Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  “That’s it,” she smiled. “I put half the profits in a special account for Wolfgang just as I promised him.”

  His voice was strained and strangely tortured. “You didn’t know?”

  “Know what?” Something in the expression in his eyes reached into her heart with a cold chill. Then she knew. Her clenched fist went to her mouth so that she wouldn’t cry. “Wolfgang is dead. When?”

  He put down the coffee cup with shaking hands. “Ten years. I thought you knew.”

  “I didn’t know.” Her voice reached for control. “How did it happen?”

  “He was killed by the Russians when they came to arrest him. He always said that he would not allow himself to be taken alive and tried as a war criminal. He was never a member of the Nazi party.”

  “He was supposed to be safe in the French sector. How did the Russians get him?”

  “Nobody really knows,” he said. “Apparently he went to a meeting in the Soviet zone.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Maurice knew,” she said. “He knew it all along.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  She met his eyes. “I do. He knew that if I learned Wolfgang was dead I wouldn’t stay married to him.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s over. I’ll divorce him.”

  “But the companies? Aren’t they in the Beauville estate?”

  She shook her head. “No. I kept them in my name. I had the feeling that if I ever did transfer them, Wolfgang would be the first to be cheated.”

  “That was lucky,” he said. He smiled suddenly. “You’re a rich woman now. Everything. It all belongs to you. You don’t owe anything to anybody. And I think that was what Wolfgang really wanted.”

  “Yes.” She remembered the gold louis in the vault in Switzerland. Even after they had lived there together, he had never asked her to give them to him. Or even place his name on the vault card. He had meant for her to have it all along. She felt the moisture in her eyes. Poor Wolfgang.

  “Are you all right?” Johann asked anxiously.

  She held up her hand. “I’m fine now.” No wonder Maurice was upset at Johann’s call. It was as if the day of reckoning had come. “You started to tell me why you wanted to see me.”

  He nodded. “I know of a company that is interested in buying the wine company for a lot of money. They want to take the company into retail sales.”

  “Should I sell it to them?” she asked.

  “Of course, it’s up to you. But I wouldn’t.”

  “What would you do then?”

  “What they plan to do. And make ten times as much money as the company is making now.”

  “But we deliberately stayed out of the public eye. We thought that the less attention we called to ourselves the better.”

  “That was ten years ago. But now nobody gives a damn.”

  She met his eyes. “I’m pregnant. In March, I’m going to have a baby.”

  Surprise echoed in his voice. “Then you can’t divorce until afterwards.”

  Her voice was strong. “I’m divorcing now. I won’t let a child of mine bear his name. After the divorce I’m going to America to have the baby. The father is American.”

  “Will you marry him?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “But I won’t be able to run the businesses myself. I still need a man in there.”

  He was silent.

  “What about you, Johann?” she asked. “That’s what you did for Wolfgang. And it would not be just a job, you would be a partner.”

  “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I might not be the right man for you. Basically I’m an accountant. You need someone more than that.”

  “We can hire anyone else we might need,” she said. “But you can’t buy trust. That only comes with time.”

  “No!” Maurice’s voice was shrill. He was near hysteria. “I won’t give you a divorce! I worked just as hard to make those companies as you did. You’re not just going to pay me off and throw me out! Just because you know you can keep it all for yourself.”

  “You make me sick,” she said, her voice cold with contempt. She rose from her chair. “Divorce or not, you’re out of the companies.”

  He stared up at her from behind his desk. His voice was quieter now. “It won’t be that easy for you. Under French law a wife’s property automatically comes under her husband’s control. I’ll hang you in court for twenty years. By that time the companies will be worth nothing.”

  “The hell with them! I don’t need them.”

  “You have a lifestyle you’ve become used to,” he said shrewdly. “You won’t be able to afford it anymore. And you’re not as young as you used to be. There are younger, fresher girls around. You’ll still be able to find a man to fuck with you, but you won’t find a man to keep you. When it comes to that, Tanya, you’re over the hill.”

  She looked down at him. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying we can approach this reasonably, calmly. Like two sensible adults, without flying off the handle and destroying ourselves in the process.”

  “And what’s your idea of working this out reasonably?” He took a deep breath. “First, no divorce. We stay married. There’s nothing wrong in that. It works for both of us. Money alone won’t keep you in the world in which you live if you relinquish the title. Tanya, Marquise de la Beauville goes a lot further than Tanya Pojarska, even if you should decide to use your former husband’s title, which at the moment is being used by at least three other people. Polish titles aren’t worth a sou for a dozen in Paris. Do you think that school in Switzerland would have even accepted Janette if it weren’t for the Beauville name?”

  She was silent. He pressed on. “You were prepared to give me twenty-five percent of the total net worth of all the companies in cash. That has to be somewhere between one hundred and one hundred twenty-five million francs. Instead of cash, you quit-claim one company to me; in exchange I will quit-claim the other two to you. That way our property rights will be clear and incontestable. And to show you that I am not greedy, I’ll accept the smallest company of them all. The mineral-water company. Its net worth is far less than the amount you would give me in cash.”

