He was in a cleft stick. "How many more meetings?"
"That's hard to say." She frowned for a moment, then explained, "I have partnerships all over East Africa. They work because I got to know the people well before we went into business together. We all understand each other. I think that's important."
They arranged to meet again the very next day, at the Norfolk, "In my suite if you like," she said with a smile. "Nobody need know. I should hate to compromise your reputation."
He spent the night thinking about her. She was certainly not attractive. Her dogmatic views infuriated him. The trouble was she knew much more than he did - about Africa and Asian merchants, about crops and stock, even about Standish and that other crowd up at Government House. He cursed himself for not taking a firmer line, for allowing her to dictate meetings and agendas - but what could he do - deal with Standish and his bloody cartel?
And so began a series of meetings. They met twice a week, alternately at the Bowley bungalow and the Norfolk. At one stage he suspected she was trying to embarrass him with the European community, but even when he said so she refused to be hurried - "I think we're progressing quite well," she said. "If we do reach agreement I shall be involved in a major investment. You can't expect me to rush into it."
There was no denying her logic, but Nairobi was buzzing with talk. Mark's one hope was that the rumours might force a better offer out of Standish, but Ziggy Beck had thought of that too - "If you receive another proposal you will let me know, won't you? I should hate to think I was wasting my time."
"I'll give you first option until the end of the month," he said firmly.
She accepted that. They both knew that had she demanded longer he would have had to agree - but it seemed the end of the month suited her too.
Tatz attended many of the meetings. Mark had no choice. Ziggy Beck's questions were too exhaustive and too technical to cope with even Tatz was lost for answers at times. "Perhaps you could find out," Ziggy Beck said, "before the next meeting." And Tatz always did, despite the hours of extra work it caused. He once said to Mark, "I'll be damned if I'll let that woman get the better of me, but I've got to admit - answering her blasted queries has taught me more about the estate than I would have thought possible."
At other meetings, from which Tatz was absent, Ziggy Beck became slightly less businesslike. Without ever asking a direct question she encouraged Mark to talk about himself - and she told him a good deal of her own history in exchange.
Otto, her husband, had been her father's business partner. She had known him most of her life. When her mother died she and her father had moved to Otto's house in Munich, but a year after that her father had died too. She and Otto continued to live under the same roof. "It was a very proper arrangement. We had a housekeeper and maids. I was a student. He was like an uncle to me." But Munich was a hotbed of Nazi activity and when Hitler rose to power they moved to Hamburg. "Otto felt safer there. He was in the timber business and his ships were in and out - he felt if things got too bad we could just sail away. But all the time he was trying to liquidate his assets, a little at a time to avoid suspicion. By Christmas '37 he had moved almost half of his money out, mostly to Denmark. Just in time because the Nazis began to move against the Jews in a terrifying way then. We tried to get out. I could go, I was a Danish citizen with a Danish passport - but Otto being German was blocked. The Danish consul could only help Danes and their relatives - so Otto and I got married. It was his only chance, even then we barely made it ... the purges began three days after we left..."
She puffed on another cigarette. "We went to Copenhagen, just for a month. Otto was busy collecting what money he had transferred, but Europe terrified him. He knew war was coming, he even foresaw the concentration camps. 'Ziggy,' he used to say, 'Jews will be slaughtered like animals.'"
She had wanted to emigrate to America but he distrusted American politicians, many of whom seemed pro-German to him. "So we came here. He was so pleased. He was like a child. Every day he thanked God for the British. 'British justice,' he would say, 'is the best in the world.' He was a Jew but not very orthodox. What he wanted most, his dream, was to become a British Gentleman, and for me to grow into a typical British Lady."
