Goodbye, Janette

by Harold Robbins

  Lauren turned to Johann. “Give her the key, Daddy. If that’s what she wants, let her have it.”

  “It’s half yours, child,” he said.

  “I don’t care.” She was crying. “It’s dirty money covered with blood and hate and I don’t want any of it now.”

  Johann looked at Heidi. She nodded. “Lauren is right. It’s blood money. Give her the key.”

  Johann hesitated for a moment. Then looked at them. “No, I won’t do it. I don’t give a damn what Janette wants. Half of it belongs to Lauren and will remain there until Lauren decides what she wants done with it. He looked at Janette. “I will meet you at the bank in Geneva next week and turn over your share to you. Is that satisfactory?”

  Janette nodded. “It has to be. I don’t have any choice, do I?”

  “No choice at all,” Johann said.

  Heidi got to her feet. Her voice was angry. “Now get out of my house. I never want to see you again.”

  Janette got to her feet. She looked down at Lauren. “I did it as much for you as I did it for myself.”

  Lauren raised her head. She brushed the tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ll bet,” she said sarcastically. “You’ve never done anything for anyone in your whole life unless there was something in it for you. I agree with Mother. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  “But—” Janette hesitated. This wasn’t what she had wanted. Lauren was supposed to be with her.

  Lauren’s voice was suddenly strong. Janette had heard it like that once before. When she left Patrick. “No buts. Goodbye, Janette.”

  Janette looked at her for a moment, then turned toward the door. Lauren had meant it when she said she was leaving Patrick. And she meant what she said now.

  ***

  Johann was waiting for her when she arrived at the bank. She shivered as she got out of the taxi and hurried inside, the mink-lined hood of her parka shielded her face against the sleeting December rain that always seemed to be falling on Geneva streets.

  The young man who had brought the notice to her in Paris greeted her at the door. “Madame de la Beauville, so nice to see you again.”

  Frantically she searched her memory for his name and found it. “Monsieur Thierry.” She smiled.

  “Herr Schwebel is waiting in my office,” he said. “Please follow me.”

  He led her to an office at the rear of the bank, through a door marked “Private.” Johann was standing at the window, looking out at the street. He turned when he heard them enter.

  “Good morning Johann,” she said.

  He didn’t return her greeting. “I suggest that you rent a vault before we go downstairs,” he said abruptly.

  She looked at him for a moment, then turned to Thierry. “I suppose that’s a good idea. Monsieur Thierry, please.”

  “Of course, Madame,” the young man said. He took some papers from his desk. “If you will be kind enough to fill these out, it will only take a moment.”

  She sat down in the chair he indicated and quickly filled out the forms and pushed them across the desk to him. He glanced at them.

  “Very good,” he said, turning the papers over. “There is a form on this side on which you can designate a beneficiary to whom the vault will be given in the event of your demise. If you should wish to use it, however, we shall need two witnesses who will attest both to your signature and the name of your beneficiary. Of course, everything will be held strictly confidential under the terms of the Swiss banking laws.”

  She thought for a moment. “I’d like to use it.”

  “Very well,” Thierry said. “I will call in two bank employees to attest the document.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Johann said.

  “Is it necessary?” she asked the banker. “Can’t you and Monsieur Schwebel act as witnesses?”

  “Of course,” Thierry replied. “But in that case you must understand that the bank cannot guarantee confidentiality.” He turned to Johann. “With all due respect to Herr Schwebel.”

  “I’m not concerned about that,” she said.

  “Very good,” the banker said. “Fill in the names of the beneficiaries and their relationship to you in the space indicated. Then sign your name where indicated.” He gave Janette the pen again and looked up. “Herr Schwebel, will you to be kind enough to observe Madame de la Beauville’s writing?”

  Johann came next to her and stood there looking at the form as she filled it out. She wrote quickly on the lines designated for the beneficiaries. Lauren Reardon, sister, and/or Anitra Reardon, niece. Then on the line below, her own name. The banker pushed a stamp pad toward her. “We’ll need your thumbprint,” he said apologetically. She held out her hand and he guided her thumb and pressed it on the pad, then guided it to the paper. “Roll your thumb from side to side,” he said. “Now, Herr Schwebel, your signature.”

  Quickly Johann signed it. Then the banker himself signed the document. He got to his feet. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I’ll get a vault assigned to you and come right back with the key.”

  The door closed behind him and they sat there in silence for a moment. She took out a cigarette and lit it. He went to the window again and looked out. He spoke without turning to look at her. “Every time I think I finally have you all figured out you do something to surprise me.”

  “I have no intention of dying,” she said.

  Thierry came back into the office. He gave the key to Janette. “Now if you’ll be kind enough to follow me.”

  They went down into the vault. Quickly he checked the number on Johann’s key, and placing his key in the lock, turned it, then waited while Johann placed his key in the other lock and turned it. The door swung open. He did the same thing for Janette. The two boxes were almost next to each other. He turned to them. “I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “When you’re ready to leave, press this button near the vault door and I’ll be back to let you out.”

