Agatha smiled. What harm was there in humouring a dying old man? She pecked him on the cheek.
‘No. I want a proper kiss.’
‘Now, Monsieur, you don’t want me to have to tell you off again, do you?’ she scolded gently.
‘I like it when you tell me off.’
Philippe stopped to catch his breath. They were in the passage leading from the bedroom to the living room. It was appreciably darker there than in any of the rooms because it had no windows; the security system required the doors leading off it to be kept shut at all times.
The cloakroom door suddenly burst open, and in the half light Philippe could make out a tall figure with what looked like a gun. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he croaked, a look of absolute terror on his face, as if the bowels of hell had opened up and he had seen the fate that awaited him. ‘Don’t shoot. I’ll give you $10,000,000 not to shoot me.’
‘It’s only me, Monsieur,’ Eli said.
‘You gave me the most dreadful fright, Eli. I thought you were a hitman,’ Philippe said, shaking from terror before vomiting on the floor.
Eli and Agatha took him back into the bedroom to clean him up and change him, while the housekeeper mopped up the mess.
It was at this point that Bianca arrived. ‘You’d better hurry or we’re going to miss the report of your crowning glory, you fabulous emperor of finance, you,’ she said coquettishly, standing well away from him for she could not abide the stench of vomit.
‘I just had the most awful fright,’ Philippe mumbled and explained what had happened. ‘I really thought the end had come,’ he said, still clearly rattled by the incident.
‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ Bianca said briskly, her voice displaying not an ounce of sympathy. ‘So let’s hurry before we miss everything.’
With that, she led the way into the living room, where the television set had remained tuned to CNN. Philippe shuffled in between his nurse and her male assistant, and they all sat down to look at the USNB-Banco Imperiale announcement, Philippe proudly taking Bianca’s right hand in his left. The merest flicker of distaste passed over her elegant features, but no one caught it.
Promptly, at three o’clock in the afternoon French time, CNN ran the item along with a photograph of Philippe and Bianca taken outside L’Alexandrine ten years before. In many ways, it was the ideal photograph to use for such a story. Bianca was a study in glamour, her hair piled high on her head, her neck and earlobes ablaze with the most amazing diamond and emerald jewels. Philippe, standing slightly behind her, appeared as a short, squat, powerful man beaming with pride at the beautiful creature he called his own.
No sooner was the broadcast finished than Bianca withdrew her hand from Philippe’s and started clapping. ‘You make me feel so proud,’ she said. ‘My husband: the emperor of the financial world. This moment must make you very, very proud.’
‘It does,’ he said, the spittle oozing down one side of his mouth.
‘You know,’ she continued in sentimental vein, ‘when I stop to think of the first time we met…and of all the things we’ve accomplished since then. We really have been an exceptional team, haven’t we, my darling?’
‘Yes, we have,’ Philippe agreed. ‘I could never have done it without you.’
‘Nor me, my darling. You’ve been my inspiration and so much more besides.’
Philippe smiled and motioned Agatha to bring him the telephone.
‘Who are you going to call now?’ Bianca asked, annoyed that he was diverting his attention elsewhere.
‘Raymond and Hepsibah and Rebecca, to see what they thought of our performance.’
Bianca’s expression hardened. ‘If you’re going to do that, I’m off. No point sitting here looking at four walls while you talk to those sisters and that brother of yours.’ She was about to give Philippe a goodbye kiss on the forehead when the latest item on the newscast caught their attention.
‘Congress has just announced the formation of a fact-finding committee to investigate allegations of money laundering involving the Russian Mafia and banks in Europe, the Caribbean and the Americas. All the offshore banks will be targeted, and among the onshore banks whose finances are to be examined is the Swiss-based Banco Imperiale Geneva, the subject of our lead story today.’
Philippe started to gag, panic-stricken by this new development. Agatha rushed to get him some oxygen, while Bianca sympathetically stroked his hand. ‘Take it easy, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘Otherwise you’ll kill yourself.’
The nurse quickly returned with the oxygen and clamped the mask over his face. He breathed in slowly, and gradually his respiration returned to normal.
