Empress Bianca

by Lady Colin Campbell

  ‘But how could he?’

  ‘Stop and think about it. The man was a suicidal depressive. He wanted to die.’ Then, earning the money he had just acquired for himself, he lied and said: ‘I’ve heard him say a hundred times that he would eventually kill himself…not that I want you to broadcast that all over town. The last thing I need is to have my name brought into this mess. But what better way to kill yourself than the way he did?’

  ‘It’s a fact that suicides are very angry people. I suppose that, if he felt that his wife had let him down in some way, he could have hired someone to do the deed in such a way that he could wreak his revenge on those he thought had failed him.’

  ‘You have more experience of this sort of thing than I do. But it has the resonance of truth, I’d say.’

  ‘We are dealing with someone who was highly intelligent and imaginative…’ the chief replied.

  ‘And also vengeful… I’d say it’s the perfect way to commit suicide, if you have all the money in the world and no one you want to live for.’

  ‘You’ve saved me a lot of time and effort, Señor d’Olivera. But that’s the advantage of having a boss who knows the subject we’re dealing with.’

  ‘My suggestion to you now is that you go back to her as soon as you’re off the phone and tell her that you’re satisfied with her reactions then leave before her lawyer gets there.’

  The moment the chief of police departed, Bianca headed straight for the telephone and dialled Philippe’s number.

  ‘Well?’ she said as soon as his secretary had put him on the line.

  ‘It’s done…but it wasn’t cheap.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Thirty big ones.’

  ‘That’s not so much,’ she said, thinking he meant thousands.

  ‘It’s a good fifteen percent of your Mexican holdings.’

  Bianca felt her temperature drop as the enormity of the sum she was paying for her freedom sank in. ‘But that’s highway robbery,’ she said.

  ‘There wasn’t any alternative. He made it crystal clear that he would step aside and watch the police do their damnedest, if I didn’t agree that figure.’

  Just then Juan Gilberto Macias entered the drawing-room. Bianca waved him over. ‘Listen, I have to go,’ she said, winding up the call. ‘My lawyer is here. We’ll speak later. But thanks. I really appreciate your efforts.’

  ‘Before you go, I have one bit of good news. He agreed to read a lesson, or whatever it is Catholics do, at the funeral on Monday. You’re to get in touch with his secretary to finalize arrangements. Do it today. We don’t want him changing his mind. His contribution at the funeral will quieten any gossip.’

  It was on the evening after the funeral, when Clara and her husband Rodolfo were changing into more comfortable clothes in their suite at the Hotel Imperiale, that they received the first in a series of mysterious phone calls. They came at ten-minute intervals. All that could be heard at the other end was someone breathing quietly without ever once uttering a word. After three hours of this, Clara instructed the hotel switchboard not to put through any more calls. Another call immediately came through. ‘Hello,’ she said, thinking that it must be Magdalena or someone else whom the switchboard recognized. But before she could say anything more, a man with an educated but harsh voice cut her off.

  ‘If you value your life,’ the man said, ‘you’ll leave Mexico tomorrow with your husband and daughter. If you don’t, we can’t be responsible for what becomes of you.’

  ‘Who is this?’ Clara asked.

  In answer, the line went dead.

  Clara promptly dialled the switchboard. ‘Operator, didn’t I tell you not to put through any more calls?’

  ‘We’re sorry, Señora, but it was from the police.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The caller said so, Señora. Besides, you can always tell when it’s the police. The line has a different sound. It’s like the telephone company line. You can’t disconnect them, but they can disconnect you. It’s different from an ordinary call.’

  That night Clara immediately made arrangements to charter a plane to fly her husband, daughter and herself out of Mexico the following afternoon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Flee. There was no other word for it. Along with Rodolfo and Magdalena, Clara fled to Miami, where they spent the night, before catching a connecting flight to London. Even as they were crossing the Atlantic, Magdalena still did not want to believe that Bianca could have played a part in her uncle’s death. Whatever doubts Rodolfo and Clara might have had were dispelled by the threat to their lives.

