That meant another woman.
Julia Lang.
Could Robert really be serious about her? Was the Jane Summerwood story to be played out all over again?
Twenty years earlier Grace Brand had sworn to herself that Robert Brand would pay for what he had done to her. He had destroyed her life; it was only right that she should try to destroy his.
She finished her drink and went back into the house.
In his suite in Buenos Aires’ Alvear Palace Hotel, Robert Brand was feeling exhausted. He had just completed weeks of intensive negotiations to build a giant industrial plant near the town of Azul. It would employ 3,000 people. The negotiations had gone well but they had been long and wearying. He felt he could sleep for a week.
He reached for his dry martini and, looking down at the traffic in the wide boulevard below, thought about Julia back in London. He realized he was finding it more and more difficult to get her out of his mind. The prospect of losing her appalled him. But he knew very well that to someone as straightforward as Julia, it was inexplicable that he could not just walk away from his marriage and pay his wife whatever she demanded.
When he had first met Grace Stansfield she had seemed to him one of the most interesting women in New York. They had made a good trade. She gave him the entrée to New York society; he gave her the money to achieve one of her cherished ambitions – to become a prominent hostess.
It had worked for a while; until that terrible day twenty years ago when he had made the mistake that had haunted him ever since. After that Grace had never been the same. Her breakdown had turned her from a sophisticated companion into a madwoman.
The doctors who attended her at the clinic had advised him to commit her. ‘She will only get worse,’ they told him. ‘Your life together will become intolerable.’
Compassion had made him reject their advice; compassion and the knowledge that, crazed as she was, she still possessed the power to ruin him if he attempted to walk away.
Putting down his drink he went back to his desk to pack up his papers. The rest of the Brand Corporation negotiators had gone back to New York that afternoon. The next day he was due to fly to Lima for two days of talks with Government ministers. Then he would be back in New York, en route to London.
And Julia.
Three times during the past week Paul Eberhardt had seen the same green Volkswagen parked on the opposite side of the street to the bank. A short stocky man had been sitting in the driving seat reading a newspaper. Each time Eberhardt drove away, the Volkswagen had pulled out and followed him.
There was something else. Several times during telephone conversations he had heard a click on the line. The Bern Government, he knew, had long engaged in secret surveillance of its citizens, but never in his most paranoid moments had he imagined he too might be suspected of wrongdoing.
But there was no doubt about it: he was being followed. His phone was tapped.
When he got home that night he decided he would arrange a meeting with Maître Bertrand. Bertrand had many friends in the Government. He would find out what was going on. Comforted by that thought Eberhardt opened the safe and took out the can of film. It was Thursday, his evening at Madame Valdoni’s. He hoped the Oriental girl would be available again. She was really quite extraordinary.
Chapter 20
Six weeks after Brand had left for South America Bobby Koenig walked into Julia’s office. ‘Surprise,’ he said, thrusting a bouquet of flowers at her.
Her face lit up. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to invite you to lunch. Can you get away?’
‘You bet I can,’ Julia said, exhilarated by the arrival of Brand’s friend.
‘The Greenhouse at one. Don’t be late.’
Over lunch Koenig was in buoyant mood. He had, he told Julia, just raised the financing to shoot a movie in London. For the first time he was going to produce.
‘You’re the first person I’ve told,’ he said. ‘Even Robert doesn’t know yet.’ He chuckled. ‘By the way, how is the old villain?’
Surprised at the question she looked at him. Did he know about them? ‘He’s fine, I think. He isn’t here.’
‘I know that.’ Koenig laid a hand on her arm. ‘Julia, Robert is my best friend. We have no secrets from each other. I know what’s been going on.’
Julia felt a sudden rush of affection for this man who had introduced her to Brand. She leaned across the table and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Is it serious?’ he asked.
‘Is what serious?’
‘You’re prevaricating, Julia.’
‘I don’t know how to answer your question.’
He smiled. ‘You say yes or no.’
‘I don’t want to say anything.’
‘But you like him?’
‘What’s not to like? He’s a magician. He waves a wand and things happen. I’ve never known anyone like him. But you shouldn’t be asking these questions. Robert’s married.’ She nibbled at a piece of bread. ‘What’s his wife like?’
He thought for a moment. ‘She’s … well, she’s not like him at all. She’s volatile; full of verbal fireworks.’
‘But it’s not a happy marriage?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘He did.’
‘He doesn’t usually discuss his marriage.’
‘He did with me.’ Julia was pensive for a moment. ‘You don’t think they’ll ever divorce?’
‘I don’t think they can.’
‘That other woman, Jane Summerwood – I suppose you knew her too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was she anything like me?’
Koenig chuckled. ‘There’s nobody like you, Julia.’
‘So what have you found out from this expensive phone tap?’ Commissioner Bonnet peered at Cristiani over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
‘Eberhardt’s had a couple of interesting phone calls from Brand’s wife in Acapulco.’
Bonnet raised his eyebrows. ‘Interesting. How?’
‘She wants him to let her know every time Brand moves his money around.’
‘Does she indeed?’ Bonnet scowled. ‘What did he say?’
