Christian interrupted. ‘I say, do excuse me, you two. I see Belinda Ampher and her parents arriving. I’ll go and meet them.’ He straightened his cravat, turned the wheelchair and rolled off.
‘Uncle David, Doris and Kim should also be here soon and then we can go aboard,’ Diana said, taking hold of Nick’s hand. ‘Let’s go and stand over there by the wall, where it’s cooler, until they come.’
‘I wish we hadn’t come,’ Nick grumbled and pulled a face. ‘I’m not looking forward to this jaunt.’
‘Oh darling, why didn’t you say so before? Perhaps we can get out of it, make our excuses—’
Nick put a finger on her lips, ‘Sssh! I know you want to go, and I wouldn’t disappoint you for anything, darling. Besides it would look strange if we ducked out now. There’ll be plenty of other people to dilute his presence.’ Nick edged closer to Diana in the cool shadow of the harbour wall, put his arm around her. ‘And I’m always content when I’m with you, my love.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Yes. Yes, I know. Isn’t it wonderful to feel completely relaxed and happy with each other, whatever we’re doing?’
He nodded, smiling back, and then his face tightened perceptibly. ‘How’s Francesca?’
‘Even better today, and you saw how glowing she was yesterday, after she’d spoken to Victor. I never did get an opportunity to thank you, darling. That was such a sweet gesture on your part, getting us down to La Réserve and putting a call through to him.’
‘That was Vic’s idea, Diana. He was miserable about everything. Still is, if I know Vic.’ Nick gave Diana a keen look, then continued, ‘I know Francesca thinks it’s strange. I mean the way he left for London so abruptly on Sunday. But it was the best thing under the circumstances. After all—’
‘I think it’s a bit odd myself,’ Diana interjected quietly. ‘I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Cheska last night, but I really don’t understand why he had to fly off with Arlene. Surely she can sit down alone with his solicitors in London, to work out the details of the settlement. Victor could have stayed here until they finished, and then gone to London later to finalize things.’ Nick did not reply, and she pressed, ‘Well, he could, couldn’t he?’
‘No, that wouldn’t have worked,’ Nick said, keeping his voice as even as possible, not wanting her to detect his concern. He had been apprised of the manifold complications by Victor, who had concocted the story about resolving his financial differences with Arlene to appease Francesca, explain his sudden departure. Whilst there was an element of truth in this, Nick knew the situation was a hundredfold more complex than it appeared, and explosive. He did not envy his friend’s current predicament.
On an impulse Nick decided to tell Diana a few of the facts. ‘I think Victor ought to have been a bit more direct with Francesca than he has.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘No, no, don’t look like that. He has been honest, but only up to a point. He didn’t want to worry her, alarm her. But there’s a hell of a lot more money involved than either you or she realize, darling, and a number of annoying complications. That’s why Vic felt it was necessary to be there, believed it would be easier to work things out if he was present at the meetings.’ He paused to light a cigarette, went on, ‘He’d been extremely generous to Arlene and she had more or less agreed to the terms, then she started to demand a lot more. For instance, fifty per cent of his production company and his ranch. That’s hitting below the belt, as far as he’s concerned.’
‘Yes,’ Diana said. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘Those are the chief stumbling blocks right now. He just couldn’t leave these points to be settled by lawyers.’
‘I suppose he couldn’t,’ Diana stared at Nick. ‘He will be able to work it out, though, won’t he?’ she asked, looking troubled all of a sudden.
‘You bet he will.’ Nick spoke with firmness, whilst privately hoping he was right in this assumption.
‘That’s a relief,’ Diana sighed. ‘I’d hate to see Francesca hurt in any way. She’s very much in love with him.’ Diana pursed her lips, hesitated, then hurried on, ‘I know this might sound like an unfair question to ask you, Nicky darling, but do you think Victor wants to marry Cheska?’
‘He’s a close-mouthed guy, and he hasn’t actually come out and said so to me, but I do know he’s heavily involved with her.’ Nick shook his head slowly. ‘However, I honestly don’t think he’d ask Francesca to marry him until he’s free to do so, to go to her father. He’s aware of her age, and he wants to do everything correctly. I also know he wants his freedom, wants this divorce, and has for a long time, well before he met the little one.’
