The Account

by Roderick Mann

  ‘How could I explain this?’

  ‘To whom?’ Brand chuckled. ‘Don’t. Wear it only when you’re with me.’

  ‘But that’s such a waste.’

  ‘It depends how much time you spend with me.’ Brand took the necklace from the case and slipped it around Julia’s neck, fastening the clasp at the back. ‘It looks wonderful on you.’ He stood suddenly. ‘Ready to turn in?’

  ‘Reluctantly,’ she said.

  Outside her stateroom Brand put a hand on her arm. ‘I am years older than you,’ he said. ‘I am married. I live on the other side of the Atlantic. I have all those counts against me. But I am deeply attracted to you and trust you have some feeling for me. I can either say goodnight to you now or come in and try to persuade you we can be most happy lovers.’ He took a long breath. ‘Forgive me. I am not putting this well. I have no verbal skills as a romancer.’

  ‘Your skills are better than you suppose,’ Julia said. ‘But I think we should say goodnight here.’

  She kissed him on the cheek, putting her hand over his.

  Suddenly he had his arms around her and was kissing her passionately, his tongue probing the inside of her mouth, producing in her a whole range of tastes and urges. She felt as if she were being consumed. They broke apart, breathing hard. She looked at him for a few seconds as if trying to make up her mind. Then she led him by the hand into her stateroom, unfastening the necklace, stepping out of her dress and underwear, leaving them in a rumpled pile. Falling back on the bed she watched nervously as he undressed. She waited to see what he would do with his clothes. He left them on the floor. Michael always hung his up. Dammit, she thought, why think of Michael now?

  Then they were together on the bed, clutching each other fiercely, his mouth on hers, her arms round him, their limbs moving together in the familiar rhythm.

  Finally it was over and they lay together in the dark, exhausted, not moving, not speaking, listening to the sound of the engines as the yacht moved swiftly through the moonlit sea.

  Chapter 15

  When Julia awoke next morning she was surprised to find Brand was gone. She slid from the bed naked and padded across to the window to part the curtains. The yacht was at anchor in a small bay dwarfed on both sides by towering cliffs. A dramatic range of mountains loomed in the distance, topped by scudding clouds.

  She looked at her watch. It was after nine. She had slept deeply and well. Donning a swimsuit she went up on deck. To the right of the bay was an old Genoese watchtower. Beside it a series of steep steps, cut out of the limestone cliff, led to a small restaurant high above, its table umbrellas providing a splash of colour against the cliff face.

  ‘Come on in. It’s freezing.’

  Brand, a hundred yards away, swimming back towards the yacht, waved to her.

  ‘Not a chance,’ she called, smiling.

  A few moments later he clambered back on board. ‘Sleep well?’ he asked.

  ‘Wonderfully.’

  ‘So did I. We must be doing something right.’

  Julia gave him a long look. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  He laughed. ‘Come, coffee awaits.’

  They breakfasted on the aft deck; fresh orange juice, fruit and coffee. Sitting back, with the sun on her face, Julia told herself she should have no guilt. So she was having a fling, Lisa Faraday style. Why not? He was a wonderful lover and an attractive man. And although everything about Brand suggested a man of wide sexual experience he had managed to make her feel that for him, as for her, all of it was special.

  ‘Well,’ she said, sighing contentedly. ‘If this isn’t paradise it’ll do for the moment.’

  ‘One of my favourite islands, Corsica,’ Brand said. ‘And two of my favourite people are here.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You see that restaurant?’ Brand pointed to the coloured umbrellas.

  ‘I was just looking at it.’

  ‘Chez Jean Louis. Terrific spot. We’re lunching there.’

  ‘With your friends?’

  ‘They run it.’

  Julia looked back at the steep cliff. ‘I’ll never make it up those steps.’

  ‘The climb is worth it, I promise you. Now come on. Time for another dip.’

  They spent the morning in and out of the pool, relaxing and reading. Around noon the motor boat was lowered into the water and they set off for the shore. As they approached, Julia saw just how high up the restaurant was.

  ‘I’m surprised they get anyone up there,’ she said.

  ‘When you try the lobster,’ Brand said, ‘you’ll see why they do.’

  They began the climb, Brand leading the way. Halfway up Julia was alarmed to see him stagger and lean against the cliff face. She leaped to his side. ‘Are you all right?’ She grasped his arm.

  ‘Fine.’ He looked at her, breathing heavily. ‘Stupid of me. I should have taken it more slowly.’

  Julia held him tightly until his breathing returned to normal. ‘You sure you want to continue? Maybe we should go back.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’ll be fine.’ He reached into his pocket, took a pill from a silver case and popped it into his mouth. A moment later his colour returned. ‘On we go.’

  Moving slowly they finished the climb. Julia held his hand anxiously, but was relieved that the pill seemed to have restored him. At the top was a wooden platform jutting out from the cliff with four tables set for lunch, each covered with a red tablecloth and decorated with wild flowers. As they arrived an old man and a woman hurried from the small lean-to building at the rear. Both were beaming.

  ‘Monsieur Brand, what a pleasure! When we saw the yacht this morning we hugged each other. It was like old times.’

  Brand, out of breath, managed a smile. ‘Jean Louis. Nicole. I must be getting old. Or those steps of yours are getting steeper.’

  He introduced Julia to them and while the old man fussed over them, placing chairs at the edge of the terrace, Julia glanced down. A sudden attack of vertigo made her sway. She clutched the rail.

  ‘Attention, madame.’ Jean Louis grasped her arm firmly. ‘Do not look down again.’ He helped her to one of the chairs and then went to fetch champagne at Brand’s request.