‘He told her no way –’ Cristiani began.
‘Good for him. The nerve of the woman.’
‘Then he backed off. Said he would. I think she’s got something on him.’
‘Like what?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. Why would one of our most eminent bankers even listen to that kind of talk?’
‘Perhaps because Grace Brand and her husband have millions stashed away in his bank.’
‘Even so. It makes no sense.’
Bonnet leaned forward. ‘You’re a suspicious bastard, Cristiani. That’s why you’re a good investigator. I’ll be sorry to lose you …’ He broke off as Cristiani pushed a paper across his desk. ‘What’s this?’
‘Expenses.’
Bonnet picked up the sheet. ‘Lunch with contact,’ he growled. ‘God in heaven, don’t you ever eat on your own?’
‘Not at the Lion d’Or,’ Cristiani said.
When he returned home that night Cristiani was struck by a sudden thought. He picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Journal de Genève. He asked to be put through to Berthe Heydecker, their chief financial journalist and an old contact of his. In the past he had given Berthe some good stories. Maybe now she’d have some information he could use in return. He invited her to dinner.
Chapter 21
Julia had never been late in her life. Now her period was three weeks overdue. She tried not to worry; she’d been emotionally upset recently; perhaps that had done it. She checked her calendar again. Had she forgotten to take the pill? No, she was sure of that. Puzzled, she telephoned her doctor in Wimpole Street. She liked and trusted Dr Grierson; he would put her mind at ease. She arranged to see him the following Monday.
‘It’s not possible.’
‘I’m afraid it i
s, Julia.’
Julia removed her heels from the stirrups and swung into a sitting position on the edge of the table. She stared at the young doctor, crisp and clean-looking in his white coat.
‘But I’m on the pill.’
‘It happens every now and again. No one knows why.’
I’m pregnant, Julia thought. She felt faintly sick.
Dr Grierson consulted her chart and asked a few general questions.
‘Take plenty of exercise,’ he said when he had finished. ‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t have a fine healthy baby.’
She left the doctor’s office in a daze and walked home. How could it have happened? It was unbelievable. The reality of it totally unnerved her.
Back in the flat she stripped and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. Was it her imagination or were her normally pink nipples turning a light shade of brown? She splashed cold water in her face and put on her robe. She was pregnant with Robert Brand’s child. He was married and had no intention of getting a divorce.
Dear God, she thought, what am I going to do?
‘What are you going to do?’ Lisa sat in Julia’s lounge studying her friend anxiously.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘There’s only one thing you can do. I’ll send you to my man.’
Julia stared at her. ‘I won’t have an abortion.’
‘You’re not going to have the child? That’s crazy.’
‘A lot of single women have children. Look at you.’
Lisa sighed. ‘I had Deena because I wanted her. And the Prince looked after me. Even so it hasn’t been easy. Not many men are willing to take on a woman with an illegitimate child.’
‘I’m not interested in another man.’
‘One day you may be.’
‘I can’t think about that,’ Julia said.
Lisa was silent for a moment. ‘When are you going to tell Robert?’
‘As soon as he gets back.’ She hesitated. ‘I just hope he doesn’t think I did this deliberately.’
‘Of course he won’t. It was just bad luck.’ She paused. ‘I still think you should get rid of it.’
‘The idea makes me sick.’
‘Maybe now. But just think about a few months down the line when it’ll be too late to do anything. You’ll have a stomach out to here –’ she stretched both hands in front of her – ‘what are you going to do then?’
‘He’ll look after me.’
‘Are you sure? You’d be surprised how many married men behave like shits when they find they’ve fathered an illegitimate child.’
‘You don’t know him,’ Julia said.
‘I’m sure it’s the romance of the century, Julia. But what do you expect him to do? Marry you and make everything okay? You know he won’t do that.’
‘He may change his mind when he knows about the child.’
‘Good. He’ll qualify for The Guinness Book of Records.’
Julia realized she was feeling nauseous; whether from panic or the pregnancy she had no way of knowing. What if Brand did turn his back on her? How would she support herself? She had a few thousand in the bank but that would not go far. She could sell the diamond necklace. The thought gave her some comfort.
‘You’re sure he is coming back soon?’ Lisa asked.
‘He said so.’
‘What if he doesn’t?’
‘What do you mean?’
Lisa sighed. ‘Look, my naïve and trusting friend, men like Robert Brand don’t always do what they say they’ll do. How long has he been away already? Six weeks? He’s hardly rushing back to you.’
‘He’s been busy.’
‘Yeah. Sure. Take my advice. Go and see my man in Harley Street. You’ll be in and out in no time. You don’t even have to tell Robert.’
‘I want to tell him,’ Julia said doggedly. ‘Don’t you see that? He’s never had a child. This might be his last chance.’
Lisa looked at her. ‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.
At their weekly lunch Maître Claude Bertrand had news for Eberhardt. ‘I have talked to people in Bern,’ he said, putting down his wine glass. ‘You were quite right. Your phone is tapped.’
Eberhardt’s face registered consternation. ‘But why?’
Bertrand looked gloomy. ‘There’s a fellow named Cristiani. Works for the Federal Banking Commission. Know him?’
