Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

“You’re worse than a cop,” Janette said. She stopped for a traffic light and looked across at her friend. There was a hurt look on Marie-Thérése’s face. She dragged on the cigarette and put the car into gear as the light turned green. “If you must know the truth, I ran into Jacques Charelle on the elevator leaving the office and we wound up at his place.”

  Marie-Thérése’s voice was shocked. “How could you, Janette? Wasn’t he your mother’s—?” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Lover?” Janette laughed. “Of course he was. But he wasn’t the only one. She had others. So what difference does it make?”

  “You’re too much,” Marie-Thérése said. “He gave you the coke?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How is it?” Marie-Thérése asked. “I never had any coke.”

  “Neither did I until tonight,” Janette said. “But it’s great. It really gets you up there.”

  “Did he know that you never had any?”

  “Of course not. And I wasn’t about to tell him either. I just acted as if I had it all the time. I watched how he did it and then copied him. As a matter of fact, I think that the only reason he gave me some coke to take with me was to get rid of me. Otherwise he was afraid I’d be there all night.” She glanced over at Marie-Thérése. The tears were rolling down her friend’s cheeks. “Now, what the hell is the matter?”

  “I don’t understand you, Janette,” Marie-Thérése sniffed. “I love you and I can’t make love with anyone but you. You say you love me but you can make love with anybody.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not the same thing?” Janette said in an annoyed voice. “Making love and fucking are two separate things.”

  “Not for me,” Marie-Thérése said.

  “I don’t get it,” Janette said. “We’ve made love with others many times together.”

  “That’s just it,” Marie-Thérése said. “We were together. Sharing each other’s pleasures. But the idea of you coming to me second just to finish off the night because you didn’t get enough and you’re still horny doesn’t appeal to me.”

  Janette was angry. “If that’s the case, why don’t I just drop you off at your place?”

  “I think maybe that’s the best thing to do,” Marie-Thérése said lightly.

  They didn’t exchange another word until Janette pulled the car to a stop in front of Marie-Thérése’s house. Marie-Thérése sat for a moment, then turned to Janette. “I love you,” she said. “But you always find new ways to hurt me.”

  Janette didn’t look at her, just kept staring through the windshield. “I have nothing to do with it,” she answered. “You invent ways to hurt yourself. Next time, if you don’t want to hear the truth, don’t ask questions.”

  Marie-Thérése got out of the car. She looked in at Janette. “I’ll feel better tomorrow by the time I see you at the Université.”

  “You won’t see me there tomorrow,” Janette said shortly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve quit the damn place. I’m going to work in the office tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, no, Janette.” Marie-Thérése’s voice was almost a wail. “What will I do if I can’t see you every day?”

  “Get used to it. We all have to grow up sometime,” she said flatly. She reached across the seat and pulled the door shut, then pulled the car away from the curb leaving Marie-Thérése still standing there.

  “Stupid cunt,” she muttered angrily. For a moment she thought of going back to La Coupole. She could always find someone there. But then she changed her mind. She had had enough of a man’s hardness for one night. What she wanted was the softness and sensitivity of a woman. Abruptly she slammed on the brake, then threw the car in reverse and shot back to where Marie-Thérése was still standing in the street, crying.

  She stopped the car and pushed open the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Get in.”

  “A hundred million francs a year,” Maurice said. “That’s what’s in it for us if we get that fucking Nazi out of there.”

  Jacques stared up at him. His head was still fuzzy with sleep. It was after two o’clock in the morning when Maurice woke him up with a telephone call. And he had been too punchy to tell him he would see him in the morning. Besides, it probably wouldn’t have done any good because Maurice was calling from the lobby downstairs. “Excuse me a minute,” he said, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to splash some cold water on my face. For a hundred million francs a year I want to be awake.”

  He padded in his bare feet into the bathroom, turned on the light and closed the door. He put his hands on the sink and leaned on it, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked awful. Like death warmed over. That bitch never wanted to stop. He couldn’t remember when the last time it was that he had four climaxes in almost as many hours. And for the fifth time, he was happy that he could just manage to achieve an erection. By then it didn’t seem to matter to her whether he had an orgasm or not. He doubted that she even knew the difference, she was so into her own.

  He turned on the cold water and splashed his face and neck. It helped a little but not that much. Slowly he dried his face. The demanding bitch. She wasn’t at all what he had expected when he saw her in the elevator at the office. He had grown used to mature women, to more considerate and gentler affairs.

  Still, there was that scent of sexuality about her that reminded him strongly of her mother, and that was what had led him to ask her home for a drink. It would be amusing, he had thought, having made lover to the mother, now to make love with the daughter. It wasn’t until later that he realized she had had the same thought.

  She had her car outside and she drove them to his apartment. It was when he asked her what she had been doing at the office that she had told him she was going to work there beginning tomorrow morning. And all the while, as they talked about what she planned to do in the office, when she shifted gears her hand managed to brush lightly along the side of his leg. He shifted uncomfortably as his erection began to press against his trousers.

