perhaps even a child, with a woman he cherished. He had intended to bring up the subject over breakfast. Grace’s mood had made that impossible. And the news about di Marco’s suicide had distressed him, for he had liked the old man.

  He sighed, looking out of the window at the bay. The subject of divorce, he realized, would have to wait for another time. Meanwhile he was stuck in the house and would have to endure another of his wife’s dinner parties. He prayed they could get through this one without one of her drunken outbursts.

  There were only six at dinner, for which Brand was thankful. He knew two of the guests: a Mexican politician of dubious morality and an Argentinian polo player who seemed to be a permanent house guest in Acapulco. Grace introduced the others, one of whom – a Canadian Member of Parliament turned novelist – seemed to have strong views on every subject that came up. Over the vichyssoise he pontificated about the failure of the United Nations. During the main course he informed everyone just where China was heading. Over dessert he bemoaned the abysmal state of education in the United States. Coffee found him arguing about the merits of various ski resorts.

  Brand listened politely to it all, now and then interjecting a word or two, wondering bemusedly how Grace could stand this sort of thing night after night. It was no surprise that she drank so much, he reflected.

  As soon as he could, Brand excused himself from the table and retired to his study to work. An hour later Grace joined him there.

  ‘You were your usual gracious self tonight,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you bothered to show up.’

  Brand put down the report he had been reading and removed his spectacles. ‘I’m sorry if my social graces leave something to be desired,’ he said. He got up and poured himself a brandy at the sideboard.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Grace said sharply. ‘We do have servants, you know. Anyway, Dr Kiernan warned you about drinking after your heart attack.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Brand said. ‘All I’m having is one small glass of brandy.’

  He returned to his chair and glanced out over the darkening bay. The sea, unruffled, looked like a sheet of black ice.

  ‘You’re not looking at all well,’ Grace said. ‘Señor Guerrero remarked upon it.’

  ‘I’ve been under considerable pressure lately,’ Brand said.

  She looked at him mockingly. ‘Really. I understood you found time to take a cruise.’

  ‘I had a business meeting in the South of France,’ Brand said, surprised that she knew. ‘I took the Dolphin out for a couple of days.’

  ‘I hope they were enjoyable ones,’ she said.

  Brand met her gaze. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Grace, I have to finish reading this report.’

  ‘What time do you leave in the morning?’

  ‘About ten.’

  ‘I won’t see you,’ she said. ‘I have a massage at that hour.’ She moved towards the door. ‘You came here for a reason. What is it?’

  ‘I decided it was time we had another talk.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Our relationship.’

  She wheeled on him, eyes glittering. ‘You dignify what we have by calling it a relationship,’ she hissed. ‘You spend your time in London with your whores while I stay here alone. You call that a relationship?’

  Brand held up a hand. ‘Let’s not go over all that again.’

  She stood looking at him for a moment, then turned and swept out.

  The talk was definitely postponed.

  Chapter 18

  Brand had been gone five weeks. His business meetings in Buenos Aires had taken longer than expected, he explained when he telephoned Julia, but he would be back in New York soon, then fly immediately to London. Hearing his voice she felt the familiar tingle of excitement. How meagre her own life seemed by comparison. She realized for the first time how easy it was to fall in love with someone’s lifestyle. It was not just Brand who excited her; it was everything he did. Her own days at the Burlington now seemed almost intolerably pedestrian and monotonous. Sometimes, sitting at her desk, she found herself daydreaming, imagining herself accompanying Brand on these trips, meeting interesting people, sharing his glamorous life.

  Her work at the Burlington continued to frustrate her. Since the decision not to go ahead with Gustave Plesset’s private dinners she had seen Moscato only once. He had been icily polite. Meanwhile, word trickled down from the executive corridor that Chantal Ricci could do no wrong as far as he was concerned. She had been given a large expense account, was being allowed to eat regularly in the hotel restaurant – which Julia could do only when entertaining visitors – and had a contract giving her six weeks’ annual vacation.

  Julia felt angry and humiliated. Over lunch with Lisa she vented her feelings.

  ‘Listen,’ Lisa said. ‘Don’t let this Italian idiot get you down. So she’s got all these perks? So she’s editing the magazine? What do you care? It’s less work for you.’

  ‘If I had any pride I’d just walk out,’ Julia said.

  ‘Wrong. Make them buy out your contract. And walk away with a fat cheque.’ She scooped up the last of the spaghetti carbonara. ‘Talking about money, what news from the Western front?’

  ‘He called yesterday,’ Julia said. ‘He should be back in a week or two.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Lisa said. ‘Now maybe we’ll get a few smiles out of you.’

  Paul Eberhardt was feeling uneasy. Talking with Grace Brand on the telephone always upset him. He knew she was unstable – Robert Brand had confessed that much – but her call to him that morning had been particularly unpleasant. After a brief reference to di Marco’s death she came right to the point.

  ‘My husband says he came to see you. What did he want?’

  ‘Really, madame, you must ask him that. I am not at liberty –’

  ‘Now you listen to me,’ she said. ‘When I ask you a question I expect an answer. Is that clear?’

  She was talking to him as if he were some junior cashier. He was tempted to slam down the phone but dared not. He knew what a dangerous adversary this woman could be.

  ‘We discussed the movement of certain monies,’ he replied.

  ‘Be specific.’

  ‘I encouraged him to invest in Gulf A
cquisitions,’ Eberhardt said. ‘The stock is healthy.’

  ‘Never mind that. How much?’

  ‘Ten million dollars.’

  ‘Can he do that without my agreement?’

  ‘Yes, madame, he can.’

  ‘Has he done it?’

  ‘The paperwork was completed last week.’

  ‘From now on, Monsieur Eberhardt, you will advise me of all financial moves my husband makes. Is that quite clear?’

  Eberhardt was shaken. ‘Madame, I really feel that is something to be worked out between the two –’

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Yes, madame.’

  ‘See that you do it.’ The line went dead.

  Chapter 19

  Shielded from the fierce sun by a giant yellow umbrella Grace Stansfield Brand sat on the upper terrace of Casa Shalimar. She reached for the Tom Collins on the table by her chair and looked towards the bay where a large catamaran, crowded with holidaymakers, was passing below the house.

  Faintly she could hear the guide explaining over the loudspeaker that this was the home of Grace and Robert Brand and one of the showplaces of Acapulco.

  Everyone agreed on that.

  Grace had adored the Mexican resort since flying there to do a photo spread on the place for the old Life magazine. Teddy Stauffer had been alive then, the former Swiss bandleader who had almost single-handedly put Acapulco on the map by inviting friends like Errol Flynn and Howard Hughes to visit the town. Now it was one of the most glamorous resorts in the world.

  Normally Grace enjoyed her first drink of the day. But the phone call with Eberhardt had disturbed her.

  Robert, she knew, would never have flown to Geneva merely to discuss investments with the banker; he would have done that over the telephone. There had to be a more important reason for his visit. Was he attempting, yet again, to separate their financial affairs? There could be only one reason for that; he was once more trying to break away from her.