by John Gubert
In a moment, we were in the lift. We clung together pushing our bodies against one another. We hardly cared if it stopped on the way to our floor. There was no way we were going to untangle. Luckily the lift did not stop. Luckily the corridor was empty. We ran through it, holding hands and brushing bodies against each other.
At the door, I fumbled with the electronic key. Jacqui was leaning against me and was starting to pull at the straps of her outfit. I am unsure if she was pulling it off in the corridor or in the room. But that was of no matter. I was already tearing off my shorts and sweatshirt. Jacqui was naked.
Our bodies were still glistening with the damp, hot heat of the steam room. Our senses were still inflamed by the urgency of our touches in the room and outside it. Our minds were excited by the thought that we had ridden through public areas almost naked. We threw ourselves at each other. This was unlike our earlier lovemaking. We were wilder. We were rougher. We were boisterously in love.
And then we felt the quietness. We felt the closeness. We felt the pain of love. We lay there silently in each other’s arms. Our thoughts were joined just as some time before had been our bodies. The clock ticked by, breaking the silence. It intruded into our peace. It cruelly woke us from our reverie. It served to return us to reality. Yet we remained there. We held each other. We looked in each other’s eyes. We tasted each other’s lips. Nothing was going to make this end until we wanted it to do so.
I don’t think either of us knew how long it was till we moved off the bed. We only half slipped out of our reverie as we went to the bathroom and sank into the jacuzzi. The bed behind us was damp with our sweat and the moisture from the steam room. The jacuzzi was deep and comforting as we kept our hold on to each other. I did not know how I had lasted the months without her. But I also knew that we had reached a greater intensity of love now we had met again. And that was far deeper than the love we had experienced in Manhattan.
In time, we stepped out of the jacuzzi and taking a large, soft and white towel I enveloped Jacqui. I patted her body dry. I dropped the towel and it fell to the ground as she did the same for me. We headed back to the room, clad in the towelling robes provided by hotels.
“Oysters and champagne?” I suggested to Jacqui. She nodded and said, “But make it Bollinger vintage. A really good one.”
I picked up the phone and gave the order for two dozen oysters and the champagne. It would be with us in ten minutes assured room service. The spell was now broken. The outside world had truly intruded.
We put on the television and saw it was the news. There were concerns about Asia. The recent crisis was well behind us and stock markets and currencies were soaring again. I realised that the events that we had once discussed at home were quite likely happening again fast. We had then seen the stock market and currency crash in Thailand. That had had a ripple effect throughout Asia. In some cases the currencies and markets went into free fall. In Indonesia the currency fell in value by around 80%. In Korea, the economy had to be bailed out by a mixture of international aid and bank support. Malaysia suffered but set about a home grown cure. Even Taiwan and Singapore crumbled around the edges. Hong Kong clung to the status quo by the skin of its teeth and China itself defended its currency robustly. However, the commentators were still nervous. That did not stop the bargain basement hunters. Investment managers are strange animals. They talk of their long-term strategies, but their jobs depend on the next quarter’s performance results. They thus run scared when markets are as volatile as those in Asia were proving to be. Irrespective of the risks, if the markets soar and they are not invested, their performance suffers. And performance is the one thing that really draws in the money from investors. So the markets were soaring. This worried me as our strategy was based on hitting the top and seeing the market fall. Moreover it was key for us to get in near the top. But also to get in when others felt the markets would rise. It was only that that would ensure we could maximise our return.
Our strategy was to bet against the flow in the market and market sentiment. I explained my concerns to Jacqui.
“The way markets are going, we may have to act faster than we thought. I’ll talk to my father. He’ll have already headed down to Mexico on his way to Rio. We have contingency arrangements and can run everything from the US if required. And he can get back to the US within a month if needed. He should be convalescing a bit and could need me. My stuff can be all done in the States or any other country with a good communications system for that reason. It could increase the chance of detection if we do everything too soon, but in extremes we’ll have to take that risk. We can’t miss the chance. The markets will now carry on up but they look as if they are going bananas on the upside as much as they did on the way down.”
