“I want to borrow some clothes. I left my suitcase in Paris.”
“No.”
“I will have to unpack your shopping while naked.”
“Yes.”
“I will, you know.”
“God, I hope so.”
“I will unpack your shopping while naked if you let me give you a blowjob in the kitchen.”
Claudio laughed out loud. “What man would say no to that?”
“But then you have to go down on me in the living room.”
“Your brain doesn’t censor anything before you say it. You have a mouth like a hurricane. It’s filthy and relentless.”
“I do censor the things I say. Most of the time, in fact. Most of the time I feel like the world is utter chaos and I’m standing there, terrified and not at all in control. People have so many expectations of me, and strangers make assumptions. It’s distressing enough that all of Italy thinks of me as a young whore who married that old Count. I’m the young whore who is using the dead Count’s money to run brothels. That’s what people have read in the paper. I have to come and hide out here because you’re the only one that lets me be myself.”
Claudio kissed her pleading lips. “It’s going to be okay, my darling. Sex scandals come and go. In a few weeks, people will forget, and someone else will be in the spotlight. If the bribe comes to light, then we deal with that later. Make sure Giorgio gets the blame, you didn’t do it, he did.”
“But I knew about it.”
“That doesn’t make you guilty.”
“I’m so glad I’m here with you,” she mumbled against his neck as she snuggled into him.
“Here, in our home on Pembridge Crescent, nothing can hurt you. I promise.”
“I hope that’s true. That works both ways, you know.”
“I hope so. Veena said she won’t let me see the baby.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because I’m in love with you. She’s being difficult.”
Canna sat up and kissed Claudio again. “We’ll kill Veena if it comes to that. But tonight is all about you and me. The world can wait.”
“I totally agree.”
CHAPTER 15
PARIS/MILAN
The La Galerie in the Four Seasons Hotel George V Paris threatened to overtake Canna’s senses. Plush red chairs, the classic French artwork on the walls, the gleaming chandeliers on the ceiling, even the elaborately decorated carpets on the floor commanded attention. Dark purple flowers in the crystal vase on the table seemed bright. Everything seemed unusually bright. The esteemed sophistication of the hotel seemed too much. Canna’s mind still dwelled on Claudio in London. She hadn’t slept a wink, and left him on the doorstep at 5.30am to get back on the train. Their goodbye kiss stretched so long that the taxi driver honked his horn six times, which the neighbours would have hated. Exhaustion dominated Canna’s mind.
“Excusez-moi, madame?”
Canna took her hands from her tired eyes and looked at the waiter. “Oui?”
“Que je peux faire pour aider?”
Was there anything he could do to help? Something for a headache. A painkiller she shouldn’t have. But this meeting with Yuri and Adam was worth €200 million. “Oui. J'ai mal à la tête. J'ai besoin d'analgésiques.”
“Un instant, madame.”
Canna watched the man go in search of painkillers, and she didn’t even feel guilty. A few pills for a headache wouldn’t affect her ability to be a recovering drug addict. With some luck.
“Countess.”
Oh God. “Yuri,” Canna smiled. “Good morning, please, sit with me.”
Yuri sat down and leaned back in the soft red armchair across from Canna. “Are you ready to meet Adam?”
“Of course, I have everything here.” She placed a hand on her iPad on the glass table between them. “I can talk a man into anything.”
“I’m sure you can.” Yuri paused as the waiter appeared with water and two painkillers. Ibuprofen. They couldn’t do any harm. Canna thanked the man and took the pills without a second thought. “Are you quite well, Countess?” Yuri asked.
“Fine, just a headache. I didn’t sleep well.”
Yuri leaned forward in his seat. “Countess, I came to you last night. You weren’t in your room.”
“No.” Canna put the water back on the table. She didn’t want to make eye contact. “I wasn’t in my room. I went out.”
“You said you were too busy to be with me. Yet you went out?”
Canna lifted her eyes to meet Yuri. “I needed to see a friend.”
