by John Gubert
“Don’t worry. We will sort it out.”
“I know. I trust you. Or rather I trust us,” she said and drew me towards her again. Once again I felt the warmth of her body. It was a different warmth from before. A warmth than comes from the heat of two people in bed together, lying under the light caresses of a feather filled duvet.
Our lips slipped against each other. I gently ran my tongue over her teeth. They were small, smooth and ridged, tasting vaguely of the flavour of peppermint. They were both cool and refreshing.
At the same time my hands were stroking the side of her breasts. She moved her body slightly apart so that I could cup my hands around her full breasts. There was not the urgency and forcefulness of our earlier love making. This time all was slow, gentle and timeless.
We touched. We stroked. We kissed. My head at times was buried in her breasts. Her face at times moved down my body and kissed my chest. I slowly ran my lips over her ears, blowing gently as I did. We then returned to a meeting of the lips. We felt our bodies together. We took our bodies apart. We touched all the places we had touched before. And slowly did it again and again.
After time had passed we drew together and made the final act of love. Not a wild, passionate and vibrant explosion as flesh met flesh. Rather a quiet, deep feeling, a warm and close sensation of pleasure and tenderness.
Once again we drew apart, and lay together. We held hands and watched the final rolls of darkness draw in outside our window. The day had ended. The night had really begun.
We stayed there for some time. Then got out of the bed together and went to the bathroom. The shower was a large glass cabinet in the corner of the bathroom. We walked into it, hand in hand. I turned the dials and switched on the water.
We both started as the first gush of icy water hit us. It soon turned into a pleasant warm stream. I turned the dial again, gently increasing the temperature. I got hold of the delicately scented soap. We rubbed it over our bodies as if to check that our love making had not forgotten any part.
We then moved together again and kissed once more. The water cleaned all away, and then, as we drew apart, ran satisfyingly down our fronts to complete its task.
We dressed dreamily. I looked at my watch. I laughed. “It’s a quarter to nine,” I said. We must have been in bed for over two hours. I thought it was less”
“I did too. But then there was no need to rush. We will be late though. Our Swiss friends are not midnight eaters.”
“Oh there are bound to be some people eating late. You always find business people in these hotels. They wander down to the bar for a quick drink and end up spending hours there before they head for food.”
We dressed. I put on a suit and tie. The Swiss are formal and the large hotels are especially so. We called for room service and told them to clean the clothes we wore that day, and press others we had in our cases.
“I think we’ll need to do some shopping,” said Jacqui. “We have to dress for the part in the casino. We won’t have time in Monte Carlo, especially as we have to call on your bank in Cannes. We need evening dress. The best trick is always to pretend that the gaming is the first part of an evening and not the entire purpose.”
“There are plenty of shops here for that. Maybe we should do the shopping tomorrow. I am a fairly standard size and can buy off the peg. You’d look gorgeous in most things, but I rather fancy the idea of a plunging neckline and slit skirts.”
“You sound like a dirty old man. I am going to have to put you on rations if you don’t calm down” said Jacqui. “You must have had more than the average man today and you can’t stop talking and thinking of it. I love it though. As long as you talk and think of me. No wandering off. I am a one man girl and only like one girl men.”
“What?” I said jokingly. “I’m not allowed to be promiscuous any more?”
“I don’t care about the past,” said Jacqui. “But I do mind about the future. You mustn’t let me down.”
I promised I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. In any event I had always preferred being faithful, at least as long as the relationship lasted. And this was one that I wanted to last for a long time, indeed for ever.
I thought back over the past. When had I double dated? In reality quite often. But I usually had only slept with one girl at a time. I half remembered a night with two sisters some time ago, but pushed that even further to the back of my mind. That was an exception. In any case we had all had a lot to drink and been smoking pot. Pot was something that I now avoided. I hated drugs. I had seen what they had done to Carrie. And in any case neither the girls nor I were sure what we had or had not done the next day.
In fact, the drugs had nearly killed Carrie. I had found her one night. She was almost unconscious. Lying in a phone box in London’s Notting Hill. Just near the subway where she had bought her latest fix. I had taken her to my flat and cleaned her up. And as she screamed abuse at me when I refused to give her another fix, I had tied her up and put her in my car. She had no choice but to go to the rehabilitation clinic. She recovered from then on. Her parents helped, so did I and other friends. To the best of my knowledge she had not touched drugs since.
Those thoughts flashed through my mind. I came back to reality and smiled at Jacqui as she brushed her hair and put the final dab of lipstick onto her perfect mouth.
Hand in hand, we walked down to the dining room of the Bergues. Many people were already on their coffee, but others had only just started their meal.
The Maitre D. rushed up and welcomed us with the sincere insincerity that comes from a lifetime in service. He was keen to offer us a table in full view of all. I declined and took a more discrete one near some diners who looked as if they may leave. I was keen to plan out the next day with Jacqui and did not want to have to worry about prying ears.