She smiled, and an uncharacteristic blush touched her cheeks. Then it was gone and-the softness went from her voice too. "We entered the social whirl as they call it, dined with the Governor, watched the polo on Saturdays, all the usual things. He tried so hard to be part of them. But they despised him.To them he was a filthy little Yid and I was Shylock's whore. The funny thing was he never saw it. He used to smile and shake his head when I said anything, 'It's just their way Ziggy, the British are not like that.' "
Later she said, "I saw it coming, internment I mean. I knew it would happen. Attitudes, derisive remarks, that sort of thing. He wouldn't believe me. I can hear him now, 'Ziggy, I'm a Jew. Why in the world would I help Hitler?' So logical. Even when they took him away he was sure it was a mistake. 'Don't worry Ziggy, it's a muddle, they'll sort it out.'"
She was quiet for so long that Mark felt he had to say something so he said, "But there was never any question of ill-treatment, nothing like that."
"Oh, they gave him two meals a day. Nobody beat him up. Nothing like that. They destroyed his illusion, don't you see? Me casting doubts didn't matter, he was so sure I was wrong, but when his beloved British locked him up for being a German Jew ..." She shrugged. "I was allowed to see him ten days before he died. 'Ziggy,' he said, 'thank God you're not one of us. You have a chance for a good life here. I bless the day I brought you to Africa.' And ten days later he was dead."
"You don't mean -"
"Suicide? Oh no, not the way you mean. No, he just stopped living. To his mind I was better off without him. It was his own final solution."
She told the story very calmly. No tears, no catch in the throat, no heavy emotional pauses. She told it once and never mentioned it again.
On another day, in a different conversation, he asked why she had stayed.
She seemed surprised. "It's my home. It's the most beautiful spot in the world. Oh no, I shall never leave Africa. I shall die here." And later she expanded on the subject, "Of course it will change. The British Raj is finished everywhere, not just in India. You might not like it but it's true." She smiled, and then laughed softly, "Instead there will be partnerships. All sorts of partnerships, between black and brown and white perhaps even Jews. So you see, I'm keen on the principle - but partners have to be right for each other."
For Mark Averdale the negotiations were an enormous strain. He disagreed with so many of her views. She was a living contradiction of his cherished convictions. Women had no place in business - it was well known they were temperamentally incapable of making commercial decisions. Yet Ziggy Beck was in business and took commercial decisions every day, very successfully it seemed, despite the traps laid for her by the European community.
He still found her unattractive. He took comfort from that. It was proof she was not a proper woman at all. More like a man really. Her attitudes, the way she took charge of things, her decisiveness - all very masculine. Yet there were other moments, when she pointed to a view for instance, when she stretched an arm and reminded him that beneath her blouse were "the best pair of tits in Kenya".
He had never met anyone like her. He could never properly relax in her company because he was always in two minds about how to treat her. She was not his social equal, she was a person with whom he was trying to do business - with whom he had to do business. He had to keep talking, at least until the end of the month.
In a way negotiating with Ziggy Beck added to his problems, certainly it added to his loneliness. He ceased to patronise the Nairobi clubs where most of the talk was about him anyway, and instead tried to keep busy on the estate with Tatz. In the evenings they drank and played cards, but when Mark was invited to dine with the Governor he knew he had to go. He hoped against hope that Ziggy Beck's name wouldn't cr
op up. It was a forlorn hope. People were too curious, too intrigued. He was circumspect, but when pressed had to admit there was a possibility of doing business with her. "That's a pity," someone said, "she's got her finger in too many pies as it is. Surely there's someone else? God knows I hold no brief for Standish and his crowd, but didn't I hear some of them were interested?"
Mark restrained himself from telling them to mind their own business - or from saying if they were that concerned why not help solve his problem. All he wanted was to do a deal and get home. All he wanted was sixty thousand a year from Africa. All he wanted was Ulster and the Averdale Foundation and Molly in bed. Which reminded him, some arrangement would have to be made about Kate O'Brien. Perhaps she could go back to the States with the Johnstones? She seemed happy enough with them. His heart ached when he remembered dreams of what might have been - but he tried to dismiss such thoughts as juvenile nonsense. He could almost laugh at a distance - but not quite - it still hurt to picture Kate the young mother and her astonishing resemblance to Rouen's model. But the magic had not passed on to the child. She had failed him. It was best to send her to America and out of his life. He would still have Molly and the Averdale Foundation - if only he could do a deal on the Bowley estates!