“Oh, I see.” Yuri paused and swallowed hard. “I thought it was perhaps that you didn’t want to see me.”
Canna smiled. The man wasn’t subtle in his interests. When they first met, he seemed to be polite, but the more she got to know him, the less sure she felt about working with him. “I needed to be somewhere, Yuri. I have good news. You will be getting a call from Lea Jacobs, who is the Virtuosi manager. They will play at your party in Moscow in a few weeks.”
Yuri beamed. “Terrific. My girlfriend, Veronika, will be thrilled.”
“They are playing a special one-off performance at the Royal Albert Hall in a few weeks, so your birthday will be a copy of that exclusive performance. You’re a lucky man. Your girlfriend will enjoy it.”
“I hope you will come to my party. It’s you who I want to see on my birthday, not Veronika.”
“Then why is she your girlfriend?”
“Because she’s beautiful. I like to play with beautiful things.”
“I’m not a beautiful thing to be played with, Yuri.”
“I know this. I want to play with a Countess.”
“My husband died a few months ago. I don’t want to play games.”
“I hear that you were not always faithful to your husband.”
“If you want to do business with me, I suggest you stop gossiping.”
Yuri raised his hands in defeat. “I apologise, Countess. If you need time after the death your husband, I understand. I was a little worried you and that Claudio Ramos had a fling after I met him in Malta. Perhaps I was wrong to worry.”
“You’re wrong to worry about Claudio Ramos. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.”
Yuri smiled with a look of satisfaction, and Canna did her best not to shiver. Why couldn’t men just do business? Why couldn’t they do their jobs and not try to from attachments? It made them easy to manipulate.
“God in heaven, Yuri was right.”
Canna stood up to the suited man who had appeared. “Adam Drugal, I presume,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
Adam shook her hand and gestured hello to Yuri, who remained seated.
“What was I right about?” Yuri asked him.
“That the Countess is the most beautiful woman in all the land.” Adam’s Russian accent was as thick as Yuri’s.
“You flatter me,” Canna said as they sat down around the table. “And please, no need to be so formal. Call me Catherine.”
“Countess Catherine is the most approachable member of the business community,” Yuri smiled.
“I like to get the job done. I leave the general public to admire my title and money; however, my associates don’t need to hold anything back,” Canna replied for herself.
“I quite agree,” Adam said as he looked Canna up and down in her tailored black suit. He ran his hand through his slick dark hair. “I understand that Savelli Marine can make me the boat I want. It must be exactly 250 feet long and have a single mast.”
“No problem.” Canna picked up her iPad. “I have many options for you to consider.”
“It must have private quarters for my wife. I don’t wish to share with her if she travels with me.”
“The yacht is for private use only, or for charter as well?”
“Private use. I want to moor it in Monaco and have everyone see how rich I am.”
“That’s a lot of fun,” Canna smiled. “I love sitting on the de
ck in Monaco, watching jealous people walk past.”
“It sends a message, one that says ‘I’m rich and I like doing business’. That’s what I need,” Adam said. “We must present a special image.”
“La bella figura,” Canna said. “In Italian it means the perfect image.”
“You’re good at that.”
“I have no time for less than perfection.”
“Before we discuss me and my lover on the deck in Monaco, can we discuss something else?” Adam asked.
“I thought you were married.”
“I am. I just prefer the company of my lovers more,” Adam chuckled. “I’m sure you would agree.”
Canna watched Adam place a hand on Yuri’s knee. That didn’t seem like a mistake; that was a caress. “I agree, marriage can be limiting. However, none of this has anything to do with work.”
“Then let’s talk business. You got Yuri’s name on the Middle Sea Race trophy in Malta. I want a trophy. I want you to win me a trophy.”
“How?”
“I want to win the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.”
“The best Blue Water Classic in the world.”
“I want to win it this year.”
“It starts December 26 as I’m sure you know. What boat?”
“What about the boat you chartered for Yuri? Vincitore?”