‘They’re going to kill me,’ he said to Bianca. ‘I know it.’
‘Who’s going to kill you?’ she said, knowing very well Philippe meant the Russians. ‘No one wants to kill you.’
‘You don’t know what they’re like. Anyone who crosses them is wiped out. They’re constantly gunning down businessmen in the street. They’ll be sure to kill me once those fucking Americans spill the beans about my cooperation. Christ, why did I ever cooperate with them? Fucking naïve fools!’
‘But you’re safe and sound in here,’ Bianca observed, ‘surrounded by a team of the finest bodyguards Mossad has ever trained, in an impregnable fortress.’
‘They’ll find a way,’ Philippe said gloomily.
‘I’d better call the doctor and get him to give you something.’
‘I can’t take tranquillizers with MS, Bianca,’ Philippe replied. ‘My breathing is already depressed enough without drugs, which would slow it down even further.’
‘Then you’ll just have to get a grip on your emotions, darling,’ she said gently, kissing him once more on the top of his head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. And do try to lighten up. You don’t want to spoil your big day with negative thoughts.’
Philippe, however, was caught in the grip of a terror that would remain with him for the rest of his life. Thereafter, he would never walk from one room to another without insisting that his nurses, their male assistants and the bodyguards walk ahead of him. He made them look behind curtains and under furniture for gunmen who might have gained access to the premises and were lurking, ready to kill him. After the part he had played in Ferdie Piedraplata’s murder, the manner of his late partner’s death preyed on his mind. His greatest fear became not only that he would share Ferdie’s fate but also his manner of execution.
For her part, Bianca regarded Philippe’s fears as preposterous but put a tolerant face upon them until he tried to bring up the manner of Ferdie’s death with her. Cognisant that their every word was being recorded by the surveillance equipment and that Agatha and Eli were both present as witnesses, she cut him short before he could say anything incriminating. ‘Agatha, what tablets have you given Monsieur?’ she snapped. ‘He’s having delusions again.’
‘Just the usual, Madame,’ she replied.
Bianca had always been one to recognize and grasp every opportunity that came her way, and at that moment she saw that she could turn this to her advantage. ‘You know what is true,’ she said decisively, jumping to her feet and turning to face her husband as she was seized by inspiration, ‘it’s cruel of Dr Wiseman to allow you to have delusions and hallucinations. We’ve all spent the last two months watching you cower in fear. It’s very distressing for us and can only be worse for you. All this talk about being executed by Russian hitmen is nothing more than an indication that your drugs need to be changed. You’re clearly suffering from drug-induced paranoia, and I can no longer fool myself into thinking that the signs will go away if we ignore them long enough. You’re getting, worse, not better. I’m going to have a word with Dr Wiseman right now.’
Bianca reached for the telephone and called New York. She briefly explained the problem. ‘I’ll alter the drugs,’ Dr Wiseman said. ‘They’re obviously affecting him mentally. We’ll put him on some other medicine. They might befuddle him on occasion…at least, un
til he gets used to them…but that’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.’
It was now only a matter of time before Philippe’s greatest fear was realized, although not from the source, nor in quite the way, he had imagined.
Chapter Twenty-One
Getting rid of Eli became Bianca’s first priority. As long as Philippe had such a devoted and intelligent helper, she could not take the chance of implementing the plan she had formulated. In her assessment, Agatha and the other nurses were not a problem. They were not sophisticated or intelligent enough to see through her, but Eli, she feared, was an altogether different matter. If there was one lesson she had learned from Ferdie’s death, it was that one cannot be too careful around the staff. She did not propose to have a minion tripping her up.
Bianca often did her thinking while having breakfast in bed at L’Alexandrine. Everything about the setting was conducive to the smooth turning of her mind. From the priceless Louis XVI bed to the timeless beauty of the garden, there was not one item in the place that did not betoken to her the fruit of her labour. As far as Bianca was concerned, she had earned all this, and its existence not only drove her to protect what she already had but also acted as a spur for her to attain the freedom she had never had.
