She stared at him for a moment unable to speak. Then she felt the tears welling into her eyes and she turned her face away from him. “Is that what you really think?” she asked in a tight, hurt voice.
“What do you expect me to think?” He was still angry. “You parade naked in front of me like I’m not even human. How am I supposed to feel?”
“I didn’t think it was anything,” she said. “The other girls are naked all the time too. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to it.”
“I don’t give a damn about the other girls,” he said. “That’s why I sent them away.”
“That’s your business,” she said in the same tight voice. “I didn’t ask you to do it.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said. “I never thought of that. Maybe you are more like Janette than I even thought. Maybe all you’re into is girls or big pricks.”
She jumped to her feet quickly, pulling on her bikini, then began to run down the beach away from him. He ran after her, caught her and spun her around to face him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Anywhere!” she snapped. “Just to get away from you. You’re really sick!”
He saw the genuine hurt and the tears in her eyes and was as suddenly contrite as he had been angry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I was angry.”
She shook herself free of his grasp. “Leave me alone,” she cried. “I want to go back to the boat.”
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “Look, I like you a lot. More than I even thought I did or could. Please don’t be angry with me. It won’t happen again.”
She held the back of her hand to her nose and snuffled, looking up at him. “You didn’t mean what you said about my sister, did you?”
“Of course not,” he said firmly. “I was just getting as frustrated with you as I did with her. You know how I really feel about her.”
“How do you feel about her?”
“I love her,” he said slowly, meeting the searching look in her eyes. “But I’m not in love with her,” he added softly. “I’m in love with you.”
Book Four
Madame
When he came out of the bathroom she was seated, naked, on the edge of the bed, holding a small mirror in one hand while with the other she carefully restored her eye makeup.
He stopped, staring down at her, the towel tied around his waist still damp against his skin. “What are you doing?” he asked, his harsh Greek accent overriding his French.
“Putting on my makeup,” she answered, without taking her eyes from the mirror.
“What for?” he asked. “I thought you were staying for the night.”
“I changed my mind,” she said, still not looking up.
“We had business to talk about,” he said. “You don’t expect me to decide on a ten-million-dollar deal with one quick fuck.”
“That’s right,” she agreed. She stood up and looked down at him. She was a full head taller than he. “You’ve already got what you wanted. Now you don’t have to waste your time on all the bullshit. And neither do I.”
She walked past him into the bathroom and squatted across the bidet. Quickly she turned on the taps and the water began to swirl into the bowl.
He followed her and watched while she took the washcloth and began to soap herself. “Is that the only reason you went to bed with me? The money?”
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze without blinking. “Can you think of a better reason? I don’t care if you’re ten times richer than Onassis ever was. You’re even uglier and not half as attractive.”
“You’re nothing but a whore,” he said insultingly.
She didn’t answer.
“Even if your cunt was lined with gold and diamonds, what makes you think it would be worth ten million dollars?”
“I don’t think anything,” she said evenly, letting the soapy water out and turning the taps on again. “You’re the one that just ate it and fucked it. You tell me.” She looked down and turned off the water, then up at him. “Besides, I came here to talk business with you. Not to fuck with you. That was your idea.”
“Bitch!” he snapped and stalked angrily from the bathroom.
When she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he was in a dressing robe, seated in an armchair, sipping at a snifter of cognac. Silently he watched her pick up the camisole top and slip it on, covering her magnificent breasts, then snap the narrow garter belt around her waist and sit down on the edge of the bed facing him as she carefully put on her stockings. In spite of his anger he felt the heat rising again in him. The bitch knew all the tricks. No bikini pants ever covered her. Never wore them, she had said. She stood up and fastened her wraparound skirt and then buttoned the simple white silk shirt over it. She stepped into her high-heeled shoes.
“Janette,” he said.
She looked down at him without speaking.
“I did want to talk business with you.”
She spoke without rancor. “There’s really nothing to discuss. You’ve had the papers for more than two weeks now. I’m sure your financial people have gone over it and that you’ve already made up your mind. And I think I’ve answered the only question that had been left open. Now all you have to do is say yes or no.”
“It’s not quite as simple as that,” he said.
“Maybe,” she answered with a typically Gallic shrug. “Your problem may be complicated, but mine is simple. I need ten million to buy back distribution of my line before Kensington sells me out to the Japanese. Au revoir, Nico.”
His voice stopped her at the door. “What will you do if I don’t give you the money?”
She looked back at him and smiled slowly. “I’ll manage,” she said quietly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a situation like this. And it may not be the last. But I’ve always survived.”
“I’ll call you in the morning,” he said. “Maybe something can be worked out.”
“Don’t bother,” she said quietly. “I think I already know the answer. And so do you.”