  “Thank you,” Johann said. He waited until the vault door had closed behind the banker, then turned to Janette. He nodded and quickly began taking canvas coin bags from the deep box and piling them up on a wooden table just behind him. Finally there were thirty-three of them. Then he searched around in the box until he found what he was looking for—a canvas bag slightly smaller than the others. He peered at the markings on it, then placed it on the table with the others. He looked at her. “That’s it.”

  Wonderingly, she picked up the last bag and opened the cord that held it shut. She turned it over on the table and the gold coins began tumbling out. Holding her breath, she picked one up and looked at it. It was a coin she had never seen before, but despite its small size it was heavy in her hand. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly, her heart beginning to pound.

  “Gold napoleons, louis they’re called, after Louis Napoleon, who ordered them struck,” Johann answered.

  “My God,” she almost whispered. “What are they worth?”

  “Your share is thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-three of them,” he said. “At today’s gold price they have a value of about five million dollars.”

  “Five million dollars,” she said. Maurice had tricked her. He had pushed her into doing what she did because she thought there would be enough money to buy back her freedom from Kensington. It wasn’t worth it.

  “It’s a lot of money,” he said. He gestured to his open vault. “Would you like to check this box? There is exactly the same amount of money in it as you have there on the table.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have to do that. I trust you.”

  “Finally,” he said dryly. He snapped the door of his box shut and straightened up. “I suggest you place your bags in your vault.”

  She was still staring at the money. “Yes,” she said.

  “Do you want me to help you?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “Please.”

  Quickly they began to put the bags into the box. At the end there were just the coin
s she had emptied on the table. She began to put them back into the bag.

  He stood there watching her. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Janette, but what happened that made you feel you needed this money so desperately?”

  “I wanted to buy my freedom from Kensington,” she answered in a low voice. There was no point in telling him now that it wouldn’t be enough.

  “What on earth for?” His voice was incredulous. “They’ve done a fantastic job for you. You have to be netting at least four million dollars a year.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I don’t have to give you this advice,” he said. “But I’m going to anyway. I’ve been responsible for you so many years that it’s a habit I can’t get out of that easily.

  “Gold is increasing in value every day. Two years ago what you have there was worth only one million. It’s gone up five times since then. And I’ve heard the U.S. government is planning to inflate the market and then place some of its gold reserve on sale. And then gold will go through the roof. By this time next year the value of what you have may well be five times what it is today.”

  She stared at him, still silent, the last of the coins in the bag. She pulled the string shut.

  “What I’m saying to you is—keep the gold. Forget buying out Kensington. That gold will be worth twenty-five, thirty million dollars in about a year. You won’t live long enough to make that much more money from buying out Kensington.”

  Without speaking, she placed the bag in the box and snapped the door shut, taking out her key. She looked at him. “How will I know when to sell?”

  “The minute it goes over eight hundred dollars an ounce,” he said. “It might go to a thousand but it doesn’t matter. If it gets to eight hundred, that’s when I’m planning to sell Lauren’s share.”

  She nodded slowly. In effect he was saying the same thing that Jacques had said. It would take too many years to get any real gain from buying out Kensington. And she didn’t have that much time to spend struggling. Jacques was right again. What was the point of working if it wasn’t fun?

  He reached for the button and pressed it. “My hotel is just around the corner,” he said. “Would you like a coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I flew up from Paris this morning and I’m booked to return on a two o’clock flight. I’ll just have time to make it.”

  Thierry appeared in the door and opened the vault gate with his key. They followed him upstairs to the main floor. They thanked him and he bowed. He was happy to be of service to them, he said, opening the door for them.

  They stepped out into the street. The sleet slammed into them. Janette threw her hood over her head. A taxi came crawling by and Johann stopped it. He opened the cab door and let Janette climb in.

  She looked up out of cab up at him. “I’m sorry, Johann,” she said. “But—thanks.”

  He gestured with his hand. “I’m sorry too. Goodbye, Janette.” Then he closed the door and straightened up. For a moment he watched the taxi go down the road. Then he turned and resolutely began to talk to his hotel. He didn’t know whether the blurring in his eyes came from the tears or the sleeting rain. But all he kept seeing in front of him was that sleeping infant nestled in her mother’s arms the first time they entered the general’s house in Warsaw.

  ***

  It was raining when she arrived in Paris. But at least it wasn’t sleet, as it had been in Geneva, and not as cold. René was waiting as she came out the airport door and held the door of the Rolls for her. He closed the door and got into the driver’s seat. The big car moved quietly away from the curb. “Where to, Madame?”

  She glanced at the clock. It was just past four. “The office, René,” she said.

  “Oui, Madame,” he said. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “Was it a good flight, Madame?” he asked politely.

  “It was, thank you.” She nodded. Then she pressed the button and the partition window rolled up. She didn’t feel like speaking and leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes. God, she was tired. It was beginning to seem as if she was always tired, always suffering from jet lag, always getting off one plane and on another.

