The Account

by Roderick Mann

  ‘Calder is right,’ Lazlo said. ‘China will be a capitalist society one day. What’s their population? Over a billion. That means millions of Chinese businessmen fighting to get seats on the airlines.’

  ‘It’s an alarming thought,’ Julia agreed.

  As the evening wore on the discussion between the two men became more and more animated. Julia found herself becoming weary. She glanced at her watch and was astonished to see it was past midnight. Several people were on their second brandies. One or two had already left. She glanced down the table to catch Lisa’s attention but saw she was deep in conversation with the Sultan.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s past my bedtime,’ she told the two men. ‘I must be off.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Lazlo protested. ‘You don’t have to work.’

  ‘I’ve a lot to do,’ Julia said. She said goodnight and made her way to the other end of the table.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ the Sultan said, rising. ‘Lisa had just persuaded me to go to Annabel’s for a nightcap. Though in my case it’s soda water. You won’t join us?’

  ‘Another time, perhaps,’ Julia said.

  She said goodnight to Lisa, who gave her a cat-like smile, and went with Simon to the door. He stood with her until a taxi came by.

  ‘You should come to all my dinner parties,’ he said. ‘You illuminate the room.’

  Julia laughed. ‘I think Lisa was doing the illuminating tonight.’

  ‘She’s certainly exuding fairly high wattage,’ Simon said. ‘She and the Sultan seem to have hit it off quite splendidly. It will be interesting to see how that develops. And, knowing Lisa, it will develop.’ He looked carefully at her necklace. ‘Nice bit of jewellery, that,’ he said. ‘A present?’

  ‘A present,’ Julia said.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said. He took her hand. ‘Lisa tells me Michael’s off to Australia.’

  ‘He’s been offered a great job there.’

  ‘You’ll miss him. You’ve been together some time.’

  ‘Please, Simon, I don’t want to talk about it.’ She kissed him on both cheeks. ‘You give wonderful dinner parties,’ she said. ‘Invite me again.’

  ‘Count on it,’ he said.

  As the taxi turned round Hyde Park Corner and headed up Park Lane Julia sat back against the cold leather and thought about the evening. When she recalled what Lisa had told the Sultan about her relationship with Moscato she mentally cringed. How could she have been that crass? He might be ‘George’ at a dinner party but he would most certainly revert to being the Sultan of Malacca, all high owner of the Burlington, next morning. Oh well, she thought, what’s done is done.

  When she entered her bedroom the light on her answering machine was winking. She pressed the playback button, half fearful of what she might hear, half hopeful.

  It was Robert Brand.

  ‘We’ve just left New York, Julia. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  She slept badly, disturbed by fearful dreams. By six she was wide awake, standing in front of the window, watching dawn creeping over the rooftops.

  At seven she called the hotel and spoke to the duty receptionist. ‘Do we have a booking for Robert Brand today?’

  ‘Came in last night. The Empire Suite. Same as last time.’

  He’s back, she thought. Incredible. He’s back. But anticipation was tinged with dread. Had Lisa been right? Would he be horrified to find out she was pregnant?

  Chapter 25

  They had arranged to meet at the flat at four o’clock. Brand would stay only a short while, he said; he was tired and exhausted from the flight.

  As the hour approached Julia became increasingly nervous. She paced the floor, checking her watch, adjusting her hair. At five to four she was standing by the window, searching for a glimpse of the Daimler. When it finally appeared she was trembling so much she went into the lounge and poured a brandy to calm her nerves.

  The moment he walked in, her nervousness gave way to alarm. She stared at him, aghast. He seemed to have shrivelled. His gait was unsteady; his complexion cyanotic. He looked feeble and frail.

  ‘Dear God,’ he said, searching her face. ‘Do I really look that bad?’

  She laughed nervously, taking his hands in hers. ‘If only you knew how good you look to me.’ She led him into the lounge.

  ‘I’m weak as a kitten,’ he said. ‘Embarrassing. Let me sit.’