  She stared at him. “What makes you so generous?” she asked skeptically.

  “I’m not generous. Just practical. I need something to work at and something to save face. And I can live comfortably on the company’s earnings. Once that is done, we separate. I go my way, you go yours. And it becomes what it always has been. A marriage of convenience.”

  “Let me think about it,” she said.

  “What is there to think about?” He was more confident now. “At this moment, you’re angry. About many things. Wolfgang. Allowing yourself to become stupidly pregnant.”

  Surprise was in her voice. “How do you know about that?”

  “There are no secrets older than twenty-four hours in Paris,” he said. “So you’re angry and lashing out at the only one available to you. Me. What you don’t see is that in the process you are also hurting your own children. Janette and the unborn baby.”

  Again she was silent. He got to his feet. “Tanya,” he said quietly, “wouldn’t it make more sense for your child to be born de la Beauville than a fatherless bastard?”

  She was still silent. He managed a faint smile and a Gallic shrug of his shoulders. “Who knows? If you have a son, he automatically becomes the next Marquis de la Beauville.”

  For the first time since Janette had begun going away to school, her mother was not at the train station to greet her when she returned to Paris. René, the chauffeur, was waiting for her on the platform, his coat collar turned up against the Christmas-holiday cold.

  “Where’s Mother?” she asked as she came down the steps from the train.

  He reached for her valise. “She’s not feeling well, Mademoiselle Janette,” he said. “She is waiting for you at home.”

  “What’s the matter with her?” she asked,
falling into step with him.

  He shot her a curious glance. “It’s nothing serious,” he said evasively. She followed him through the station outside to where the black Rolls-Royce limousine was parked in a No Parking zone confident that no mere mortal gendarme would dare disgrace it with a contravention. He opened the door for her. She got into the car and he placed the valise in the front seat beside him and pulled the car away from the curb.

  It was rush hour and the streets were busy with people going home from work, and as usual traffic was backed up at every corner. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw her sitting forward in her seat, looking at the shop windows as they moved past. “The Christmas shopping rush is on,” he said.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “The météo says we might have snow.”

  “It’s been snowing in Switzerland since the last week in October.”

  “Have you been skiing?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “There’s not much else to do.”

  Then he ran out of conversation and they were silent until he stopped the car in front of the house. Before he had a chance to open the door for her she was out of the car and up the steps, pressing the doorbell. Henri opened the door and she ran past him with a quick “Bon jour,” up the steps to her mother’s room. Outside the closed door, she stopped and knocked.

  Her mother’s voice answered. “Entrez.”

  She opened the door and ran into the room. “Maman!” she exclaimed. Then stopped suddenly, her mouth partly open in amazement.

  Tanya saw the expression on her face. She tried to treat it lightly. “I’m really not that big yet. Only six months.”

  There was a shocked note in Janette’s voice. “But you never said anything to me.”

  “What was there to say?” Tanya asked. “These things do happen.”

  Janette’s voice was suddenly angry. “I’m not a child. You could have told me.”

  Tanya was silent, surprised at Janette’s anger.

  Janette searched her mother’s eyes. “He raped you. That’s why you didn’t tell me. You were ashamed.”

  “No, Janette,” Tanya said. “It wasn’t like that at all.”

  A note of repulsion came into Janette’s voice. “You mean you let him do that to you?”

  Tanya was silent. For the first time she really didn’t know what to say to her daughter. She found her voice. “Maybe you’d better go to your room and have a quiet relaxing bath. We’ll talk afterwards.”

  Janette’s lips tightened. “Once you told me you didn’t want any other children.”

  Tanya’s voice grew firm. “Do as I say, Janette. Go to your room. We’ll talk later when you’ve calmed down.”

  Janette turned and started for the corridor connecting their two rooms.

  Tanya stopped her. “Not there. Maurice’s suite has been redecorated for you.”

  “And who’s in my room?” Janette asked angrily. “Maurice?”

  “No,” Tanya said. “He doesn’t live with us anymore. The room is being fixed up as a nursery for the baby.”

  Janette stared at her, tears beginning to well into her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Mother!” she cried bitterly, turned and ran sobbing from the room.

  Tanya stared at the closed door. She heard Janette’s footsteps running down the hall. For a moment she thought of following her but then sank wearily into a chair. Janette would get over it. Later when she had calmed down they would talk, and Tanya would explain to her what had happened.

  But Tanya was wrong. Janette wasn’t waiting for an explanation. Instead of going to her room, she ran out of the house, took a taxi to the train station and made the night train back to her school in Lugano.

  “It will take two years,” Johann said. “Next year is impossible. Our entire production is already committed to our regular customers.”

  She glanced at the report in front of her and nodded. “Maybe it’s just as well. It will give us more time to develop the label and publicize it.”