Hotel dining rooms are bizarre places at the best of time. Luxury ones like that of the Bergues are more bizarre than most. Bedecked with chandeliers, its thick carpeted floor laps up against ornately decorated walls. It has the vulgarity that comes from sparing no expense. The décor matches in a formal way but not with feeling. It looks as if the whole room was put together after selecting the most expensive of fittings. It was not done to suit a mood. The idea was comfort, quietness and lack of discord. In fact it was like a smart whore, masquerading in refinement as she profited from the vulgarity of her metier.
Our fellow diners were a mixed bunch. Many of the tables were filled with businessmen. They would almost all be bankers. I suspected they were mainly private bankers. Perhaps they were with clients.
I said to Jacqui “Let’s try to guess who the different people are at the other tables. I’ll start.”
I nodded to a table near the door. “I am sure that he is an Italian industrialist. The man with him is definitely a private banker. I suspect he comes to Switzerland each month and brings with him a case filled with notes to deposit on his account. He definitely does not want to be recognised here. He has his back to most of the room. He can leave without anyone noticing him. And that pillar hides him from view when anyone enters.”
“Not bad,” she said and indicated a table close to us. “I think the man is rich. He’s about sixty and he’s fat and unattractive. As the woman with him is not even thirty, that means she must be a friend or relative. The body language tells me she is not a relative. They are not at ease with each other. The conversation keeps on stopping and they just stare ahead. I find it strange that she is wearing a fur coat. Normally one would leave it at the lobby. That’s safe here especially as fox is not that expensive nowadays.
“I think she doesn’t want to show what she’s wearing underneath. I don’t think she has a dress on. I think she just has undies and tights. She’s trying to seduce him. I don’t think she’s professional. She does not play the part well enough. And she is too old to have just started if she were. They normally would start around sixteen or eighteen and so by now she would be an old hand. That means she would put him more at
ease.
“I think they’ll leave once he’s got turned on. I don’t think he finds that easy. I think he picked her up somewhere and suggested the meeting. As the coat’s new I think he sent it to her flat and asked that she did not wear anything under it. That’s the way he gets his kicks.”
“Brilliant,” I said. “That’s a great imagination. Hold on. Here comes the waiter. We better order.”
We both ordered a mixed green salad to start. I asked for veal and roesti, much to Jacqui’s disgust as she muttered, “That’s cholesterol filled Swiss junk food.” She took a grilled sole with new potatoes and mange tout. I ordered a Chablis; they had some good years in the wine list and actually had not gone overboard on the price.
While we waited for our meal, I said, “Let’s carry on with the game.” In reality we did not want to discuss our plans until our neighbours had left. I thought it quite likely that that would be in the not too distant future. They realised we were talking about the other guests and seemed nervous lest we turn to them. It was strange for they could not hear what we were saying. Perhaps our smiles and laughs disturbed them. We seemed the only people enjoying ourselves that night in that cavernous room. At least the only ones who were enjoying themselves other than through the food.
Several of our fellow guests obviously enjoyed that. Beneath the lustrous pearls and flawless diamonds, sat several large ladies in voluminous costumes. And even these were challenged by their bulk as they wobbled excitedly at the approach of the sweet trolley. The men were slimmer as a group, but the double-breasted suits and triple chins were evidence of a lifetime of serious good living and little exercise.
“Don’t sneer at them,” remarked Jacqui. “Carry on eating roesti and you could be like them. Especially if you start hitting the chocolate cake or some of the sauces that go with those delicious ice creams.”
“Today,” I said, “Let me sin. Tomorrow I’ll be sensible. But what about the two women over in the corner. They are both young. They look like business people. Both are in suits. Modern cut. Discrete grey. Sheer stockings. Strange though, for the blond girl’s shoes are clumsy and the other girl is wearing ones with strange buckles. Hold on they can’t be business people. Who heard of a business person wearing an ankle bracelet? And they both have them. Now they are an enigma.”
“Perhaps,” said Jacqui, “they are just two friends going out together.”
“No,” I said. “There is something odd about the set up. Their handbags are too big for the outfits. I mean why wear delicate suits, non matching shoes and carry large handbags.”
“Mules” said Jacqui. “My God. They are mules. I don’t know what they are carrying but they have some merchandise in those bags. They would have been given cash to buy clothes and get their hair done. They’ve both just been to the hairdresser. But they lack taste and haven’t got their act together. It’s a give-away.”
“Why would they be here? If you were smuggling something, surely you would pass it on as you got over the border. Not in a crowded restaurant.”
“They are being set up,” said Jacqui. “The police need a success story. The girls will have a couple of kilos of coke each in those bags. I bet it’s high quality. The police will have a tip off. They’ll be caught.”
The girls in question were drinking coffee. The waiter appearing with our wine distracted us. An excellent choice. It was dry with a pleasing flavour. I’m not a great wine buff and dislike the snobbery of the so-called experts. I go purely by taste. I drink vins de table often with as much relish as the expensive varieties. I love finding wines, apparently from a good year, but from an unknown chateau. Those are far better than the type that are so commonly dredged up in boardroom lunches.
