It would not, however, have done to give voice to any of those sentiments. So, as she shook Juan’s hand, Bianca also shook her head in mock resignation. ‘You always were a tough nut to crack,’ she said, smiling, ‘but then, that’s why I have you acting for me. Yes. OK. Fine. It’s a deal. Now I’d suggest you get on the phone to the chief of police and ensure that justice is done. ‘And Juan,’ she said, almost as an afterthought, although it was anything but, ‘I want to be kept out of things as much as possible. Aside from anything else, I’m frantically busy making arrangements for the funeral, so please say to everyone you deal with that you’re acting for Philippe’s Estate and keep my name out of it.’
For the next two days, while Bianca, Gisele, Mary van Gayrib, John Lowenstein and the secretaries worked to organize Philippe’s funeral, scheduled to take place at the St John’s Wood Synagogue in London, and to contain the coverage of Philippe’s death, which was dominating the French and Swiss papers and was being covered as far afield as Australia and Annapolis, Juan worked behind the scenes with the Andorran authorities to seek ‘justice’. This took the form of renewing Bianca’s promise to Frank that his financial future would be assured but only if he signed a confession in which he ‘admitted setting the fire on his own, an idea he had conceived, again on his own, to help Monsieur, whose security arrangements had caused him, an ex-Mountie, concern for Monsieur’s safety and well-being’. Juan also told Frank that he would ‘use Bianca’s influence in Andorra to see that this noble - yet flawed – plan would be treated with the consideration it deserved, so that any punishment he faced for having inadvertently caused Philippe’s death, would be minimized as a result of his motives.’
Frank, unfortunately, was proving difficult to ‘help’. He was too naïve, too afraid and frankly, too dumb to understand that Juan was tipping him a wink. All he needed to do was accept the conditions that were being offered in the subtle way these things were customarily done, and he and everyone else could breathe easier.
Frank, however, refused to sign the confession. Even when he was given two court-appointed lawyers, and they assured him that he would be given lenient treatment as long as he signed the confession, Frank stubbornly refused to do so.
Bianca and the Andorran authorities, however, needed him to sign that confession if ‘justice’ was to be done. When he therefore persisted in his refusal to sign, Juan came up with an apparent solution to the problem. He got Mary van Gayrib to telephone the recalcitrant helper’s wife, Susan, and to offer her a return ticket, all expenses paid, including spending money in Andorra for a week, if she wanted to come to see her hospitalized husband. Susan, however, did not have any available time-off from work, so sent their eldest child, the nineteen year old Louise, who flew out of New York on the evening flight to Paris. The following morning, she caught a connection to Toulouse, where she was met by a Mercedes-Benz from the Mahfud fleet, together with a driver and two bodyguards.
‘How’s my father?’ she asked the man who identified himself as Benyamin.
‘He’s doing well. He’s not in danger. Would you like to see him before or after you check into the hotel?’
‘Before. Miss van Gayrib said you’d take me straight to him.’
‘We will,’ said Benyamin. ‘Hop in.’
He opened the car door, Louise slipped into the back seat, and before she knew it, she found herself sandwiched between Benyamin and another bodyguard.
‘How long a stay did Immigration give you?’ asked Natan, the other bodyguard.
‘I don’t know,’ Louise said, suspecting nothing.
‘It’s in your passport,’ Natan said. ‘Have a look.’
Louise opened her handbag, an obvious Louis Vuitton copy, and withdrew the document. She started to look through it.
‘Here,’ said Natan said. ‘Don’t trouble yourself. Let me.’
Deftly removing the passport from her grasp, he flicked through the pages. Then he said something to Benyamin in Hebrew that Louise did not understand before turning to her and saying: ‘They didn’t stamp your passport properly at the airport in Paris. It’s not a problem. I’ll take it into the Immigration authorities tomorrow and get it dealt with then, otherwise you might have trouble leaving the country.’