I shook my head in exasperation; “God, investors are stupid.”
“What effect will it have on the laundering?” asked Jacqui. “I am going to find it hard to do it quicker in Europe. In Vegas it would be simple. There I can operate 24 hours a day and seven days a week. Off season here, I only really have three evenings and one day to operate on any scale.”
“We are caught on that one. I daren’t bring the cash into the US. We could be hit by one of those random searches. It’s too risky. We are both the right ages for smuggling. And Customs there would love the thought of being behind one of those two way mirrors when they strip search someone like you.”
“I think you may be exaggerating. But you’re right we shouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. I would not recommend a mule. It’s easy with drugs, as the mules don’t know how to handle them on the streets. And the big distributors always ship a cheating mule. It pays nobody to allow them to stray from their agreement. With money, people are less trustworthy. As you know, money buys you anonymity. And few are as ambitious as you or your parents. They think in the odd million rather than in billions.”
“Let’s think about it. I could do with a drink though.”
As if on cue, there was a tap on the door and room service appeared. The table was wheeled in. It was topped by a silver plate, filled with crushed ice. On the ice nestled two dozen of the finest oysters and tranches of freshly cut lemon. A crystal Lalique ice bucket contained a bottle of vintage champagne. It was Bollinger as requested.
The waiter looked at me and asked if he could open the champagne. There was a risk that he was not going to do a good job. He was totally engrossed with Jacqui. She was sitting on the sofa. Her robe was tied around her. It was loose and gave a tantalising but occasional glimpse of her body. Her hair was tousled and damp from the shower. Without make up, she looked almost child-like in that outfit. The waiter just gazed at her. You could almost hear his mind asking whether she was wearing anything under that borrowed thick towelling robe. The answer was that she undoubtedly wasn’t. But he would never know.
I looked at him, and said, “Leave it to me. Do I sign here?” And I thanked him as I directed him away from our space.
Once he had left, I picked up the plate of oysters and placed them on the coffee table in front of Jacqui. I put the long stemmed glasses next to it. I carefully pulled away the foil round the Bolly. Then I unwound the wire around the cork. Without using any cloth, I eased the cork away. It came smoothly. I did not spill a drop as I moved the foaming bottle over the glass.
“I think you’ve done that before,” commented Jacqui.
“With anything you want from fizzy wines through to vintage champers,” I responded. “Can be dangerous if one is not careful. The cheaper they are, the more vicious they can be. On that basis this was a low risk one. You do realise this is all on your father. I am assuming he won’t mind.”
“I doubt he’ll notice,” she said as she picked up the glass. “Cheers. To Love!”
“To love.” I looked at the oysters, picking up a lemon slice. I gently squeezed it over the oyster. The edges curled up slightly. That was a good sign. “I think they’re fresh. Let’s see if they are an aphrodisiac.”
“Y
ou’re insatiable. Mind you, me too at the moment. So we are compatible. Must be the weather.”
With that we ate the oysters and happily sipped at the Bolly. We were quite lazy and chatting idly away when the phone rang. I picked it up. Covering the mouthpiece, I whispered over to Jacqui, “It’s your father.” I listened carefully to what he was saying. I interrupted him. “Do you believe this line is secure? Could the switchboard be listening in? Should we be having this conversation?”
“You’re right. I like people who take all necessary precautions. Get back to me when you can.” And then without even a goodbye or a reference to Jacqui, he rang off.
“Strange,” I said to Jacqui. “He pretty well cut me off. He wanted to know what we were looking to launder. He said he needed some quick cash and thought that would help us out.”
“He’ll want it for a drug deal” she said. “I have told him I won’t get involved. It’s all part of his plan to draw me into the business. I honestly thought he had stopped trying.”
“Shouldn’t we at least find out what it is about? It might not be drugs. I told you earlier that we needed to launder the cash quickly. Perhaps he could help us out.”