He watched the door close behind her, took another sip of his cognac, then went to the window and looked out into the street. She came out of the house and he watched as her chauffeur opened the door for her to get into the car. He stood there until the Rolls limousine turned the far corner and was gone from his sight then heavily walked back into the room. A strange sadness came over him. If only this could have happened when he was twenty years younger. There weren’t many women like that a man could meet in one lifetime. It could have been quite beautiful.
***
She sank into the soft leather of the right corner of the passenger compartment of the Rolls and lit a cigarette. Thoughtfully she looked out the window at the empty streets of Neuilly as the car made its way toward the autoroute to Paris. Strangely enough she felt neither depressed nor disappointed at the outcome of her visit with the Greek. From the very beginning of their discussions she had known she would never get an answer until she had gone to bed with him. That was the way it had to be. A man like Nico Caramanlis would never be satisfied until everything had been checked out.
Still, it was worth the trying. One never really knew. And there weren’t many men around who had the kind of money she was looking for. Greeks and Arabs. They seemed to be the only people who managed to prosper in this torn up economic world of chronic energy shortages. And of the two, she preferred the Greeks. At least they weren’t as foreign. They were European.
She glanced at the clock as the car moved onto the autoroute. The glowing dial read nine forty-five. She pressed a button and the window separating the driver’s compartment from the passenger’s rolled up and closed. She took the telephone from the console between the two jump seats and called home.
“Résidence de la Beauville,” the butler’s voice answered.
“C’est Madame,” she said. “Any messages?”
“Only one, Madame,” he answered. “The marquis called and asked that you re
turn his call as soon as possible whatever time you came in. He said it was very urgent and that he would be at home all night.”
“Thank you, Jules,” she said, putting down the telephone. She hesitated a moment before calling Maurice. She didn’t really feel like talking to anyone just now. But then, she picked up the telephone and placed the call.
His husky voice came on the phone. “Oui?”
“It’s Janette.”
His voice grew excited. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to get you all afternoon.”
“I’m on the autoroute from Neuilly,” she said.
He chuckled. “You were fucking with the Greek. I could have told you that was a waste of time.”
“How do you know that it was?” she asked.
“It’s ten minutes to ten,” he said. “If there was anything you would still be there.”
She was annoyed. “I’m calling because you said it was urgent.”
“It is,” he said. “I must talk with you. Can you come here tonight?”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Remember what we spoke about some years ago when I gave you the million francs?”
“We spoke about many things,” she answered cautiously.
“I don’t want to speak on the telephone,” he said. “It has to do with your mother and the Swiss banks. I have a man here who has some interesting information for us but he won’t give it to anyone but you.”
She thought for a moment, then she remembered. Maurice had some wild idea that her mother had a fortune in gold secreted away in a Swiss bank. He also had an idea that Johann had known about it and kept the money for himself. “I’ll be there,” she said. “It should take me about an hour.”
She put down the telephone and rolled down the compartment window. “René.”
“Oui, Madame,” he answered without looking back.
“We’ll go to the marquis’ apartment on the Ile Saint-Louis.”
“Merci bien, Madame.”
She pressed the button again and the window went up. There wasn’t any traffic on the autoroute. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. Quickly she opened her bag and searched through it for the small vial. If she was going to deal with Maurice it wouldn’t hurt for her to be more alert.
Cupping her hands so that she could not be seen in the rearview mirror, she took two quick snorts, then slipped the vial back in her purse and leaned back. A moment later she felt her head open up. A flood of memories rushed through her brain.
Six years ago. Then it was paying off Carroll and finding the money to stay in business. Now it was paying Kensington Mills so that she could retain control of her own business before they sold it down the river in a merger with another giant conglomerate. Nothing had changed except success.
And at this point in time, the net result of success was that it had driven up the cost of freedom. Ten million dollars. Six years ago it had cost only a little more than a million dollars. But then there were Lauren and Patrick.
Now there was no one but herself.
***
It had been six years since the night of the red collection, after which she and Jacques had gone to see Maurice. Oddly enough he was awake and seemed to be expecting her. He had come right to the point. “You blew the deal with Carroll?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Then you know that Philippe has signed with him?”
Surprise echoed in her voice. She glanced at Jacques, then back at him. “How did you know?” But even as she asked the question she knew the answer. The “pedes” had their own grapevine and there were no secrets in their world.
He smiled without answering. His man came in with a tray on which there were coffee and sandwiches, placed the tray on a coffee table and left the room. Maurice gestured. “I thought you might want something to eat.”
She looked at him. “What else do you know, Maurice?”
“He got to Philippe through Marlon,” he answered. “But that doesn’t matter now. C’est fait. It is done.” He went to the coffee table and filled the cups, then held one out to her. “Take some,” he said almost gently. “A hot drink will do all of us some good.”