The time passed slowly. Three days before the end of the month, Audrey Cummings called to see him. She was alone and arrived at noon. "I was passing so I thought I'd drop in. We haven't seen much of you lately."
Audrey Cummings was very pretty. Her honey-coloured skin, sun bleached hair and willowy figure were hard to resist, especially linked to the memory of her skilful lips and eager tongue. She was a good looking woman - not the disguised adding machine with whom he had been spending so much of his time.
They had a few drinks on the verandah, but Audrey had called for something more. "You really are a great disappointment, Mark. Marcia said you were quite wonderful in bed. I must confess I was rather hoping ..." she smiled, "well, I did go to some trouble to introduce myself."
"I thought you preferred bigger men. Jock Standish, for instance."
"Oh, don't be silly. The verdict always goes to Jock, it's part of the game." She smiled. "But I did give you a lovely time Mark, didn't I?" A husky note crept into her voice, "And I always say, who needs a card table?"
They spent the afternoon in bed, where she groaned and thrashed about with such abandon that every servant in the bungalow must have heard. Mark was so lost in sensual pleasure that no thought was possible for most of the time - but just once, as he mounted her again, on her back like a dog on a bitch, their bodies slick with sweat and his hands cupped on her breasts - just once did the red mist of lust clear long enough for him to wonder what it would be like to fondle "the best pair of tits in Kenya".
Thoughts of Ziggy Beck returned later, after Audrey Cummings had left. He knew why she had visited - what pillow talk there had been had concerned the Bowley estates, in fact she had said, "Just think, darling, whenever you come out on a visit I'll be here ready for you, Marcia too if you want her. We'll give you a million times more fun than Shylock's whore."
To his surprise he resented that. Anyone less a whore than Ziggy Beck was hard to imagine, whereas Audrey was a whore and a very accomplished one - married to a man who had joined Standish in the cartel.
At long last, it was the end of the month. Ziggy Beck was expected for lunch at the bungalow. Mark was nervous all morning. He shouted at the houseboys as if the Governor himself was descending on them even though he knew Ziggy Beck impressed them more. He wouldn't have believed such devotion a month earlier, now he took it for granted. Just as he knew she would make an offer. Standish and the others hummed and hawed - but she had promised a realistic offer and today she would make it.
He nursed a drink as he waited. She had grown on him, he had to admit. To begin with he had positively disliked her - now he found her assertiveness almost relaxing. At least he knew where he was with her. If she promised to do something she did it - and that was a rare quality. And oddly enough he trusted her, much more than he had ever trusted Standish, even before finding out about the cartel. He would be a lot better off with Ziggy Beck as a partner - he just hoped she could generate sixty thousand a year as his share of the profits.
Her Buick nosed through the gates at noon, driven as usual by the Indian secretary - and a moment later she climbed the steps to the verandah. He walked over to greet her, searching her face for her decision. His guts ached for fear she would say he couldn't expect sixty thousand a year or anything like it. But her smile gave nothing away. She shook hands as briskly as ever - and then, as she sat down, he realised something quite startling. Business apart, he had been pleased to see her, he was pleased - in fact he actually quite liked Ziggy Beck.
After a pink gin and a cigarette, she broached the subject of business with her usual directness. "I'd better tell you now. When you hear my proposal you may withdraw your invitation to lunch."
His heart sank, and he was trying to maintain what he hoped was a calm expression when she dropped her bombshell - "I can see no prospect of becoming your partner," she said, "or of my making an offer for the Bowley estates."
He could hardly believe her. Dismay welled up within him, followed by anger. She had betrayed him! He had been pleased to see her, but she had tricked him, more blatantly even than Standish. Colour rushed to his face.
"Please let me finish," she said. "I promised an offer and I have one, along different lines perhaps, but only because I understand the situation here better than you."