The decision to remove Philippe and gain absolute possession of all his wealth before doing so was not one Bianca had come to lightly or easily. She had managed to make the task easier by convincing herself that death would be a release for him. Bianca was quite open in this. ‘If my poor husband were a dog,’ she had often observed to friends and to Antonia and Moussey over the past few years, ‘he’d have been put down long ago. Medical science has a lot to answer for. It prolongs a life that’s not worth living. Poor Philippe’s condition is so appalling that I find myself praying that God will be merciful and bring him the release of death.’
Having convinced herself and everyone who knew him that death would be a release for him, Bianca was able to silence her conscience with the rationale that he was going to die a slow and horrendous death some time in the future. Certainly, Bianca told herself, she was not doing it for the money. She already had more than anyone could spend in this world or the next. Nor was she doing it to get rid of an inconvenient husband, she argued, although Philippe was a burden she could well do without. Dr Wiseman, she knew only too well, would move heaven and earth to keep receiving the fat fees that were his incentive to keep his patient alive. No. She was mightily tired of having to play the dutiful and loving wife. She had an inheritance to protect, and protect it she would, not because of the money, but because of what that money represented.
Indeed, she would do more than protect that inheritance. She would enhance it and use it to realize her final ambitions before time ran out for her too. Bianca was no longer prepared to let Philippe linger on indefinitely, dissipating the quality of the remaining years of her own life when, by removing him from his misery, she could fulfil in herself in all the areas where he had thwarted her.
She was casting her gaze upon a magnificent azalea bush outside her bedroom window when inspiration suddenly struck, as it often did with her, out of a rich and determined subconscious. ‘Yes,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s the way.’
Energized, Bianca bounced out of bed and took a quick shower after ordering Louis to have the helicopter ready within forty-five minutes. She was in a jaunty mood as she dressed: a mood that carried through to her arrival at the unaccustomedly early time of eleven-forty five in the morning, at the Andorran headquarters of Banco Imperiale, which Philippe was still occupying, by agreement with USNB, until the end of the year.
Agatha was on duty.
Bianca went straight to Philippe’s bedroom, knowing that he usually napped before lunch. She opened the door to see the Jamaican nurse reading her Bible while her charge was sleeping soundly. ‘One good thing about these new drugs,’ she thought, ‘is that they make him sleep better than he has been in years.’
As she entered, Agatha stirred. Bianca raised her right index finger to her lips, indicating to the other woman to get up silently.
‘He’s fast asleep,’ Bianca whispered when she joined her at the foot of the bed.
Agatha smiled and nodded.
‘Come outside. I need to speak to you.’
They stepped out into the corridor.
‘Who’s on duty with you?’
‘Alvaro, Madame.’
‘When will Eli be back on?’
‘Day after tomorrow. Monsieur gave him time off to be with his girlfriend. She’s visiting from Israel.’
‘Monsieur is such a wonderful man. We’re so lucky to have him in our lives. I know you share my sentiments,’ Bianca said sweetly. ‘Now I want you to do me a little favour. Tell Alvaro to stay with Monsieur until we get back. I want you to come with me and choose one of those vibrating gizmos that work so well on stiff necks. I slept badly last night. I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.’
In response, Agatha bobbed slightly, in a motion reminiscent of a curtsey, the way the other female servants did when taking their leave of their regal Madame, and rushed off to find Alvaro. When she returned, her face was wreathed in delight at the honour of accompanying Madame on such an important and intimate mission. In acknowledgement, Bianca smiled the imperious but friendly smile that always went down so well with the staff, and they set off downstairs.
Like many simple souls, Agatha derived simple pleasures from simple things. She therefore surrendered herself to the pleasure of riding with Madame in her latest model Rolls Royce, black on the outside, beige and tan on the inside. There was, Agatha knew, something about the scent of very expensive cars that was truly a sensual delight, and she soaked up the experience while Bianca asked her polite questions about Monsieur’s health and state of mind. The car pulled up outside the pharmacy where Monsieur’s prescriptions were customarily filled, and the two women disembarked once the driver opened the door for them.