“The race starts in two months. Even if we could get the boat to Australia…”
“I will hire an Antonov and fly the boat to Sydney. Will you helm for me so I can win the trophy?”
“I could try. People devote their whole year to winning. You want to me to prepare in less than two months.”
“Come and spend Christmas with me, Countess, in Sydney. Let’s win a trophy together. If so, I will award you the contract to build my yacht. You can holiday on board with me.”
For the first time in her life, Canna’s mind went to spending Christmas with someone she loved. She wanted to be with Claudio for Christmas. He would be in Spain with his family, and with Veena and the baby. To win the contract and keep her boatyard in business, she would have to disappoint Claudio. “I charge €20,000 per week as helmsman and to run a boat. I would start charging you immediately, up until two weeks after the event, and all costs are extra.”
Adam shrugged. “I don’t care about cost, Countess. I just want to look good.”
“As you can imagine, being down in Australia would take me away from my roles here. I am chairman of the board at Caraceni Industries.” I also want to be with Claudio, and I can’t admit that out loud.
“Yuri’s here, and he runs a whopping oil company. I run the largest electricity company in Russia. Yet here we are, in Paris, talking boats. Delegate, Countess. Come and play with me.”
“Why don’t we discuss the superyacht first,” Canna suggested and opened a file on her iPad. If she secured this contract, then she could prove she could do business without Giuseppe’s help. All she would need to sacrifice was Claudio.
~~~
Four more pills and the headache still hadn’t gone away. It was three in the afternoon and Canna had already landed in Milan. Time for an emergency board meeting at Caraceni Industries. Being a drug addict who did nothing but fetch drinks for Virtuosi had been a better life. Canna sat at Giuseppe’s desk and wondered – was this it? Would today be the day that the board gave her a vote of no confidence? She could resign, run off to London and be Canna Medici, mistress of a married baritone. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Boring, though. Winning a yacht race in Australia seemed like fun.
Canna eyed her gold letter opener. She took it off the dark desk and ran it though her fingers. CGSC. Count Giuseppe Savelli di Caraceni. She remembered the day they met; in a little café, in New Zealand. He was yelling at the waitress in Italian, so Canna stepped in to translate his request into English. She boldly introduced herself to the property magnate and asked for a job on his sailing team. Before she knew it, he had killed his first wife, and Canna was in his bed. The money, the gifts, the parties… the violence, the abuse, physical and psychological. Mistakes, made by them both, culminated in the accident with the Maserati, Giuseppe behind the wheel, Canna in a pool of blood on the road. At night, when she wanted to sleep and dream of Claudio, instead she saw Giuseppe’s face when he died in her arms. Canna overdosed him with the same drug she had been addicted to after the accident. She had euthanised him, at his request, but it was Canna who had to live with the burden of the act.
Canna took the end of the letter opener and poked herself in the arm, just below the elbow. She knew there to be no main artery there. In jabbed the sharp edge, enough to pierce the skin, and it began to hurt. Canna stabbed a little harder, enough to draw blood. She dragged it a few inches along her arm and watched the skin split and bleed. The drops ran down Canna’s arm, and a few drops landed on the desk. God, it felt good. It felt like a painful distraction from her mind. She tossed the letter opener and watched her arm bleed. Canna could remember the last time she self-harmed. Claudio found her after Valentine’s Day with stitches in her arm and told her the story of the beautiful parrot who pulled at her own feathers to spite her owner. She died, Catherine. She died. What would Claudio say now? What was the point of therapy if you hurt yourself anyway? What have you done, Canna?
The door banged open, and Giorgio appeared with a frown. Canna tucked her arm under the desk.
“There you are, finally at work. The meeting is ready,” he said.
“Why are we meeting?”
“We never reached a decision about division of responsibility.”
“The directors of the companies can keep their jobs. Giuseppe’s death affects none that!”
“Someone has to be the head of this company!”
“We are.”
“Giuseppe should have given the role solely to me. It’s what the directors expected.”