  She bunched some cushions behind his head. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. Despite the cool of the afternoon he was sweating. He lay back, looking at her; no longer the thrusting tycoon but a sick, ageing man, seeking strength and reassurance from a young, vibrant woman.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘I’d have come,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘It would have been too difficult,’ he said. ‘Grace came up from Mexico. I was in intensive care for five days.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘They thought I wouldn’t make it.’

  She gripped his hand tightly. ‘What do the doctors say?’

  ‘I have to have a bypass immediately. Quintuple. Otherwise …’ He broke off.

  ‘But that’s commonplace now, Robert. Lots of people have them. Everyone says how much better they feel afterwards. When … when would this happen?’

  ‘Next week. I’m supposed to be resting at home right now. But the hell with that.’

  ‘You took such a risk, coming here.’

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Jill Bannister told you what happened?’

  ‘You went to climb a mountain …’

  ‘I was such a damn fool. I’d been in Lima talking about building a resort down there. One of their ministers suggested a visit to Machu Picchu. Wasn’t enough to see it, though. I had to show off.’ He paused, breathing heavily.

  She poured him some tea. His hand shook as he took the cup.

  ‘My own doctor flew down from New York. He’s booked me into Houston for the surgery. Best heart men there, he says.’

  Julia took his hand again. ‘You’ll have the operation, Robert, and everything will be fine.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I wish my doctors were as certain. They say my ticker is a mess.’

  He put down the cup and let his head fall back against the cushions. Staring up at the ceiling he was silent for several minutes.

  ‘I did a lot of thinking, Julia. I’ve had two warnings; I won’t get a third. If I want to go on living I have to slow down, go for walks in the woods, lie on the beach, forget about business…’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘Did I ever tell you my father left me a lot of money?’

  Julia nodded.

  ‘All I had to do was leave it in the bank, let it grow. But no. I had to prove to myself I deserved to be wealthy. I spent the past forty years proving it; promoting the Protestant work ethic.’ He breathed hard. ‘Look where it got me – a gurney in a broken-down Peruvian hospital.’

  ‘I’ll go for walks in the woods with you,’ Julia said quietly.

  ‘I know you will.’ It was a whisper, hardly audible. He dabbed his forehead again.

  Julia leaned towards him. ‘I’m pregnant, Robert.’

  Brand seemed to stop breathing for a moment. He just stared at her, bewildered, a stricken expression on his face. Her heart sank. He doesn’t want to know, she thought. He’s sick and ill and he doesn’t need this.

  Then she saw his face change. He pulled himself up straight.

  ‘Ours?’ he asked.

  ‘Ours.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he said. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. ‘How wonderful.’

  She had guessed right. She felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She reached for his hand again. He clasped it tightly.

  ‘A baby,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake. I think that’s great.’ He paused. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ She smiled.

 
He shook his head. ‘Incredible. Here I am at death’s door and you’ve got new life inside you.’

  ‘You’re going to be fine, Robert.’

  ‘Damn right. I’ll get well. This calls for champagne. You still got that bottle?’

  ‘I have, but that’s for when you’re well.’

  ‘Then tomorrow. In the suite. We’ll celebrate. I’ll feel better then.’

  There was a buzz from the street door. ‘That’ll be Parsons,’ Brand said. ‘Time for me to go back and rest.’

  Julia helped him to his feet. ‘How long can you stay in London?’

  ‘I fly back Tuesday.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘Even if you came you couldn’t see me,’ Brand said. ‘Grace will be there. But pack your bags. Afterwards I’ll send the plane for you. We’ll go some place warm. Fiji, maybe. In the sun. The two of us.’

  She went down in the lift with him.

  ‘Come round at eight tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk some more and have dinner.’ He embraced her. ‘It’s great news. Such great news.’

  Julia stood on the edge of the pavement as dusk settled over London, watching the big black car until it disappeared from sight.

  The Empire Suite was the jewel in the Burlington’s crown. With its canopied terraces, marble floor, Persian scatter rugs, blue and white curtains and antique furniture, it would, Julia thought, have delighted César Ritz himself, the man who first conceived the idea of a hotel as a palace. Everything about it was calculated to impress, from the original art on its walls to the valuable objets d’art in the display cabinet.