  It used to be that she would have some time for herself. But not anymore. For the first time she began to understand how much of the day-to-day routine Jacques had spared her. The new man was brilliant, the office and the plants seemed to operate more efficiently under him, but there was only one thing wrong. The people she dealt with, the important buyers and executives who used to be willing to talk with Jacques, all now wanted to talk to her. And the days were never long enough for her to fit them all in.

  “We’re here, Madame.” The chauffeur’s voice coming from the open door startled her. She had fallen asleep. She smiled, getting out of the car.

  “Thank you, René. You can pick up me at seven.” She stepped under the umbrella the doorman held for her and walked up the few steps that led to the office door. He opened the door to let her pass, then followed her inside and pressed the elevator button for her.

  Robert followed her into her office and took her coat. “Was it a good flight, Madame?”

  “Very good, thank you,” she said, walking behind her desk. “Have the final sketches come up from design yet?”

  “They should be on their way up now, Madame,” he said. “I’ll check on them right away.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She sank into her chair.

  “The telephone messages are on your desk, Madame,” Robert said.

  She glanced at the desk. The messages were there all right—laid out neatly, one overlapping the other in rows of five. This way she didn’t have to pick them up to see who had called. A quick glance would give her the name. She grimaced. There had to be at least twenty of them. She made no move to look at them. Instead she looked up at her secretary. “Anything important, Bobby?” she asked.

  “Not really, Madame,” he said. “They can probably hold until morning.”

  “Good,” she said. “I really need the time to go over the sketches.”

  As soon as he closed the door behind him, she opened a drawer and took out a vial of cocaine. She did two snorts in each nostril and leaned back waiting for it to kick in. She felt her head begin to clear. It helped but it wasn’t enough. She took a Dexamyl from the pillbox in the drawer and swallowed it with some water from the carafe on her desk. The combination did the trick. By the time the artists came in with their final sketches, her eyes were bright and she really was going. She worked with them until six o’clock without a stop.

  When the last of the artists had filed from her office, she leaned her head back against the chair. Jacques was right. It wasn’t fun anymore. Now she was beginning to feel better about not getting enough money to buy out Kensington. As bad as this was, she could imagine how much tougher it would be if she did go through with it.

  Robert came into the office. “Monsieur le Marquis is outside.”

  She looked down at the messages, then at her appointment calendar. His name wasn’t on them. “Did he call?”

  “No, Madame,” Robert said. “But he said that he had to see you. It was very important.”

  She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Show him in.”

  Maurice was smiling as he entered. She didn’t rise and he came around the desk and kissed her upturned cheek. “Bon jour, Janette.”

  She gestured to the seat in front of the desk. “Bon jour,” she said wearily.

  He sat down and looked at her, still smiling. He nodded his head for a moment before he spoke. “Well?” he asked.

  She stared at him. “Well, what?”

  His smile grew even broader. “Don’t play games with your dear Papa,” he said. “The suspense is killing me. I know you met Johann at the bank in Geneva at eleven o’clock this morning and that you both came out at one o’clock and he put you in a taxi to take you to the airport.”

  Her voice was incredulous. “You’ve been having me followed!”
/>
  “Of course,” he smiled. “Wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were in my circumstances? After all, you did come back from California early this week and you never called me. And I know that you saw Johann and Lauren on the Thursday before. Come now, the suspense is killing me. Tell your partner how many millions we have to share.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. The vision of the gold coins gleaming in the lights of the bank vault ran through her mind. That was where the freedom lay, not with Kensington. And there was no reason for her to share it with him for a lousy million francs, not after all he had done to her from childhood on. Perhaps if it hadn’t been for him, she could have been like Lauren, happy and with a child of her own. A sudden wave of hatred for him steeled her resolve. “Nothing.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Nothing?”

  “That’s what I said. There was nothing,” she said coldly. “I don’t know from where you got your information. But it was wrong. There’s no Kensington there for me. It was a beautiful dream while it lasted but now it’s over.”

  “I don’t believe you!” His voice began to rise. “There had to be something there. You’re lying!”

  “There was something there,” she said. “Papers that the general gave my mother to keep for him. Papers showing the things he had bought and given to her. Including your title, which he bought in order for you to marry my mother.”

  “It’s not true!” His voice grew even more shrill. “Everything was cash.”

  She laughed, knowing that the information she got from Johann was verified. “But the general was German. And you know how they are. They keep detailed records. Even of information that might be detrimental to them. We found that out at the war criminal trials.”

  “You’re lying!” he screamed. “You’re trying to throw dirt in my eyes. There was money and now you want to keep it all for yourself!”

  Suddenly all the hatred of him inside her came out. Whatever agony she could cause him would be as nothing compared to what he had caused her. Her voice went cold. “Maybe I am,” she said, enjoying seeing him squirm. “But you’ll never know, will you? And there’s nothing you can do about it.” She rose from her chair. “Now, get out!”