‘I trust your judgment, darling.’ Diana was positive Nick was speaking the truth, she also trusted Victor Mason. On the other hand, he was still married, and the difficulties about money and property were more serious and involved than she had realized. Sometimes, in this kind of complex situation, it was simpler for a man to remain married. She knew all about married men. Poor bets. No future. Nothing but heartache.
‘You’re looking thoughtful. A franc for them,’ Nick said.
A quicksilver smile gleamed on Diana’s face, and she began to laugh lightly. ‘You just called Cheska little one. I know you meant it affectionately, but I don’t think it’s quite appropriate. Actually, she’s pretty mature for her age. She behaved impeccably on Saturday. I’m not sure I’d have done so well, under the circumstances. She was crushed. Yet only you and I knew that. She presented a marvellous front, didn’t she?’
‘Breeding will out, Diana. She handled herself beautifully. I wish she’d agreed to come today. I don’t like to think of her being by herself at the villa.’
‘But she’s not. Katharine’s with her.’
‘Yes.’
Diana frowned. ‘Katharine’s been behaving rather strangely since Saturday, wouldn’t you say?’ Her eyes were quizzical.
‘Par for the course with her,’ Nick muttered. ‘Skittishness seems to be one of her characteristics.’
‘I think the poor girl is still upset about the accident with the dress,’ Diana said softly. ‘She believes we all think she did it on purpose. Well, except for Cheska. She insists Katharine did slip, and she’s been awfully sweet to her, trying to make her feel better.’
‘That’s your cousin for you. She always sees the best in everyone. But she’ll learn.’
‘Nicky, what a cynic you are!’
He shrugged. ‘I guess I am. You’ll have to love my faults as well as my virtues, and the prior far outweigh the latter.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, darling.’ She hugged him, stepped away and gazed into his face, then smiled her slow grave smile. ‘You know, Nicky, to tell you the truth, I’m inclined to agree with Cheska. I don’t think Katharine would be so mean… spilling red wine all over her best friend’s new evening gown. It’s a pretty ghastly thing to do, if it was intentional. I suppose I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. Why don’t you?’
The arrival of David Cunningham, Doris and Kim, along with Belinda Ampher, her parents and Christian, saved Nick the necessity of responding to this question.
***
Stewards in crisp white uniforms carrying silver trays glinting in sunshine. Champagne bubbling in the finest crystal. Mounds of Beluga caviar glistening darkly in huge bowls packed with ice. Guests strolling or chatting on the main deck. Familiar faces all. And Mike Lazarus presiding over the proceedings like a benevolent Roman emperor. Except he was not benevolent, so far as Nicholas Latimer was concerned. More like Caligula, Nick thought, eyeing Lazarus from a distance.
Nick looked down into the glass of champagne in his hand. He did not want to partake of this man’s wine nor his food nor his hospitality—all stuck in his throat. He had not forgotten the parting shot Lazarus had made that afternoon at the Ritz. ‘You’ll live to regret this, Victor. Truly, truly regret it. I’ll make damned sure of that, my friend.’ Nick shivered at the memory, his intuition telling him his friend had not heard the
last of the tyrannical megalomaniac. Nick detested him, was infuriated by his supercilious and condescending manner; nor had he forgotten the man’s rudeness to him personally. He wondered about Lazarus, about his sudden cordiality. Nick did not trust the tycoon.
Diana waved. She was being propelled by Lazarus to the lower decks, along with David, Doris, Kim and the Winter-tons. They were about to be shown the art collection. Nick had just declined the invitation to go with them. The paintings, like the food and drink, would choke him. He hovered next to Christian and Belinda, who were discussing music, for a few seconds longer, then excused himself and sauntered down the main deck, nodding to a few of the other guests, not stopping to chat. He wanted to be alone, to think. His mind was in a jumble. Momentarily he was preoccupied with Christian and his relationship with Belinda Ampher. They had been together constantly, appeared to be interested in each other. Nick hoped they were serious, not only because it would serve his purpose with Diana, but because he genuinely liked Christian, hoped he would find happiness with a woman.