“Maybe Giuseppe didn’t trust you!” Canna cried. “Did you ever think of that? I don’t trust you!”
“Why not?”
Canna sighed. “Do you even remember the plane trip back from Naples?”
A smile appeared over Giorgio’s face. “I remember Naples. But then I slept on the plane and had a headache.”
“How’s your head?”
Giorgio rubbed the top of his forehead. “Sore. I banged it, right?”
“You were high on heroin. You got mad, held me down, and tried to finger-bang me.”
“Did I?”
“Then you fell over and banged your head.” Sort of, anyway.
“Catherine… I’m sorry. I guess I just…”
“Became honest while high?” Canna suspected he remembered everything. When the plane landed, he seemed groggy and confused. He had been shoved into his car and taken home. Giorgio couldn’t fake memory loss and get away with his intolerable behaviour. She put her face in her hands, forgetting about the dripping blood she had been hiding.
“Merda,” Giorgio swore. “What happened?”
“I slipped with the letter opener.”
Giorgio pulled a few tissues from the box and rushed around the desk. He held them down on the blood and squeezed her arm hard. The pain felt intense, and Canna liked it far more than she should have. “Takes the edge off my headache anyway,” she joked.
“I have Valium, if you like the stuff. It’s strong, but it helps. Should help your arm, too.”
Canna didn’t say anything as Giorgio wiped the blood from her arm. Did he remember the conversation about her drug addiction? “I’ve never had Valium.”
“It’s great for anxiety. I’ve had four today. Bipolar sufferers take it.”
Bipolar. The condition that Canna denied that she even suffered. “I can clean my arm in bathroom. Leave me; you go and get ready for the meeting.”
Giorgio let her go and put his hand in his pocket. Canna’s heart fluttered a little faster the moment she saw the pill bottle. “Here, take two. You’ll feel better.”
“I shouldn’t.”
&nb
sp; “We shouldn’t do a lot of things, but that doesn’t stop us.”
“Just leave me.” Canna gestured to the door and Giorgio finally obliged.
Canna went into the bathroom and ran her arm under the hot water in the basin. The cut wasn’t that deep. A few Band-Aids from the drawer and the problem no longer existed.
Back in the office, Canna wondered what to do. Two tablets sat on the desk. Two innocent white tablets. No one would know, except for Giorgio, and he didn’t care. Canna crossed the room and picked up the tablets. Back here, cutting and taking pills. She had been clean for 144 days. After 144 measly days and she felt ready to toss it all away. Canna slammed the pills back down and left her office. Out to sight, but not out of mind.
The board were ready in the meeting room, with Giorgio at the head of the table. Everyone stood when Canna entered the room, and she took her seat at the opposite end from her equal. They sat down, and Canna looked around; ten of Italy’s most wealthy men, each head of a department of the Caraceni business. “Can I start with something?” she asked.
“Ah… we were going to...” Giorgio began.
“Thanks, Giorgio,” she interrupted. “I would like to resign as chairman of the board.”
“Catherine,” boomed the voice of Ernesto Fibonacci, head of Caraceni Media. “Why is this?”
“Isn’t it ridiculous that I co-head the board of a multi-billion Euro business on the sole basis that I fucked the boss?” she cried. “I don’t know why Giuseppe gave me the right to be here. It was never an intention of mine. I want my position as director of Caraceni Marine, and to run Savelli Marine boatyard, but I don’t want to run the company. I want to relinquish all of my power. Besides, aren’t we here for a vote of no confidence today?”
“We are,” Fibonacci replied. He took a deep breath and smoothed his well-groomed grey hair. “We came to take a vote of no confidence against Giorgio, not you, Catherine.”
“What?” Giorgio squealed. He stood up and banged his fist against the glass table. “I’m the head of Caraceni Construction, the third largest earner of this company. My father is Guillermo Savelli, co-owner of this company along with Giuseppe, who died and left his interests in the hands of Catherine and me. I was born and raised to hold this position! How dare you try and oust me!”
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