“Thank you.” She sipped at the hot coffee. He was right. She began to feel better.
“How much will it take to get Carroll off your back?” he asked.
“A million francs,” she said.
He looked at her for a long moment, then, without speaking, he went to his desk and opened a drawer. Quickly he took out a checkbook and wrote in it, then held the check out to her.
She looked down at it. One million francs. Then at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
He smiled again. “You don’t have to say anything. We’re a family.”
She shook her head in disbelief. This wasn’t Maurice. She was silent.
“But that only takes care of Carroll,” he said. “It doesn’t solve the real problem. Where do you go from here?”
“I’ll find another association,” she said. “After tonight’s collection there should not be too much of a problem.”
“Patrick’s company, the Reardon Group, just bought Kensington Mills in the States and I heard they’re interested in going into prêt á porter,” Jacques said. “I’m sure Patrick will be of help there. And there are others.”
“It has to be fast,” Maurice said. “You can’t afford to lose the momentum this collection has given you.”
“I know that,” Janette said. “Jacques is going to London tomorrow morning to look into the situation there.”
Jacques glanced at her but didn’t speak. This was the first he had heard of it.
“In that case perhaps Jacques should go home and get some rest so that he can make an early start,” Maurice said with a smile.
“I’ll be all right,” Jacques said quickly.
Maurice smiled again. “I’m sure you will be. But there are some things I would like to discuss with Janette. Personal family matters.”
Jacques looked at her. She nodded almost imperceptibly. “I’ll do that,” he said. He held out his hand to Maurice. “I’d like to add my thanks to Janette’s.”
“You don’t have to,” Maurice said. He waited until the door had closed behind him, then gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Sit down. You must be exhausted.”
She sank into the chair and looked at him silently.
“Would you like a cognac?” he asked.
She nodded.
He filled two snifters, handed one to her, then sat down behind his desk. He raised his glass. “Cheers.”
She sipped at the liquor. It felt warm and good going down. She still didn’t speak.
“Is Lauren staying in Paris?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. She’s leaving tomorrow for Saint-Tropez with Patrick. I’m not going down until the weekend.”
He nodded. “This collection should do well. With luck I think you might make some money this year.”
“As soon as we do, you’ll have your money back,” she said.
He waved his hand. “It’s not important. I’m really not concerned about it.”
She took another sip of the cognac. “Okay, Maurice. We’re alone now. You can stop playing games. Exactly what is it that you want?”
He laughed. Then the laughter faded from his voice. “Money. What other reason could I have?”
“How much?” she asked.
“Twenty million dollars,” he said.
She stared at him. “You’re crazy. There isn’t that kind of money in my business.”
“I’m not interested in your business,” he said. “I want no part of it. I don’t even care whether you pay me back or not.”
“Then where do you expect me to find that kind of money?” she asked.
“In a Swiss bank,” he said. “When your mother left France to go to Switzerland to meet the general, she left in an automobile whose sides and doors were filled with gold napoleons. None
of that money ever turned up.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know it,” he answered. “I’ve never been able to prove it.”
“Did you ask my mother?”
“Yes,” he answered. “But of course she denied it. The way she felt about me, I couldn’t expect her to say anything else.” He was silent for a moment. “Johann knows where it is.”
She stared at him. “What makes you think that?”
He smiled. “He bought you out, didn’t he?”
“He got that money from his father-in-law.”
“That’s what he wanted everybody to think,” Maurice said. “But I checked into it. He didn’t get anything from his father-in-law. Not until after he took the company and merged it with the old man’s.”
“If it’s true,” Janette said, “how am I going to find out about it?”
“I don’t know,” Maurice said. “But sooner or later it will have to come out. In time, everything does. And when it does, I’m your partner.”
She finished her cognac. “I can’t believe it.”
He smiled at her. “Believe it or not, is it a deal?”
She laughed. “If that’s all you want, it’s a deal.”
“I’ll have an agreement drawn in the morning,” Maurice said. “We’ll both sign it.”
“You really believe it, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
She rose from her chair. “It’s been a long day. I think it’s time for me to go.”
He didn’t get out of his chair. “Remember when you were a girl you used to wear black bikini panties for me? Do you still wear them?”
“No.” She smiled down at him. “I’m a grownup now. I don’t wear any.”
He laughed, getting out of his chair and following her to the door. He held it open for her. She turned and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Maurice.”
He looked up at her. “The next time you see Johann, why don’t you just ask him about it?”
“I haven’t seen him in almost ten years. What makes you think I might see him now?”
“One never knows,” he said. “But if you do, just remember to ask him.”
Then, a week later, after the weekend in Saint-Tropez, she did see Johann. But she never brought it up. It was all too ridiculous for anyone to believe.
Goodbye, Janette Page 28