Suddenly, I noticed that a tall blond woman had walked over to the girls and was talking quietly with them. It was all so blatant. She had an identical bag to the blond girl diner. And then, incredibly, a companion joined her. And that one had a similar, though not totally identical, bag to the second girl at the table.
I pointed this out to Jacqui. She told me to keep our heads down. We saw the visitors leave. Jacqui commented, “They will have switched and been filmed switching. They’ll be arrested as they leave the hotel. It will be discrete.”
The two girls left their table and headed out of the restaurant. I then noticed a reflection of flashing lights. They did too and seemed to stop. They looked for another exit, but, before they could do anything, the police were there. Inconspicuous in their suits, without talking or drawing attention, they took hold of the girls’ arms and drew them outside.
“Poor cows,” said Jacqui. “They’ll know nothing. The ones who picked up the drugs will tell the police where they were to make the drop but nobody will be there. The police know that although they always hope that they will trace the people behind it all.”
“It could be my father,” she said with a bitter laugh. “For him, this serves its purpose. It sends a signal to the mules to be careful. They get blasé after a time. And the police will look good in the papers. The usual stories about millions of dollars of drugs being seized. But they know this is the stuff they were supposed to get. It is a cost of doing business. But the press will see it as a crippling blow to the drugs trade. I expect that also helps the pushers; they can up the price on the street for a while. Addicts are easy to panic and the thing they fear most is short supply.”
I nodded and told her about Carrie. I missed out bits. I did not say her father was MI5. I kept out her role with the bank.
“Was she a girlfriend?” she asked, trying to disguise her interest.
“No,” I said. “More like a sister. We never really kissed except on the cheek.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“We will one day. Her husband’s nice. A bit too arty for me. But he’s good fun. And he is great for Carrie. Adores the baby. As does Carrie. That’s one of the reasons why I doubt she will ever go back to drugs again.”
I started as a dreamy look came over Jacqui’s eyes. I had known this before with other girls. And I knew also that we had things to do that needed us to be alert and in top form. I quickly changed the subject.
“We need to discuss what we are going to do tomorrow. We have to do two things. First we need to stock up. I think we should do that in the morning. The second is that we need to meet your father. I suggest that we do that tomorrow afternoon. The question is how to make the arrangements.”
“Have you your mobile. Will it work here?”
“Yes. It will work. But why?”
“I’ll phone my father. I’ll lay down the conditions for a meeting. It needs to be here and we need to arrange it so that he does not bring any of his henchmen. And I have to make sure that he doesn’t try to grab me. We also don’t want him to know that we are here now. Otherwise we could have trouble.”
“I agree. Make the call today. Tell him that we’ll meet tomorrow at 1.30 p.m. Say he will get a call during the morning but don’t tell him when. That way the meeting could be in Geneva or somewhere over the border. Don’t let him fish for facts. And warn him that his party is over if he double-crosses us.”
At that moment, our main course came and we stopped talking. As we tackled the meal, we fell silent. It was not the uneasy silence of other couples. There was no distance in our silence. We were contemplating the next day. We had to succeed or we would lose each other. And neither of us could bear the thought.
“We need to find a way of getting your father to let go without making an enemy of him. He’s too powerful for that. And in any case you love him despite all you have been through.”
Jacqui nodded in agreement. “It’s strange. I know he has done terrible things. I know he is ruthless. I hate the idea that he is in drugs. I wish he weren’t in prostitution. I can’t understand why he still is in protection rackets and embezzlement. I know why we used to be in those things. It was a matter of survival. Then it became a means to an end. The trouble is that now we could ditch al
l that and still be super rich. It’s as if he could not bear to make the break.”
“He’s not that different from me and my parents then,” I commented. “After all, we decided that we needed wealth and power and realised that we were not going to get it through sweating for others. We have embezzled, although from a bank rather than people. We have killed without provocation, at least one person albeit a slime of the first order. I have now killed in self-defence, but nobody is going to quibble about that. At least not from the right side of the law. Now we will embezzle again to get to our objective. The question is whether we stop at that. Or will I end up like your father?”
“No,” said Jacqui. “You have morality. Not hide bound, straight-laced morality. But there are boundaries and you won’t cross them. That’s why we are alike. I can go against the law. That’s easy. The law is not made for people like us. As long as we attack the corrupt. As long as we target big business. As long as we don’t harm the weak, then it’s OK. The fact is that my father profits from people’s weaknesses. And he destroys them. Look at those mules. What stupid tarts! They really make me angry. They should have just stayed at home and married some nice boy. They would have been happy with 2.4 children and a detached house with a nice garden. Now they will be never any better than jail bait. When they come out they will be unemployable. They will either end up in a religious cult or walking the streets. There is little in between for them.”
I tended to agree. “Let’s hope so. But first of all we better forget about any scruples and get the money in the bank. Then we can decide what to do. Once we have made our fortune and got out of the reach of the law.”