Out of the corner of his eye Nick saw Hélène Vernaud talking to Beau Stanton. She was exquisitely dressed as always, in white linen pants, a canary-yellow silk shirt and masses of gold jewellery: a woman of taste, discernment and intelligence. So why is she involved with an odious man like Lazarus? To Nick they were poles apart. And yet she was now engaged to him, sporting the large emerald, acting as his hostess. She must have changed a lot, he muttered under his breath. But then, who hasn’t? Nick smiled ironically as he swung his glance over the numerous guests. It is getting very inbred, incestuous, he thought. Jake is right: some cast of characters. He would miss Jake, did already. Jake had flown off to London earlier that morning, making the excuse he was bored with the sun, the sea and parties. But Nick knew Jake felt he should be on hand in London, in case Victor needed him in this crisis. He too had volunteered to go along, but Victor had wanted him to stay here, to keep an eye on Francesca.
Nick thought of Arlene Mason and her schemes. He moved closer to the rail, leaned against it, looking out to sea, replaying the events of Saturday.
At about one o’clock in the morning, alarmed by Victor’s continuing absence, he had headed into the villa to call the hotel. He had run into Yves, who was coming to look for him. The butler had informed him, and apologetically, that Mr Mason had telephoned several times, asking for him. It seemed that one of the maids, hired for the evening, had only just relayed this information to Yves. Flying up the steps into the hall, he had dialled La Réserve and been put through to his own suite by the operator.
Victor had been encamped there, obviously boiling with rage and frustration, and trapped. He had said obliquely that Arlene was sick, that he had to stay with her. Victor had then asked him to apologize to David and Doris, had not mentioned Francesca at all. He had received the message loud and clear. His friend was not alone. He and Jake had returned to the hotel around four, riddled with curiosity, wondering what had really happened earlier.
And we soon found out, Nick now thought gloomily.
He had expected to find Victor in his suite, but not Arlene. Not at that hour. But she had been there, wearing a silver lamé evening gown, half a ton of diamonds, and a grim expression. Victor, tieless, in his shirtsleeves, his hornrimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, was stretched out on the sofa, smoking a cigar, sipping a Scotch and studying his script for the Western. It had struck him at the time that she might not have been there. Vic had appeared totally oblivious of her.
Flabbergasted, he and Jake had strode into the suite, to be greeted by a snotty comment from Arlene.
‘Your lonely vigil comes to an end,’ Victor had drawled in a cutting tone, finally glancing at her with disdain. ‘Nicholas will escort you to your suite. The revels are apparently over. You don’t have to play watchdog any longer. I’m going to hit the sack.’ Vic had jumped up, hurried into the bedroom, slammed the door.
In a boiling temper himself, Nick had rushed Arlene to Victor’s suite without uttering a word to her, then made a hasty retreat.
‘I saved the explanation until you were here, kid,’ Victor had said when he walked back into the rooms to find the actor and Jake in a huddle on the sofa. ‘I’m afraid I underestimated Arlene.’ Vic had grimaced, gone on, ‘I was signing the bill after dinner when she excused herself, went to the powder room. I sat there blithely planning an adroit escape, when I suddenly realized a good fifteen minutes had elapsed. I went looking for her. The concierge told me she had asked for the spare key and gone upstairs.’
Victor had paused then, had shaken his head dourly. ‘And that’s when I made my fatal error. I was about to slip out, beat it to the dance, when I remembered my briefcase. It was in my suite and unlocked. I didn’t want Arlene rifling through it, so I came up to get it. I found her clothes strewn all over, and Arlene herself already gowned and piling on the loot. You see, she knew about the dance—from Helene, who had mentioned it in passing on the drive from the airport. Arlene insisted on coming with me. We quarrelled, had a knock-down-drag-out fight. I gave up, said I was going to bed. She followed me to your suite, Nick, parked herself here.’
‘But why didn’t you simply blow?’ Jake had asked wonderingly, at this point in the story.
‘Oh, I thought about it,’ Vic had told them with a pained and weary smile. ‘But I knew she was hell bent on going, determined to make a stink, a scene, and I figured she’d get a cab, high-tail it after me if I left. So I settled in for the night. With the script. More or less ignored her. Refused to discuss anything with her.’ He had leaned forward anxiously then and asked with apprehension, ‘Now, tell me about Ches. Is she all right?’