She suddenly got angry. She stood up. Her eyes were flashing. Her cheeks went red. She placed her hands on her hips. Her nostrils flared slightly. She glared at me. “I thought you hated drugs. You told me the story of your friend. You know the girl. What was her name?”
She didn’t wait for a response. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She was now upset as well as angry. “You can’t believe my father at times like this. He is not going to tell you the truth. He’ll spin you some cock and bull story. It’ll be a property deal. It’ll be the need for float in a casino. He’ll tell you anything but that it is for drugs. Then when he has the cash, he’ll tell you. He’ll say we knew. We would be implicated. We would have put our hands in his filthy game. And he’d have won.”
She calmed down a bit. “Charles, I know him. I know him all too well. He will not let go. He will not let go of me or the drug trade. He actually likes it. He is indifferent to any damage he causes. He works on the principle that if he does not ship drugs, someone else will. And he knows it makes money. He believes he has a set up that is safe. So he’ll carry on. Morality is not an issue. He has none.”
“Jacqui, hold on” I said. “I don’t like drugs. I think there are ways in the financial markets to make much more money than with drugs. Moreover they are legal ways. Well let’s say almost legal ways. The richer you get the better the advice you can buy. And the more you can distance yourself from any blame. We’ll prove that to your father. Perhaps he won’t come out of the drug trade voluntarily. But he will do so if he has to. The only way that will happen is for him to think he can make more money elsewhere. And one of our conditions, if we succeed, could be just that. We can tell him then that he must legitimise your business or no partnership.”
She interrupted me. “ You don’t understand. You think he will do as you want. He’ll run rings round you. You’ve less than a month or two in this business. You’ve been lucky. You think you are always going to be so. I was born into it. I have lived through it. I cried over it. I had no mother because of it. I learnt to despise my father because of it. And now he is taking you over as well. No. Please No. I can’t take it.” She lowered her head in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
I went over to her. I put my arms around her. She pushed me away. “Get away. I can’t take it. You don’t understand. You just don’t know how much I hate it all. Charles, you’re no different from them all. You are going to be corrupted. You’ll be drawn into the business. Leave me. You’ll be corrupted by it. I won’t have it. I can’t. We contaminate anyone who comes in touch with us. Go. Get away.”
She was now yelling at me. She gave a wild look of despair and broke down in tears. They were harsh, pained, inconsolable tears. I walked forward again and tried to hold her. “Get away. Leave here. I’m going.”
“Jacqui, if you don’t want me to do a deal with your father, I won’t. Don’t get so upset. We can handle this without him.”
“Get out,” she now screamed. “No, leave me. You won’t be able to hold off. You have seen his power. And you are going to want it for yourself. Get out of here. Leave me alone. Leave!”
Once again I tried to approach her. Once again she turned on me. Her eyes blazed with fury. She had no love left. Her hand raised. She hit me over the head. Her hand returned and she hit me again. In a voice that did nothing to hide its fury, she repeated, “Get out of here, you bastard. Leave.”
Something in me snapped. I said coldly, “Don’t tell me that again or I’ll leave. And never call me a bastard. My name is Charles.”
“Sod you,” she yelled. “Get out of here and then I won’t have to call you anything. Charles Ryder was the one I loved. Not Charles De Roche. He has become too like my father. I hate that Charles.”
A fury took hold of me. “If that’s how you feel,” I yelled and stalked over to the cupboard. I pulled on the first clothes I saw, grabbed a jacket and, for some unknown reason, my briefcase. Without a further word or look I walked out. She was left there crying in desperation, or was it anger? I thought, as I left the room, she will never know.
I walked to the lift. I got to the lobby. I said nothing to anybody. I walked out into the road. The cool air of evening hit me. I stopped. I only then realised what had happened. It was only then that I though back to the words that had passed between us. It was only then that I thought over the things that I had done. It was only then that I questioned the decisions I had taken. I wondered if she was right. Had this been a plot by her father? Had he perhaps sought to dupe me? How could I tell? Would I see her again?