‘The French are very bureaucratic,’ Benyamin said, ‘especially where access to their country is concerned. They’re even worse than you Americans, always thinking everyone wants to come and live in your country. That’s not a problem we Israelis have.’ He and Natan laughed, while Louise let it go and surrendered herself instead to the joy of peering out of the car window as the magnificent scenery between Toulouse and Andorra flashed by. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said.
‘Yes. It is, though I personally prefer the view between Nice Airport and L’Alexandrine, where Madame Mahfud lives,’ Benyamin said while Natan stuffed the passport into his trouser pocket. ‘It’s on the Riviera.’
‘I’ve always wanted to see the Riviera,’ replied Louise. ‘Ever since I saw Grace Kelly and Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. Is it near?’
‘Only by helicopter,’ Natan said, the passport safely secured.
Just then, the telephone in the car rang. The driver answered it, said something in Hebrew, which was the trigger for Natan to stretch across Louise and take the receiver from him. Natan’s response was to grunt something perfunctory into it in what sounded to Louise like Hebrew again and then hand the receiver back to the driver for him to replace.
‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he announced. ‘The police have withdrawn their consent for you to see your father. But don’t worry, we’ll take you to your hotel and keep you company until permission comes through. Madame’s lawyer is working on it, and so are your father’s lawyers, who are two of the best men to have on your side in Andorra.’
Louise, in a strange country and unable to speak the language, with no friends and no one to turn to except her father’s employers, felt her spirits sink. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ Benyamin said. ‘One of us will stay with you all the time. You won’t be alone.’
Louise remained silent and morose for the remaining hour of the drive to Andorra. Where minutes before she had been taking in the magnificence of the French countryside, now she stared unseeingly through the window at the scenery, blind to everything but her own anxiety about what was happening to her father, herself, her mother and her two siblings.
Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, they pulled into the Marmot Hotel. Natan and Benyamin jumped out and escorted her into the lobby, one on either side. They headed straight for the reception desk, where Benyamin said something in French, that she did not understand, to the receptionist. Louise was impressed to see that they didn’t even need to wait for her to be checked in. The receptionist handed over a key, and they were on their way upstairs, while the formalities were attended to by the driver, whose name she never learned.
Within minutes of being shown into a pleasant but functional room, the bellboy arrived with her luggage, and Miss Louise Alderman was busy unzipping the vinyl case. ‘You stay and keep our guest company,’ Natan said to Benyamin, ‘while I go to the hospital to see if the police will let her see her father today.’
Then Natan took her passport straight to Juan.
By this time, Bianca’s lawyer had already seen to it that two of the police officers on the investigating team, as well as one of the public prosecutors, had lightened the Mahfud fortune to the tune of $240,000.
Juan now handed Louise’s passport to one of the two policemen who were in his pocket. The man promptly took it to the prisoner in hospital.
‘Go get yourself a coffee,’ he said to the guard upon entering Frank’s room. As soon as the guard had left the room, the policeman whipped out Louise’s passport. ‘The entry stamp in your daughter’s passport is irregular,’ he said. ‘Here, let me show you.’
Frank looked and saw what appeared to be a perfectly regular entry stamp. ‘It looks fine to me,’ he s
aid.
‘Well, it’s not. Now, I’m not accusing your daughter of anything; but the fact is, she has no valid right to be in France or Andorra, and Immigration in either country could detain her for an indefinite period. They could possibly even try her for breaking the Immigration laws - an offence, incidentally, which is punishable by a term of imprisonment in either country - but I don’t think it needs to come to that. Not if we can establish a mutually advantageous and cooperative relationship.’
‘How?’ Frank asked cautiously.
‘It’s easy. You sign the confession you made when you were coming round from the anaesthetic, and we’ll see that your daughter leaves Andorra and France without a problem.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘We hold your daughter until you see sense.’
‘Not a chance,’ Frank said, terrified that he was about to fall into a trap.
‘I’ll give you until tomorrow to think things over.’