  The first thing Clara resolved to do after they arrived in London was to ensure that the Piedraplata family fortune was safely under her control.

  Later that morning, she telephoned Hannes Veitbech, the managing director of Calorblanco Switzerland, and, after discussing the quandary with him, she decided to avail herself of the much-vaunted protection the English legal system afforded her.

  Because Bianca was clearly enjoying the protection of the Mexican authorities, London seemed to be the place to spearhead any legal action Clara might undertake. All she needed to do was find a good set of lawyers. With that in mind, the first thing she did after checking into her usual suite on the fourth floor of Claridge’s, was to telephone the uncle of her former sister-in-law, Amanda.

  ‘Hello, this is the Marchesa d’Offolo. May I please speak to Lord Paulington?’ she said to the refined voice that had answered the telephone.

  The English custom of having well-bred young ladies work as junior secretaries until their marriages had always struck Clara as a sensible one. That way, the girls learned how to deal with a multiplicity of people in a variety of situations and to develop a sense of calm which was in marked contrast to those unmarried Latin American and Mediterranean girls for whom work was a proscribed activity.

  Solicitude evident from the first word, the welcome voice of Piers Paulington came on the line. ‘Clara. I am so sorry to hear about Ferdie. Dastardly business, killing himself.’

  ‘He didn’t, Piers. He was murdered. That’s why I’m phoning. I need you to recommend a good lawyer. Someone unconnected with Calorblanco, Banco Imperiale or Banco Mahfud. Someone who can mount an action to protect my family’s interests against the widow and our partners. Someone of absolute probity but with a killer instinct.’

  ‘Henry Spencer’s the man you need. He’s sharp as a pin intellectually but a man of probity. He’s the senior partner of Henry Spencer and Co in the Temple. His father was Attorney General during the reign of King George V, and the firm is sound. Solid as a rock.’

  ‘Do you know him well?’

  ‘Absolutely. He’s a member of White’s and Boodle’s. I see him all the time. If you’d like, I’ll ring him right now and tell him you want to see him. When will you be in London?’

  ‘I’m here already. We arrived a short while ago. I’m staying at Claridge’s,’ she said then recounted how she had been forced to flee from Mexico.

  No more than five minutes elapsed from the moment Clara hung up before Piers Paulington called back to say that he had made an appointment for her to see Henry Spencer within the hour.

  Fifty minutes later, Clara and Rodolfo entered the central hall at New Court at the Temple, the ancient legal chamber beside the River Thames, where they were directed to the offices of Henry Spencer and Co. As soon as Clara gave the receptionist her name, she and Rodolfo were shown into the Honourable Henry Spencer’s office. This éminence grise of the English legal profession was tall, slim and sallow, with a great beak of a nose and the manners of a courtier. Here undoubtedly was a pillar of the Establishment: a figure of rectitude. Someone you could trust. He received Rodolfo and Clara with the cultivation of a lifetime of considerate concern, and, within minutes, Clara was unburdening herself, sure that she was in safe and capable hands.

  ‘Marchesa, this is a difficult one,’ he said, peering over his pince-nez, when Clara had com
pleted her explanation. ‘I don’t think there’s any merit in accusing your sister-in-law outright of murder. Rather, what we should try to do is get to her in a roundabout way. Through your brother’s assets. Unravelling ownership of offshore shell companies is always a difficult task. However, by the sound of it, we at least have jurisdiction, albeit in a qualified way. My advice is that I write to the executors of your brother’s will, affirming your and your mother’s claim to continuing ownership of your portions of all the properties and companies in which you both had a share with your late brother and asking for an account of all the assets and funds jointly held.’

  ‘That will set the cat among the pigeons,’ Clara said.

  ‘We need to smoke them out. If there are any irregularities with joint assets, that will go some way towards contaminating her profile. Also, we want to discourage an attempt on their side to gain possession of assets that are already beyond their ambit. I’d say it’s a fair assumption that someone who can kill her husband will defraud his family. It’s up to us to make that as difficult for her as possible; it’s been my experience that the longer someone is in possession of assets to which they have no legal entitlement, the harder it is for the legal owners to regain possession of them. We must therefore move quickly.’