  “I have several interesting possibilities,” he said. “There are two bottling plants on the market right now. I think we can get them for a price.”

  “Get into it,” she said. “And let me know.”

  “Another thing,” he added. “I think we should forget about the domestic market. We’d have to fight our way through the established wineries, and you know the French. Snobbery and tradition, they don’t like to change. My feeling is that we should aim at America. The wine market there is just beginning to open up and we can compete pricewise in their medium range. A French label there is instant status.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “There are several large American distributors already interested. Schieffelin, Bronfman, even Twenty-One Brands. They’re talking big money and big promotion. I feel we can even get a large enough advance from them to finance the acquisition of the bottling plant.”

  “We don’t need their money,” she said.

  “True,” he agreed. “But it always is better to work with someone else’s capital than your own. Besides that would free more of our own money to acquire a maison de couture and also to operate it. I don’t know of one that makes money, they’re constant losers. Even Chanel.”

  “But she makes it all back on the perfume. Plus. We know that. After all, we can’t even supply her with all the essences she needs for the base. Sooner or later all the couturiers will be into it. I want to be there first.”

  “I’m worried about that,” he said. “Operating losses on one of those houses could be a disastrous drain. And everyone I spoke to wants an arm and a leg for nothing, just their name.”

  “I have one company in mind that I think we can get at the right figure,” she said. “Shiki.”

  His eyes opened wide. “The Japanese? His shows were the biggest hit of the last season. Vogue and L’Officiel are filled with nothing but him. Even the papers say that he is the rage.”

  She laughed. “That’s the press. His things are outrageous and they love it. But there’s no way anyone can wear his clothes. They’re just not practical and not really selling. Jacques Charelle says his ass is out and he’s in debt up to his ears.”

  “If that’s the case, why do you want him?”

  She smiled. “The name. If he gets the space, we can find a way to make him work. Tone him down just a little. And, don’t forget where the money is. Coco Chanel doesn’t. The perfume. If we do twenty-five percent of Chanel Number Five we make nothing but money. And after that, who knows? Maybe an entire line of cosmetics.” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “What a stupid thing it is to be a woman. There is so much to do, and here I am, pregnant.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “Only two more months.”

  “Seems like eternity.”

  “It will pass quickly enough,” he said.

  She fell silent, thinking. Finally she took a deep breath. “I’m worried.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said quickly. “You’re just fine.”

  “One never knows,” she said. “I’m not as young as I was when Janette was born. There could be problems.”

  He was silent.

  “I’ve never made a will,” she said. “If anything should go wrong, what happens to Janette? Or the new baby? I’m still married to Maurice. He might get everything.”

  “Under French law,” Johann said, “the children have specific inheritance rights.”

  “They would still need a guardian or trustee until they are of age,” she said. “And Maurice adopted Janette and will be legally the father of the other. Automatically it would make sense that he would control not only his share but their share too. I don’t want that.”

  He was silent.

  “You’re the only one I can trust to protect the children,” she said. “Would you be willing to be my executor if I should die?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But we both know nothing will happen to you.”

  “There’s too mu
ch at stake,” she said. “I don’t want to take any chances. Arrange for the lawyer to come here in the morning. I want my house to be in order.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. He looked at her. “Just one thing puzzles me. What happened to your idea about taking that young man at Christian Dior’s and starting a new house with him?”

  “You mean Yves St. Laurent?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I gave that up for two reasons. First, Dior and Boussac won’t let him go. Second, he hasn’t established his own name yet and it could take a fortune to get him known as widely as we need him to be. I spoke to Jacques about it. Despite the boy’s talent, nothing will happen until Dior lets him come out from under his shadow. Good or bad, at least Shiki’s name is on everybody’s lips.”

  “Okay,” he said doubtfully. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She smiled at him. “I do too. I’ve spent years cultivating Charelle and learning from him. He may be greedy, but season after season, he’s picked the winners.”

  “What’s he going to get out of this?”

  “Director of Public Relations. At five times the money he makes and can steal from the crummy news syndicate he works for.”

  Johann laughed. “You’ve thought it all out.”

  “That was easy,” she said. A troubled look came to her face. “I wish it were as easy to understand Janette.”

  “You haven’t spoken to her yet?”

  She shook her head. “She won’t even answer my telephone calls.”

  “She’ll get over it when the baby comes. You’ll see.”

  “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Janette’s a strange child. There’s something about the way she keeps to herself. I have the feeling I don’t know her at all.”

  The little Japanese was both stoned and drunk at the same time. He held a glass of wine in one hand and a hashish cigarette in the other. “Schiaparelli, Balmain, Maggy Rouff, they’ve all had it. They’re still designing ball gowns for yesterday’s dowagers, who are growing too old to even wear shrouds. Even Dior knows when he’s had it, he admits that Yves did more than half of his last collection. Today’s women want more excitement in their clothes. There’s a whole new world coming and they want to be there first.”