For thirty-six hours, Frank held out. During that time, his lawyers, who were as eager as the other members of the Andorran establishment to resolve this embarrassment before it spiralled further out of control, tried to convince him that it was in his interest to sign, pointing out that the confession was nothing more than an admission of having tried to help his employer. Each time they told him that, Frank came back with the same argument: suppose the authorities were trying to dupe him? Suppose he signed and ended up getting a long prison sentence? Over and over, his lawyers had to repeat that the authorities were not trying to dupe him. The harshest penalty the crime to which he had already admitted would attract was a maximum of four years in prison. If he cooperated in the investigative part of the proceedings, the judges would factor that into any judgement they handed down, so he might well get a lighter sentence. The quickest and cleanest way to solve the quandary was therefore to sign the confession.
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Your daughter will be detained here until you do.’
‘But she’s done nothing wrong,’ he objected.
‘We’re trying to do you a favour here. The authorities don’t have to promise to release your daughter. We’ve got this concession out of them, because they know us and we know them, and because Madame Mahfud is an eminent citizen of Andorra. Passport irregularities might not matter to you Americans, but in France and Andorra, the authorities take them very seriously. If you keep on refusing to sign that confession, they might just lose patience with you and withdraw their offer to release Louise. Then you’ll both be in jail, and who’s going to defend her?’
Confronted by the possibility that both he and his daughter might end up incarcerated in the principality and assured by the lawyers that he would be able to see Louise within minutes of signing the confession, Frank signed.
Within the hour, his daughter was shown into his room at the Hôpital Occitan, where an armed guard still stood outside the door and another, English-speaking one sat dourly on a chair in the prisoner’s room. With his right foot cuffed to the bed and with the guard in such close proximity, it was impossible for Frank to say anything that would not be overheard, so he and Louise deliberately limited their conversation to fairly innocuous family matters.
Only at the end of the visit, when Louise bent to kiss him goodbye, did Frank address what was happening to them. ‘Leave Andorra tomorrow,’ he said suddenly. ‘Choose a late flight so you can come and see me again before you leave but make sure you get out of here tomorrow.’
‘I can’t just leave you like this, Daddy,’ Louise replied.
‘You can, and you have to. Only when you’re out of here and safe with your mother and the other kids will I be confident that they can’t use you to reach me. Promise me that you’ll do as I say.’
‘Daddy, this is all so mysterious and puzzling.’
‘It’s a matter of influence, Louise. More, I can’t say.’
‘But I’d have travelled halfway across the world to see you for only a few minutes.’
‘I know, honey, but you’ll be of more use back home than here. You have to do this for me and the rest of the family, if not for yourself.’
‘OK, Daddy.’
At the very moment that he was convincing his daughter to get out of Andorra, Philippe’s body was being released by the authorities for burial.
Agatha was also released from hospital at the same time, badly shaken and still suffering the effects of smoke inhalation. Gisele had arranged, at Bianca’s request, to have her flown out to Jamaica and to be given the princely sum, to her at least, of twenty-five thosand dollars US to cover the expenses of her recuperation.
Always a thoughtful and generous employer, Bianca wisely promised the woman a pension for life in the form of her salary being index linked and paid in advance on a monthly basis, together with a lump sum of $250,000 at the end of the second year ‘to assist our beloved Agatha in adjusting to life after such a traumatic end to her employment,’ as Bianca had put it, in return for which she was obliged to sign a waiver of all future claims against the Mahfud Estate.
When the time came, Agatha signed. She was simply too poor to cause a problem.
Philippe’s funeral was scheduled for four o’clock on the afternoon of Monday, May 31 1999, and the St John’s Wood Synagogue now became the venue for what would be a sensation. Bianca had wanted it to be as spectacular as Ferdie’s had been, and it was - in ways that she had not intended it to be. Her first miscalculation was to leave instructions with Erhud Blum and the ten other security guards not to allow in anyone whose name did not figure on the guest list. Not only are all places of worship in England public places and you therefore could not prevent anyone who wished to gain admittance from entering but also a funeral is not a party or a charity première. Treating it as if it were seemed both frivolous and undignified. Some might even say pretentious and silly. As Bianca’s aim was to contain the chatter and not inflame it, this was asking for trouble.