  ‘Possession being nine-tenths of the law,’ Rodolfo said.

  ‘Quite so, Marchese,’ Henry Spencer said, looking from Rodolfo to Clara. ‘Why don’t I draft a letter this afternoon and get it sent over to you at your hotel for your approval? If it’s acceptable, we can send it off first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That sounds fine,’ Clara said, rising to her feet, aware that Henry Spencer would charge her for every second that she spent being cordial to him. ‘Thank you very much for seeing us at such short notice.’

  ‘Always happy to help out an old chum like Piers. I understand you’re related through marriage.’

  ‘Yes,’ Clara said, the realization hitting her for the first time that, now that Ferdie was dead, Amanda, by right of being Manolito’s mother, should have custody of him and thereby control of his share of her brother’s fortune. During the dramas of the past few days, she had never once thought of that.

  As soon as Clara returned to Claridge’s, she telephoned Amanda, who was still in Mexico. Sure enough, Amanda had already raised the matter of care and control of Manolito with Bianca. She had done so the very day Clara, Rodolfo and Magdalena had fled so precipitously from Mexico. Amanda had gone to the Piedraplata family home to see Manolito and make arrangements to take him back to England with her.

  To her consternation, Bianca said: ‘Manolito’s now my son. He barely knows you. He’s attached to me, and Ferdie left me custody in his will. I believe the clause says that I am to bring him up in the event of anything happening to Ferdie.’

  ‘You can’t inherit custody of someone else’s child,’ Amanda pointed out sharply.

  ‘I can, and I have,’ Bianca said, dropping her voice and coating it in candy. ‘It’s my duty as Ferdie’s widow to fulfil his wishes. It’s also my duty, as the only mother Manolito knows, to protect his family life. He has his brothers and sister here. We all love him. And, what’s more, I’ll bring him up to be a true Piedraplata. If you have him, you’ll bring him up to be a little Englishman, in defiance of Ferdie’s specified wishes.’

  ‘Bianca,’ Amanda said, the blood flooding into her face, ‘my custody arrangements with Ferdie were private. They have never had the force of law. You don’t have a right to my child, and I want you to hand him over to me this afternoon.’

  Bianca’s response once more flabbergasted Amanda. She smiled kindly, brushed her hand over her right cheek and said, even more sweetly than before: ‘Amanda, I respect your instincts as a mother. But you must realize that I share those instincts and feel exactly the same way as you. Let’s not fight over this. Why don’t we work out a new arrangement? Something that is a perpetuation of the old one but gives you more time with Manolito. Say, four times as much time as you had before? And, I have to tell you,’ she said confidingly, ‘you’ve had my sympathy and my admiration ever since I discovered the harsh deal Ferdie cut with you over Anna Clara. Now that Ferdie’s dead, I think we women ought to stick up for each other, and do what’s right by each other. With that in mind, I’d like to create a trust fund for Anna Clara. The trust fund Ferdie should have created. A million dollars in trust. You keep half the income until she turns twenty-five, at which point the capital and the other half of the income will go to her. It’s only fair, don’t you think? After all, she’s a Piedraplata too. It was,’ Bianca continued, scrutinizing Amanda’s face for an indication of how she was receiving this offer, ‘a very unfair thing that Ferdie did to you and that sweet little thing.’

  ‘I’ve set my heart on getting Manolito back,’ Amanda said, thinking that Bianca’s reputation for munificence was well deserved, ‘though what you suggest with regard to Anna Clara is very generous.’

  ‘Don’t let’s fight over this. Even if I felt differently about Manolito, I’d be honour-bound to respect Ferdie’s wishes where his upbringing is concerned. If you take me on, I’ll have to respond accordingly. Only the lawyers will benefit, Amanda, and, after they’ve stripped you of as much money as they can, the custody arrangements will be no more generous than I’m proposing and will most likely be a lot worse. You don’t want to fight a Mexican in Mexico, do you? Think about it. You’ll be jeopardizing a large part of your overall worth against someone whose resources, compared with your own, are limitless.’