  She noticed it and laughed. “If you take it out,” she said, “I’ll shift both gears at the same time.”

  He smiled. “You won’t have to, we’re there already.”

  On the way up in the elevator, she looked at him. “My mother liked you. I heard her speak of you often.”

  “I liked her too,” he said.

  She nodded as the elevator doors opened and silently followed him to his door.

  He stared into the mirror. He still felt awful. Thank God for the cocaine. At first he had hesitated about using it. The French were about twenty years behind the times. When it came to la drogue they were horrified, no matter what other excesses they were into. But apparently she had done it before. Quite a bit from the way she had him putting down lines for her.

  A little now wouldn’t hurt, might bring him up so that at least he would know what the hell Maurice was talking about. Fortunately he always kept a spare vial in the medicine cabinet. There was no way he would put down a line in front of Maurice. He was too French.

  He took the vial and tapped two good snorts onto the back of his hand then quickly did one in each nostril. He felt it go right up to his head. He looked in the mirror as he returned the vial to the cabinet. He looked better already. His eyes were brighter.

  He walked back into the living room. Maurice was standing at the window, looking out. He turned as he heard Jacques enter.

  “At least I’m awake now,” Jacques smiled. “Forgive me, I didn’t ask if you would like a drink?”

  “If you have a whiskey?”

  “Of course,” Jacques said. “With ice?”

  “No, thank you. I developed a taste for it in England during the war. They drink it neat.”

  “Of course,” Jacques said, despite the fact that he preferred it with ice, American fashion. “It’s the only civilized way.”

  He poured a whiskey for Maurice and a cognac for himself. They sat down. “Sant�
�.” They both sipped, and he waited for Maurice to lower his glass. “Now what was it you were saying about a hundred million francs a year?”

  Maurice smiled to himself. What was the saying the Canadians had? The Mounties always get their man. Money did it faster. “Janette was here from six ten this evening until eleven oh five. I assume that you didn’t spend all that time in conversation.”

  Jacques stared at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Since I’m the one who has been urging her to leave school and go to work in the company, I make it my business to know exactly what she’s doing. All the time.”

  “You’re having her followed?”

  Maurice nodded.

  “I don’t quite see what that has to do with all that money,” Jacques said.

  “You will when I explain it to you,” Maurice said. “She needs education, to be made aware of the potential of the business that is not being taken advantage of. In my own way, I have begun. You can add a lot more to that because you know more than I do about many aspects. Maybe when she learns enough she will take some action against the Boche.”

  “Even if she did, it might not work,” Jacques said. “She doesn’t reach her majority until she is twenty-one, and then Johann has all the years after that until Lauren reaches her majority. So that’s at least two more years until Janette can even question his decisions.”

  “It doesn’t have to be two more years,” Maurice said, looking at him. “Under French law, control of her estate automatically goes to her husband the moment she marries.”

  There was a knock at the door. Johann looked up from his desk. “Come in.”

  She came into his office, the tweed skirt falling straight across her hips, the man-tailored silk shirt and tweed jacket fighting a losing battle to restrain her full breasts. She came to a stop in front of his desk and looked down at him, smiling. “The six weeks are up.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Things are not as simple as I thought they would be.”

  He smiled. “They seldom are.” He picked up a pencil from his desk. “But you’ve done well. I’ve had nothing but good reports on your work. You’ve managed to ask all the right questions.”

  “I still have a great deal to learn,” she said.

  He looked up at her for a long moment. “Then you’ve also come up with the right answer.” He put the pencil back on the desk. “But don’t feel too disappointed. All of us have a great deal to learn.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to America with Maurice next week.”

  For the first time surprise came into his voice. “What caused that?”

  “I’ve learned enough to know that I’m not ready for that yet. When I do go I want to be able to project the kind of image the Americans expect from someone in our business.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he confessed.

  It was her turn to smile. “May I sit down?”

  “Of course,” he said, suddenly flustered. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think.” He watched her sink into the chair opposite him.

  It was almost as if she were picking up his thoughts. “Do I remind you of my mother?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Very much. Especially seeing you sit there.”

  She smiled. “I thought so. Many people have said that. I know they meant that as a compliment, but that’s one of the reasons I’m not going to the States just now. My mother never had to look French for what she did, but if I go to the States, I’d better look the way Americans expect a Frenchwoman to look or I’ll never be able to convince them that I represent the fashionable things of French life. Beautiful clothing, high fashion and good wines. I’m just not the type physically.”

  “What makes you think that?” he asked.

  “I’ve been going to the fashion shows with Jacques,” she said. “And I’ve seen what the American buyers look for and expect. And I’m not the type. I’m just too big. In every way, Shiki was right.”

  “There’s not much you can do about that,” he said.

  “To start with I can lose some weight,” she said. “Sixty-six kilos is too much, fifty-five is maximum for my height if I want to look right.”