The real drama began when Raymond Mahfud arrived with his wife Begonia and his sisters Hepsibah and Rebecca at ten minutes to four.
‘Name please, sir,’ said the guard.
‘I am Raymond Mahfud and this is my wife and sisters,’ he replied in a voice that brooked no opposition.
The guard checked his list.
‘I’m sorry, sir, there seems to be some mistake,’ he replied, not realizing that Madame Mahfud had deliberately excluded all of Monsieur Mahfud’s own siblings from his funeral. ‘It must be an omission.’ He was just about to let them in when the guard standing on the other side of the door shook his head. They had strict instructions not to let in anyone whose name did not feature on the guest list. ‘Let me contact my superior, and we’ll sort this out.’
The guard buzzed Erhud Blum on his walkie-talkie and asked him what he should do.
‘How much do you want to bet that Bianca has deliberately left our names off the list?’ Raymond said in Spanish to Begonia, while the guard was talking to Erhud.
‘No. There must be a mistake. Not even Bianca would stoop so low,’ said Begonia of her old school friend.
The guard, having taken his instructions from his superior, turned to Raymond and said: ‘Monsieur Mahfud, the Head of Security will be along to see you in a moment. Once more, I’m sorry for this, especially at such a time.’
‘You’re only doing your job, young man,’ Raymond said magnanimously.
Moments later, Erhud Blum stepped out of the synagogue and came up to them, clearing up any doubt of Bianca’s responsibility. He was only too aware that he was not to let in any of the Mahfud family, but his Orthodox heritage was offended by his employer’s wish to exclude her late husband’s family from his leave-taking of this world. He was also prepared to put his job on the line for his principles - in the unlikely event that Bianca did not get rid of a security staff she had been complaining about for years. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he therefore said in a tone of voice which made his position clear. ‘Our instructions are not t
o let in anyone who isn’t on the list. Madame was most particular about that. But, seeing as you’re Monsieur’s family and synagogues are public places, we don’t have any authority, beyond Madame’s, to prevent you for entering. So if you want to step past us, there’s nothing we can do to stop you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Raymond.
‘Think nothing of it, sir’ Erhud Blum said with respect.
Raymond, Begonia, Hepsibah and Rebecca walked around him and stepped inside. Stopping for a moment to get their bearings, they headed towards the casket, only to see that it was already closed.
‘Why is my brother’s casket closed?’ asked Raymond, who had wanted to see his beloved brother’s face one last time, of a guard standing nearby.
‘Madame gave the undertaker instructions to close the casket at three o’clock, sir,’ the guard said.
‘Open it,’ Raymond ordered. Around him, the invited guests continued to stream in and heads turned to see what the commotion around the coffin was all about.
‘I’ll have to get the undertaker to do that.’
‘You do that,’ Raymond ordered, as his sisters stood by quietly in tears at the sight of the coffin housing their brother’s body.
The guard quickly returned to say that the undertaker could not open the casket once it had been sealed. ‘The bitch,’ Raymond spat out in Arabic to his wife and sisters. ‘She did this deliberately so that we wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye to Philippe.’ Then he turned to the guard.
‘Please escort us to our seats,’ he said.
‘If you’re not on the list, you won’t have seats,’ said the guard, embarrassed. ‘They’ve all been allocated.’
‘In that case, get chairs for us,’ Raymond ordered. ‘We’ll wait here until you find some. Then you can place them where I tell you.’
So far, Bianca was nowhere to be seen. ‘You’d have thought the Praying Mantis would be here to receive all her chic Fifth Avenue friends,’ Hepsibah said.
Empress Bianca Page 50