  ‘I’ll have to speak to my lawyer,’ Amanda said.

  ‘To show my good faith, why don’t I say that the offer remains open for twenty-four hours? I’ll have Juan Gilberto Macias draw up a draft agreement and send it over to your lawyer later today. Look it over. Speak to him. We can have this put to bed by tomorrow. Anna Clara will be secure for life, you’ll have greater access to Manolito, and we’ll be friends.’

  ‘And after twenty-four hours?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to go into that, and hope you won’t want to either,’ Bianca said levelly. ‘And Manolito stays here till we come to a final agreement.’

  The agreement, which Juan Gilberto Macias drew up that same day, gave Amanda everything that Bianca had promised. In return, it required Amanda to surrender guardianship of Manolito to Bianca along, by implication, with all his assets.

  Seeing no prospect of mounting a successful challenge against the might of the Piedraplata name in the Mexican Courts, Amanda signed the document in her lawyer’s office with a heavy heart the following morning.

  It was only after she had returned to her hotel that she found out how utterly her successor had outmanoeuvred her. Clara telephoned her, with the eye-opening news that she had fled to London and needed her former sister-in-law’s help in securing the Piedraplata family fortune against Bianca, who had plainly had Ferdie killed with Philippe’s complicity.

  This call was the first time that Amanda had heard that Ferdie had died by anything but his own hand. ‘You’re Manolito’s legal guardian,’ Clara said. ‘He’s inherited half of Ferdie’s assets. Bianca is sure to seize whatever she can, and she’ll have Philippe’s assistance in doing so, unless we join forces and block them.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Amanda enquired.

  ‘You’re responsible for Manolito’s fifty percent of Ferdie’s assets. I’m responsible for my percentage of the companies, which amounts to another third. Bianca only has half of Ferdie’s third share in the companies. If we join forces, we have more than fifty percent, so we’d have control of everything.’

  ‘And there’s your mother’s share,’ Amanda added.

  ‘We’d better keep that out of the equation. She doesn’t even know how Ferdie really died, and I don’t want her to find out. It will kill her if she does. And you know how much she enjoys causing mischief for me.’

  ‘But, Clara, I’m no longer Manolito’s legal guardian.’

  ‘Of course you
are. Who told you that you aren’t? Not that jerk Juan Gilberto Macias.’

  ‘I signed my rights away earlier today.’

  ‘What?’

  After Amanda explained what happened, Clara said: ‘Phone Ferdie’s lawyer, Ignacio Ribero, right now and get him down to the courts. If the Deed hasn’t yet been ratified by a judge, it will only have the strength of a contract and not the force of a Mexican court. We can get it overturned on the grounds of deception or some such thing. We don’t have a second to waste. If the judge has already ratified it, there’s no reversing that. Call him as soon as I hang up and make sure he goes right down there right now.’

  Two hours later, Amanda telephoned Clarita with the news. Juan Gilberto Macias had taken the Deed of Transfer of Custody down to the court for ratification as soon as she and Bianca signed it. It had been ratified within an hour of signature.

  ‘I can hardly believe the speed with which Bianca has accomplished such a polished move. It’s too effective to have been hatched by that birdbrain. I can’t see Juan having any incentive - not even the money - to come up with a scheme like this. I detect the hand of Philippe Mahfud behind this,’ Clara rightly concluded.

  For her part, Amanda was also incredulous. ‘What have I done?’ she kept on repeating over and over again. The enormity of it was almost beyond absorption. But the deed was done, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

  Seven days later, Henry Spencer’s letter arrived on Juan Gilberto Macias’ desk. Upon reading it, he immediately telephoned Bianca. She referred him, as she always did then, to Philippe. ‘Stonewall them,’ he ordered the lawyer. ‘Give them no information. Tell them that we’re…that is, that you and Bianca are looking into ways and means of meeting their request for information. Tell them you’ll be in touch again, when you’ve compiled the information.’

  Juan duly responded as instructed. Henry Spencer replied within another week, making the obvious point that bankers and lawyers are obliged by law to hand over the information he had requested.