  When Julia arrived via the service lift, she found Brand in a robe, finishing a telephone call. Some of his normal colour seemed to have returned. She was immediately encouraged. ‘You look so much better,’ she said.

  ‘I do, don’t I?’ He looked at himself in the wall mirror. ‘Nothing like fatherhood to restore one’s sense of purpose.’ He took her hands in his. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Terrific,’ she said. ‘Now.’

  ‘None of that sickness stuff?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  Brand handed Julia a packet of slim books from his desk. She looked at the titles: Childbirth Made Easy, Your First Child, Coping with Pregnancy. ‘Had them sent over from Hatchards,’ he said. He chuckled. ‘I read most of them last night. The things we put you women through.’

  Julia, touched by his gesture, kissed his cheek. ‘You’re going to make a great father,’ she said.

  ‘I hope so.’ He glanced at her, looking, for one brief moment, almost boyish. ‘Thought of any names yet?’

  ‘It’s a bit early for that.’

  ‘Good to be prepared. How about Walter if it’s a boy? My father’s name.’

  She tried it out. ‘Walter Brand. That sounds nice. And a girl?’

  ‘You choose. What was your mother’s name?’

  ‘Mary Elizabeth.’

  ‘I like that. Mary Elizabeth Brand. Goes well, don’t you think?’

  Could she use the surname ‘Brand’ if they were not married? She started to say something, then changed her mind. ‘Lang’ was good too, she thought. Walter Lang. Mary Elizabeth Lang.

  Brand relaxed into a corner of the long sofa and patted the cushions for her to sit next to him.

  ‘Did I make any sense yesterday?’ he asked. ‘All that rambling. I was so jet lagged.’

  ‘You made a lot of sense. It is time you slowed down.’

  He nodded. ‘Take time to smell the roses. Isn’t that the expression? But you can’t spend your whole day smelling roses. I’d still want to be involved with the company in some capacity. Advisory, probably. We’d have lots of time together.’

  The question could no longer be avoided. ‘What about your wife, Robert? Why won’t she let you go if the marriage is over?’

  ‘Because she’s a sick, crazy woman. She can’t be happy so she’s determined I won’t be either. That’s why you must never, ever, tell anyone what I’ve just arranged for you. It might get back to her. She seems to know every damn thing I do. Frankly, she scares me.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve just opened an account for you at my bank in Geneva.’

  Julia was instantly embarrassed. She had never been at ease talking about money. Face to face with Brand made it even more difficult.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that. I have my own money.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. But you won’t be able to continue here much longer. And having a baby is expensive.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘I read those books, you see.’

  An account in Geneva. The idea made her feel oddly sophisticated. She felt a wave of relief. Everything was going to be all right.

  Brand patted her knee. A fatherly gesture. ‘When can you leave here and come to New York?’

  ‘A couple of months, probably. I have to be fair to the Sultan.’

  ‘We’ll find a nice apartment for you. One overlooking the park …’ He broke off. ‘What were we talking about?’

  ‘Your wife. Saying nothing about the account.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Julia, my wife is seriously disturbed. She had a breakdown twenty years ago and has never recovered. Unfortunately our funds are hopelessly intertwined. We own the Brand Corporation jointly.’

  ‘A separation, then?’

  ‘That’s what we have now. I rarely see her. She spends most of the year in Acapulco.’

  Julia suffered a moment’s apprehension. ‘You said a moment ago she seemed to know your movements. Does she know about me?’

  ‘No. I’ve never mentioned your name. Never will.’

  ‘What about Jane Summerwood?’

  ‘I told her about Jane. I won’t lie to you, Julia. I’d hoped to marry Jane even before I found she was pregnant. When I told my wife she went crazy. She was like a mad person. When Jane was killed she called to gloat.’

  ‘That’s sick.’

  ‘That’s the way she is.’

  ‘But can nothing be done? Is there no treatment?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It’s scary,’ Julia said. ‘If she knew about my baby –’

  ‘She won’t,’ Brand said. ‘She’s never going to get near you. I promise you that.’ He rose slowly, steadying himself on the arm of the sofa, and went across to the desk. He scribbled something on a scratch pad. ‘Here’s the bank,’ he said, returning. ‘The Banque Eberhardt. Call them tomorrow. Get the account number. Talk to Paul Eberhardt himself.’