  “You can also wind up very sick,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “There’s a clinic in Switzerland not far from where I went to school. They do some wonderful things and it’s all under medical supervision. Ten kilos less, and I can wear anything Shiki can throw on me.”

  “It’s not that important,” he said.

  “I think it is,” she said seriously. “If I’m going to be in this business, the main thing I have to do is look like I belong in it.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Have you told Maurice yet?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve told no one. Not even Jacques. You’re the first one to know.”

  “Jacques will be more disappointed than anyone,” he said. “He was planning to meet you in New York about a month after you got there.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling suddenly. She rose to her feet, the smile disappearing as suddenly as it had come. Her voice turned almost cold. “He had some stupid idea about taking me to Las Vegas and getting married. He said I wouldn’t need anyone’s consent there, being over eighteen.”

  He looked up at her silently.

  “He’s a fool, a fortune hunter,” she said.

  Johann still did not speak.

  “I’ll be gone for two months,” she said. “That’s how long the doctors at the clinic say it will take to get me in shape without damage to my health. No one will know where I am except you. I want you to get rid of him while I’m away.”

  “But I thought you—” He tried to keep the surprise from his voice. There were no secrets. By now the whole office knew about the affair she had been having with Jacques.

  Her voice was almost clinical. “He was using me just as he used my mother. I’m sure that she tolerated him for good reason. And so did I. But I have no further use for him. I have learned all he has to teach me.”

  “But he does an important job,” Johann said. “He will not be easy to replace.”

  “It will be very easy,” she said confidently.

  “I’m not that sure,” he said hesitantly. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “Of course I do. Do you think I would ask you to do something like that if I didn’t?”

  “Who?” he asked.

  She looked down at him and for the first time he saw the impenetrable hardness in the coal black of her eyes. There was a complete lack of expression in her voice. “Me.”

  He went deep inside himself for the strength he knew he would have to have. “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement,” he said. “I’m not convinced yet that you can handle the job.”

  For the first time there was surprise in her voice. “How can you put up with him? Do you know what he calls you behind your back? A Nazi, a Hun, a Boche?”

  He smiled slowly. “That’s not a valid reason. If it were, there wouldn’t be a single person in the office left to work for us. I’m German. I don’t expect them to love me—just to do their jobs.”

  She thought for a moment. “What would it take to convince you that I can do the job?”

  “When you come back, you can go to work as his assistant.”

  She took a deep breath. “He’ll expect me to go on fucking with him.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine,” he said.

  She was angry suddenly. “I could say the hell with it and marry him!”

  Surprisingly, he laughed. “I can’t stop you,” he said. “But then you’d never get rid of him.”

  She was silent for a moment, then she too laughed. “Now I know why Mother chose you as she did,” she said. “We’ll do it your way, Johann.”

  “There’s no other way,” he said.

  “I still don’t want anyone to know where I am,” she said.

  “No one will know,” he said.


  He watched the door close behind her and sat there a long moment, then reached for the telephone and placed a long-distance call to the United States. While he was waiting for the call to go through he kept remembering the coal-black wall in her eyes. Someday it would be his turn. He knew that now. In a way, he had always known it.

  But there was no way he could turn away from it. Even when Janette reached her majority, there would still be Lauren to protect. If there were only a way to take Lauren out of it without sacrificing the child’s equity, he would feel free. It seemed, somehow, that all his life he had been paying debts to the dead. Maybe, now, it was time that he made an investment in his own life.

  She came out of the shower and wrapped the oversized bath sheet around her, then turned toward the mirror as she shook her hair free of the shower cap. It fell damply to her shoulders and she reached for another towel to rub it dry. In the mirror she saw the bathroom door behind her open. She turned around.

  Lauren was standing there looking up at her. The child’s blue eyes were dark and somber in her face framed by the golden ringlets of hair. She was silent, just staring up at Janette.

  Rubbing her hair with the towel, she asked, “What is it, chérie?”

  “Monsieur le Marquis is in the library. He would like to see you.”

  “Okay. I’ll be down in a minute,” she said, turning back to the mirror. In the mirror she could see that Lauren still waited there. Then tears welled up into the child’s eyes. Janette turned quickly and knelt beside the child. “What’s wrong, chérie?”

  “What is a half a sister?” Lauren asked, holding back a sob.

  “Half a sister?” Janette echoed. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “That’s what Monsieur le Marquis said you were. He said, Go tell your half sister that I’m waiting for her. He also said it was not polite to call him Monsieur le Marquis, I should call him Papa. I said that you don’t call him Papa and he said that was because he was not your father as he is mine, and that’s why you’re my half sister.” Lauren was really crying now.

  “Merde,” Janette said, taking the child and hugging her close. “Don’t you pay any attention to him, darling. I’m your big sister and that’s all there is to it. And you don’t have to call him Papa, because he’s not your father any more than he is mine.”