He could think of nothing to say. He failed to see where she was leading.
She gave him a quick smile. "Some people think I already own more than I should. That's why I can't buy outright - and even as a partner they might move -"
"Rubbish. There's no limit to anyone's holding -"
"Not officially. But life can be made awkward in a hundred different ways."
He remembered his conversation in the Governor's dining-room - the aide who had frowned, "She's got her finger into too many pies." He stared, suddenly understanding her caution. They would make life awkward. But her decision was a body blow. He tried to counter with reassurances.
"No," she said, "I am right, and deep down you must know I'm right."
His agile mind had never been devoted exclusively to business. His blank face said as much, but he felt angry as well as bemused. "You've wasted my time then. If that's your opinion -"
"But there is another solution which will benefit you more."
He wondered how he had imagined he knew where he was with her.
"I'll be your tenant," she said crisply, "I'll pay you rent. Eighty thousand a year for ten years. How would that suit you?"
His world turned upside down. He stared across the table at the square-jawed, fair-haired, thirty-five-year-old woman and wondered if she were joking. But Ziggy Beck never joked about business. Eighty thousand a year! For a tenancy?
"There are two conditions," she said. "The first is our arrangement is kept strictly secret."
He could agree to that. He would make a secret deal with the Devil for eighty thousand a year. Images of art galleries and sale rooms rushed through his mind. He would tour Europe - buying, buying, buying ...
"The second condition," she said, "is that we get married."
Mark Averdale dropped his glass.
M'buta the houseboy appeared at the end of the verandah as if by magic. He glanced nervously at Mark's shocked face, but was encouraged by the presence of Ziggy Beck. He smiled at her warmly, served another pink gin, collected up the broken pieces of crystal with his bare hands, and left noiselessly.
"That's the most preposterous suggestion I've ever heard," Mark said in a strangled voice. He downed his drink in a gulp and reached for the bottle.
"It is," she agreed, "until you think of the mutual benefits."
"Benefits?" he echoed, still staring at her.
"You get eighty thousand a year. More than you ever tho
ught possible. In addition to which I shall invest in the estate and make it work. At the end of ten years you'll have it all back. It will be yours, free to do what you like with, unfettered by partnership agreements -"
"I can see that but -"
"You're not very gallant. Never mind, I shall make very few demands on you. You said you expected to spend only a few weeks in Africa every year in future - fine, that's all you'll see of me. I have no wish to travel in Europe -"
"I don't understand. Why marriage -"
"Think about it. The estates remain your property and your wife runs them in your absence. Nobody can interfere with that. And I get a lot of protection for all my other interests. Snubbing Ziggy Beck is one thing, offending Lady Averdale is another thing entirely."
He choked. She planned to make them eat dirt. She would rise from social oblivion to the pinnacle of acceptability. Even the Governor would treat her with care. Ziggy Beck really expected to be Lady Averdale! She actually thought he would agree! "Preposterous," he muttered, "I said so before and I'll say so again. The idea is totally preposterous."
"Had you planned to marry in Ulster?"
His heart lurched. He thought of Kate. All the years he had dreamt of marriage. All the plans to rebuild Brackenburn, he had yearned and schemed ... but Kate was dead. The magic of the mother had not passed on to the child.
"I don't know," he said emptily, "I don't know -I had plans -"
"To rebuild your big house. Well go ahead. I don't want to live in it. And plans for your art collection. You never mentioned a wife."
He began to realise how much he had told her. He finished his drink and reached for another. "Madness," he said, "complete and utter madness."
But she stayed for lunch. He could hardly send her away. At one point he said, "Paying over the odds is an expensive way of becoming my wife."
She burst out laughing. "Oh dear, were you going to ask me?" When her amusement subsided she said, "Don't worry, I'll make this estate pay. Give me three years and it will be yielding over a hundred thousand a year. I'll make a profit over ten years. Meanwhile I shall have acquired some very healthy protection."
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 142