‘We’ve talked on the phone.’
‘It seems he persuaded the people at the Justice Ministry to install the tap after di Marco’s death. He doesn’t believe it was suicide.’
‘But that’s absurd. The police closed the case –’
‘I know that, Paul. But Cristiani thinks it’s too much of a coincidence that the Leber fellow was run down and killed in Zurich last year and then di Marco was found drowned.’ He looked hard at Eberhardt under his bushy eyebrows.
Eberhardt took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
‘The man must be mad. Is that who’s been following me? The Volkswagen?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why is this man hounding me?’ Eberhardt tried to instil outrage into the question. ‘He has no police powers.’
‘I can’t answer that question, Paul.’ Bertrand broke open another roll. ‘But if I were you I would be very discreet for a while.’ He glanced enquiringly at his friend. ‘There’s nothing going on at the bank, is there? Nothing untoward?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
Chapter 22
Albert-Jean Cristiani had been married once, to a woman named Juliette, who had left him after five years for a Turkish diplomat. Since then Cristiani had sworn off women and kept his distance from Turkish diplomats. But tonight’s dinner was not a date; it was work. Berthe Heydecker was the best financial journalist on the Journal de Genève. She had good contacts in banking circles and always seemed to know what was going on. The Geneva press in general was notoriously protective of Swiss institutions and rarely printed anything scandalous about its banks. But Cristiani knew that, although they refused to print scandals, they were sometimes prepared to discuss them over a glass or two of wine.
On the few occasions when Cristiani took a woman to dinner he liked her to be attractive, interesting, sexy and to smell good. Berthe Heydecker failed on all four counts. She was ugly, boring, unsexy and smelled slightly of sour milk.
He just hoped she was going to be able to help him. Particularly as the Lion d’Or was her choice. The famous restaurant boasted many great dishes, among them loup à la vapeur au gingembre. She was sure to have that, he thought. And Bonnet was sure to go through the roof when he saw the bill.
The restaurant was filled with good-looking women and well-dressed men. Cristiani had put on his best suit for the occasion, a silver-grey number he had bought during the last year of his marriage. Berthe Heydecker was wearing an unattractive brown woollen suit, which fitted her poorly.
After the maitre d’ had placed them at one of the worst tables Berthe became animated.
‘You know the dish I absolutely adore?’ she said. ‘Loup à la vapeur au gingembre.’
‘Really?’ Cristiani said. In his mind’s eye he could already see Bonnet scowling. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had that.’
‘It’s absolutely wonderful,’ she said. ‘One of their specialities. I think I’ll have that.’
‘Why not?’ Cristiani said with a suggestion of bonhomie he was far from feeling.
‘What about you?’ Berthe said.
‘I’m not really very hungry,’ Cristiani lied. ‘I think I’ll settle for something quite simple.’ In the end he picked a plain lake fish and chose a decent wine, Aigle Les Muraille, to accompany it.
For several minutes they discussed the weather, the large number of Arabs in town and the high cost of living. Then Cristiani got to the point. Had Berthe heard any rumours about the Banque Eberhardt?
‘Such as?’
‘Anything at
all,’ he said.
‘Since di Marco’s suicide, you mean?’
‘I don’t think it was suicide,’ he said.
She frowned. ‘Oh come now, Albert-Jean. The police had no doubts.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘Neither does Commissioner Bonnet. I’m not so sure.’
For the next five minutes he catalogued his suspicions for her.
‘I’d forgotten about André Leber,’ she said. ‘I suppose that does make it a bit odd.’
‘Two of his top men,’ Cristiani said. ‘Dead within a year.’
‘In suspicious circumstances.’
‘Di Marco was going to tell me something,’ Cristiani said. ‘He called to set up a dinner. Then he was found drowned.’
‘What do you think he wanted to talk about?’
‘No idea. Maybe the bank’s in trouble?’
‘Surely not? They’re very solid. Some huge accounts there – Marie de Boissy … Paul Hoffman … Robert Brand. Brand was here, by the way, just the other day.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Seeing Eberhardt, I was told.’
‘I wonder what brought him to Geneva?’
She tittered. ‘Perhaps he wanted to be near his money.’
‘I wouldn’t mind being near it myself,’ Cristiani said. ‘I wonder what he’s worth.’
‘Billions,’ Berthe said. ‘Of course, the Brand Corporation uses Chase Manhattan in New York. It’s Brand’s personal fortune that’s here with Eberhardt.’
‘You ever meet Brand?’
She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t give interviews. At least I’ve never read one.’
Cristiani dissected his fish. ‘Would you automatically hear if there was something brewing at the bank?’
‘I imagine so. I know people there.’
‘Alain Charrier?’
‘No. He’s very close-mouthed. Most of my information comes from people lower down the ladder.’
‘Charrier’s been there for some time?’
‘Thirty years or so. Since he left Credit Suisse.’
‘I’ll say one thing for Eberhardt,’ Cristiani said, ‘the people around him are very loyal.’
‘Very.’
Cristiani poured her another glass of wine. ‘What about Eberhardt’s start here? Know anything about that?’
The Account Page 11