  ‘It might be easier if I transferred it to my bank here,’ Julia said.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Brand said. ‘Problems with tax. Leave it where it is for now.’

  ‘I don’t mind paying the tax,’ Julia said.

  ‘On $20 million?’

  ‘What?’ The word came out in a gasp. Julia felt her cheeks redden.

  ‘Take Eberhardt’s advice. He’s an experienced banker.’

  ‘Twenty million dollars?’ Her mind simply refused to accept the figure. She swallowed. ‘That’s a fortune.’

  ‘It’s a lot of money,’ Brand agreed. ‘I don’t want you or our child to have any worries.’

  Julia felt slightly dizzy. ‘I think I need a drink,’ she said.

  ‘Good idea.’ Brand reached for the phone and dialled room service. ‘Time we celebrated the good news.’ He ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. When the buzzer announced the arrival of the floor waiter Julia went into the bedroom.

  Twenty million dollars! She repeated the figure to herself, trying to make it sound real. With one telephone call – or was it a note? – the man in the next room had removed all her worries. She sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts in turmoil. Should she wait two months or should she just walk into Moscato’s office and fling the contract in his face? Why should she care about the Sultan’s feelings? He had already made it clear she would be out if there were any more complaints from Moscato.

  She heard the d
oor shut as the waiter departed and a moment later Brand walked in holding two flutes of champagne. His step seemed almost sprightly. She started to rise. ‘No,’ Brand said. ‘Stay right mere.’ He put the champagne flutes on a side table and sat beside her. ‘You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me,’ he told her.

  Before she could reply Brand took her in his arms and kissed her passionately, his tongue sliding between her lips. His robe fell open. She felt his arousal.

  ‘Come,’ he said. He tried to lift her dress.

  She pulled away, petrified. ‘Robert, we mustn’t. You’re still …’

  He shrugged himself out of the robe. Naked he seemed unbelievably sexual to her. No longer the sick and feeble man, but alive and virile. He kissed her again.

  ‘I need you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Now.’

  Overwhelmed, she put aside her anxieties, and undressed. Then he was all over her, kissing her neck, her breasts, her stomach. They fell back on the bed, Julia arching up as he thrust into her. He seemed, if anything, more passionate than in their previous encounter, almost oblivious to her as he strove to reach a shuddering climax. She held him then as he gradually quietened, feeling a great surge of emotion for this man whose wealth and power could do so little to help him achieve what he surely wanted: the chance to see his child grow up.

  They lay quietly for a long time until Julia, feeling him grow heavy, said gently, ‘Robert?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Robert?’ she said again, aware with growing alarm how heavy he had now become.

  No reply.

  As the truth slowly sank in she was paralysed with disbelief and panic. ‘Robert!’ She tried to shake him. ‘You must wake up.’ Pulling herself from under his inert body she sat up, rolling him over. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, his mouth fixed in a rictus halfway between a smile and a scowl. ‘Oh, dear God,’ she moaned. ‘Dear God, help me now.’

  She leaned over him, pressing her lips to his, breathing deeply. After a couple of minutes, two sweating, gasping minutes, as she felt his lips growing cold beneath her own, she knew it was hopeless. Brand lay dead. Her heart pounding in her chest, her face streaked with sweat, she reached down and tried to close his eyes. She could not.

  He was dead. The thought unhinged her thinking. They were both naked in his suite. The buzzer might sound at any moment with the arrival of the night maid. She had to get dressed. She had to get out of there. She staggered to the bathroom and stared at her face in the mirror, her eyes wide with horror. Overcome with nausea she bent over the toilet and threw up. For a moment she sat on the bathroom floor, shivering, her mouth sour. Then, rising shakily, she wiped herself clean and rinsed her face in cold water. Retrieving his robe from the floor she covered him, trying not to look at the dead eyes, which seemed to be shrinking into their sockets.