I could hardly think. My mind was a jumble of facts. I walked blindly across the road. A car braked sharply. I felt the bonnet against my side. The bumpers hit my leg. I seemed to skid across the road. My briefcase stopped my fall. I hit my head against the kerb and for a moment all went dark. I came to as people ran towards me. The car door was opening. A white faced driver approached. I sat up. I got up. I was unsteady on my feet. I walked to the pavement and over to the railings that separated the road from the beach. Voices asked me how I was. Others questioned if I should not just sit down. Someone called for a doctor.
I turned on them. “I’m OK,” I said. “You shouldn’t have stopped,” I said to the driver. He looked perplexed. I shook off a kindly hand. I walked away. Someone followed me. They remonstrated. I started to run. I needed to get away from people. I did not need them. I couldn’t cope with them. They appeared to leave me alone. I realised I had run to the start of the yacht marina. I walked into the park they have there and found a bench. I sat down and looked in despair at the dark sea. Night was in full flow. A starless night beckoned me to nowhere. The clouds hid the moon as if to increase the gloom. It was empty. Mankind had deserted me. I wanted nobody, but now I had that I wanted everybody. I thought I should call my parents. I would need to do my part of the job alone. Yet I no longer had the will. At that point I thought I was going to run away.
I stood up from my thoughts. I steadied myself as I swayed from side to side. I walked on away from the hotel. I found myself in the Rue d’Antibes. I knew I must have walked in an arc. I looked at the closed shops. I saw a few people. I stopped by a pharmacy and looked at myself in a mirror. My trousers were covered in dust and dirt from the road. My shirt was open half way down my chest. The sleeve of my jacket was torn. A bruise was fast appearing on my forehead. My wrist hurt where I held onto my battered briefcase. I walked forward and looked closer. I was dishevelled. I looked ill. My face was pale, whether from shock or despair, or perhaps both. My eyes looked haunted. My heart felt heavy. I heaved a sigh and I rested my forehead against the glass. It was cool and felt better, but only for a moment. Then I sank back into despair. I walked further on towards the port. Hardly anybody was around and those that were steered clear of me for fear that I could be dru
nk and violent. I realised I was by the bank. I was supposed to get there the next day, not today.
Somehow I turned. I walked back towards the Carlton. Something told me to go there. Something ordered me to return. I fell over something in front of the Hilton. I found myself sprawling again. This time I did not want to get up. I just lay there on the ground. My face was on my briefcase. Then I heard a voice ask if I was all right. I pulled my self up. It was just a passer by being charitable. A couple, perhaps middle aged, who felt sympathy or sadness at my state.
I walked on and came in front of the Carlton again. I stood and looked up the drive into the marbled hall. Something told me to go in. I strode to the entrance. The doorman took one look at my appearance and approached with concern. I brushed him aside. I looked into the lobby. I looked beyond. I saw him then in the lounge. He was with two others. They were drinking and laughing.
I stormed into the lobby. He was drinking champagne. It was sitting in a large ice bucket. He sneered at me as I came in. I walked up to him and looked him straight in the eyes.
He looked at me again. “You look terrible,” he said. “You need a drink. Then we make a deal.”
I glared at him. “Fuck you. There’ll be no deal. I’ve warned you that I have enough to put you inside. Now I am going to do that. You cannot kill me in a public lobby. And I won’t give you the chance. So I’ll call the police now. I am going to take them to the place where we hold a copy of the tape.”
He looked at me. He was shocked. He had not expected such a reaction. He expected me to be cowed. I saw he was now scared. He couldn’t gauge me. I was irrational. I should be petrified by his power. And he sensed that was not the case. For the first time in his life, he thought he had been cornered. This was not what he had expected. He had guessed Jacqui and my reaction. He had been playing a game. It was a game he played well and one he thought he could not lose. After all he did see me just as a lucky amateur. To be honest, it was probable that he was not too far out in his assessment.