Jake had said, ‘Nick here can fill you in better than I.’
And he had done so, not missing one thing, and when he had finished Victor had nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I knew she’d be hurt, disappointed. But I was trying to avert a disaster by staying away.’ Slowly, and in sentences liberally interspersed with colourful expletives, Victor had gone on to reveal the details of Arlene’s threats. He and Jake had listened carefully and with growing worry, but neither had been able to offer a possible solution to Victor’s dilemma.
Victor, however, had made his own plans. ‘I’ve decided to get her out of this neck of the woods, and pronto, before she can do any serious damage. Once we’re in London I think I can neutralize her, reason with her, negotiate.’
Jake had agreed this was probably the best course, then retired to his own suite. Nick and Vic had talked for a while, then Vic had written a note of apology to Doris and the Earl, plus a longer letter to Francesca. Nick had delivered both on Sunday afternoon, when Victor and Arlene were already on their way to the airport in Nice.
It’s a goddamn mess, Nick thought. In his anxiety to protect Francesca was Victor perhaps not underestimating the girl? He treats her like a child, when really she’s pretty savvy. Nick wished he was on shore, not on this goddamned boat. Ship rather. On terra firma he could use a telephone, talk to Victor in London, advise him to confide his problems to Francesca.
‘Pip pip! Hi there Nicholas, my darling!’
He swung around, saw Estelle, smiled, waved. Her company was infinitely less trying to him than that of some of the other imbeciles on board.
‘You look smart, News Lady,’ he said, his voice friendly. And she really did. For once her clothes were simple and tailored, less flamboyant than usual. She wore white slacks, a navy-blue sailor top, and a white cotton hat with a floppy brim perched on her bright red curls.
Estelle planted a kiss on his cheek and said, ‘I’ve been looking all over for Katharine. Isn’t she here?’
‘No. She decided to stay at the Villa Zamir. So did Francesca. I think they’ve had enough parties. Haven’t you? Aren’t they getting you down too?’
‘A bit,’ she admitted, then laughed breezily. ‘Still, socializing is my bread and butter, Nick. I pick up a lot of ideas for features and stories, getting around the way I do. And
talking of stories, have you seen Hillard Steed?’
‘No, I haven’t. Didn’t know he was coming. But then I guess he would be here. He’s pretty close to Beau.’
‘I’m hoping he’s going to confirm it. Do you think he will?’
‘Confirm what? I don’t follow you.’
Estelle looked at him in surprise, leaned closer, dropped her tone to a confidential whisper. ‘You mean you’ve not heard the rumours… about Mike Lazarus taking over Monarch Pictures? Or rather, Global-Centurion doing so?’
Nick gaped at her. ‘No, I hadn’t heard them,’ he replied at last, and thought: Nor has Victor. Oh Jesus! If that’s true, we’re up a creek. Victor had a whole series of pictures planned with Monarch. Not only that, the treatment of the screenplay he planned to write for Victor and Katharine Tempest was already in Hilly Street’s hot little hands. Oh Jesus!
Estelle was saying, ‘Hey Nicholas, you’re looking green around the gills. Are you ill?’ She peered at him.
‘No, of course not. I was just analysing the possibilities of the takeover, that’s all. Now, my sweet, let’s get you a glass of bubbly and go over there where it’s quiet and have a chat.’ He took her arm firmly, propelled her towards a remote corner of the deck, whisking a glass of champagne off a tray as a waiter passed them.
‘What about Hillard?’ Estelle protested.
‘You’ll find him later. He can’t very well get off and walk. We’re already halfway out of the harbour, or hadn’t you noticed?’
‘Yes,’ she giggled and snuggled closer. Giving him a look that left nothing to the imagination, she whispered huskily, ‘And what do you want to talk to me about, Nicholas, my darling?’
Nick merely smiled enigmatically.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
As the Artemis lifted anchor and sailed out of Monte Carlo harbour, its passengers gaily embarking on a day of merry-making, Francesca Cunningham sat on the terrace of the Villa Zamir.
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