‘Agatha,’ Bianca said as soon as they were inside the pharmacy, ‘I had to get you out of the apartment to warn you. You’re in danger. I’ve discovered from one of the guards - I can’t tell you who - that Eli plans to accuse you of the theft of some of my jewels so he can get rid of you and have his girlfriend employed in your place. You know how Monsieur loves you. It will break his heart if he loses you. But you also know how fond he is of Eli. I want you to help me to protect you. I’m really disappointed in Eli. I thought better of him.’
Agatha knew that every room had surveillance equipment and it was not possible to say or do anything in the apartment without the guards being privy to it.
‘Madame,’ she said, grabbing Bianca’s hands in an act of heartfelt gratitude, ‘I cannot thank you enough. You have saved my life. My family blesses you. You are a good woman. Monsieur says it all the time, and I now know to what extent he is right. I will do anything you ask of me. But what can I do?’
‘I think it’s time for us to give Eli a dose of his own medicine. Take this ring,’ Bianca said lightly, opening her handbag and taking out a dinner ring with a central stone of a Kashmiri blue sapphire that was over fifty carats in weight. ‘Slip it into your pocket now. Make sure you don’t take it out until you’re in Monsieur’s bathroom. Hide it away in there. Then, after Eli comes back on duty, wait until you are both next bathing Monsieur. Slip the ring into Eli’s pocket when he’s helping you get Monsieur out of the bath. Make sure Eli and Monsieur don’t see what you’re doing. And you mustn’t do it anywhere else in the apartment except in Monsieur’s bathroom, otherwise the surveillance cameras will pick up what you’re doing and you’ll get into real trouble. Once you’ve done it, telephone me and tell Louis: “This is Agatha. Is Madame planning to come to see Monsieur today? He misses her and wants to see her.” That will be our code for me to swing into action and nail that treacherous little so-and-so before he implements his plan against you. God knows what mischief he and his girlfriend will get up to if we allow them to prevail.’
‘Oh, Madame, I don’t know how I will ever be able to thank you,’ Agatha said.
‘You can thank me by swearing to Jesus that you will never repeat one word of this conversation to anyone. Not even to your minister.’
‘I swear, Madame.’
‘Good. Now let’s go back,’ said Bianca, all pretence about having a pain in the neck discarded.
Two days later she was with the head gardener by the swimming pool at L’Alexandrine discussing the hydrangeas when Louis came out with the portable telephone on a silver tray. ‘It’s Agatha, Madame.’
‘Thank you, Louis,’ she said, gesturing to him to wait. Picking up the receiver, she looked up at the sun. ‘Agatha, what can I do for you?’ she said, slightly annoyed that Agatha had asked for her instead of sending the message through Louis, then listened as the woman recounted the prearranged signal confirming that the ring was safely in Eli’s pocket.
‘Don’t tell Monsieur that I’m planning to come to see him today,’ she said, keeping up the pretence nonetheless, ‘just in case he gets overexcited and fights the urge to rest, but I’ll be over to see him as soon as I finish here.’
These paltry little victories - the fruit of the skirmish rather than the fruit of the war - were always more exciting for Bianca because there was no downside to them if they went wrong. The big projects, on the other hand, always carried with them an element of risk that made their execution too exciting to be pleasurable. As a result, she preferred her little schemes to the larger ones.
‘Louis, see that the helicopter is ready in twenty minutes, will you, please?’ she said, handing the receiver to the butler. ‘I’m going in to see Monsieur. He misses me,’ she said with girlish delight, as if she were a fifteen year old going to see a boyfriend.
That morning while getting dressed Bianca had deliberately chosen a trouser-suit in anticipation of Agatha’s telephone call. Over her right shoulder she had slung a shahtoosh shawl that she kept in place with a massive en tremblent brooch of diamonds and Burmese sapphires. Leaving nothing to chance in case an observant servant should remember what she was wearing in the way of jewellery, she purposely did not wear any rings, with the result that once Bianca received the awaited call she had to go back up to her bedroom to put on her rings. These she now slipped on: her ‘everyday’ engagement ring and her wedding ring on the left hand, while the right hand remained bare. She then left the bedroom playing with the borders of the shahtoosh shawl, thereby obscuring her naked right hand in a way that would not be memorable to anyone but would nevertheless conceal the fact that she had no ring upon it.
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