  ‘Maintenant,’ Nicole said. ‘What shall it be? We have some wonderful lobster.’

  ‘Say no more,’ Brand said. He looked at Julia. ‘Okay with you?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said.

  When the drinks came they sat side by side, looking out at the sea. The smell of wild flowers was everywhere. From where they sat The White Dolphin looked very small.

  ‘You had me worried for a moment,’ Julia said. ‘You sure you’re feeling all right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Brand squeezed her hand. ‘I should have paced myself better, that’s all.’ He smiled at her. ‘Well. What do you think of the place?’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ Julia said. ‘So peaceful.’

  ‘Don’t be deceived,’ Brand said. ‘Actually, this is a violent island. Those mountains behind us are full of bandits and rebels. But here we’re fine. Jean Louis and Nicole built this themselves.’

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘He was a barman at the Georges V in Paris; she had a bistro on the Left Bank. They always dreamed of having their own place so fifteen years ago they came here.’

  ‘You knew them in Paris?’

  ‘I knew Jean Louis. When he moved here I looked him up.’ He glanced down at the surging sea below, pounding on the rocks. ‘Sometimes I envy him.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  The lobsters were wonderful. And watching him eat with such enjoyment Julia was touched that this man, who could buy almost anything he wanted, whose yacht rode at anchor in the bay below, should be getting such pleasure out of this meal at his old friend’s restaurant. She was glad when, after they had eaten, Brand insisted that Jean Louis and Nicole join them for coffee.

  ‘Now you look better,’ Jean Louis said. ‘A good lunch, some wine, good
air …’

  ‘It was those steps,’ Brand said. ‘I’d forgotten what a climb it is.’

  ‘You know the trouble with this man?’ Jean Louis said, turning to Julia. ‘He cannot believe he’s getting old like the rest of us. He insists on acting as if he were still twenty-five.’

  Finally it was time to go. Brand slipped some notes under the plate. Both Jean Louis and Nicole embraced him, then turned to Julia to shake hands. Ignoring their formal gesture she kissed them both on the cheeks.

  Cautiously, holding each other’s hands, Brand and Julia made their way down the steps to the jetty where the motor boat awaited them. Far above them, on the terrace, they could see the two tiny figures waving to them. They waved back.

  When Julia arrived at her office on Tuesday morning Emma was waiting with a pile of letters.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ she asked. She looked concerned.

  ‘Terrific. Why?’

  ‘You said you were feeling sick when you called.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Julia felt a twinge of guilt as she sat down; she’d forgotten about the lie. ‘Just a stomach upset.’

  Emma dumped the letters on her desk. ‘These won’t make you feel any better,’ she said.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Regrets for Gustave’s dinners.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘All of them.’

  Emma flicked through them. ‘Princess Margaret regrets … The French Ambassador regrets … All five MPs regret … We’ve got a lot of regretful people here.’

  Julia was torn between feeling smug that she had been right and concern for Gustave Plesset, whom she liked and admired.

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ she said. ‘That first dinner is set for next week.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Send a list of regrets to Moscato this afternoon, and I’ll tell Gustave myself.’

  After lunch Julia went to the kitchen to break the news to him. ‘I’m sorry, Gustave. I told Moscato this would happen. I warned him the people he wanted wouldn’t come. He wouldn’t listen.’

  Gustave looked morose. ‘I have done this before, you know. In Paris. Everyone came. Journalists, writers, artists. They were a great success. Here they do not want to know.’

  Julia put her hand on his arm. ‘It’s not that, Gustave. It’s because Moscato invited the wrong people.’

  Gustave frowned. ‘He said the people on your list were of no importance.’

  He shrugged and walked off to his own small office. The list of regrets went to Moscato’s office around four o’clock. He did not acknowledge it. Plans for the chef’s dinners were promptly abandoned.

  ‘Do you know how much this necklace is probably worth?’

  Sprawled on Julia’s sofa, Lisa Faraday examined the diamonds with a professional eye, her face incredulous.

  ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘One hundred thousand pounds. At least. He must be crazy about you. When are you seeing him again?’

  ‘Not for a while. The plane refuelled at Luton and took straight off for New York. He’s going to South America.’ She put the box back in her wardrobe. ‘I still can’t believe he gave it to me.’

  Lisa was silent for a moment. ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘You are in line to become Robert Brand’s next mistress.’

  That night, lying awake in bed, Julia thought about what Lisa had said. The idea of a full-blown affair with Robert Brand both excited and terrified her. He attracted her more than any man she had ever met. She wanted to continue what they had started, but she knew there was no future there. Brand had spelled it out for her. He was married, and he had made it clear that for some reason divorce was out of the question. The best she could hope for was that most unattractive of roles, the mistress in waiting.

  Was that enough for her?

  Her thoughts turned to Michael Chadwick. She still had not seen or heard from him since their disastrous dinner at the Connaught. In a few weeks he would be leaving for Australia. She might not see him again. She reached over and dialled his number.

  Chapter 16

  ‘Well?’ Commissioner Bonnet looked up warily as Cristiani walked into his office. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘I want a tap on Paul Eberhardt’s phones,’ Cristiani said.

  ‘You what?’ Bonnet looked incredulous. He gripped the sides of his chair as if in need of support. ‘Have you gone mad? Wire taps come under Justice –’

  ‘They’ll grant it.’

  ‘On what grounds? Because you ask nicely? You idiot. Paul Eberhardt is one of this country’s most distinguished bankers and you want to tap his phones? Why not tap the Prime Minister’s at the same time?’

  Cristiani ignored the taunt. ‘It’s Eberhardt I’m interested in.’

  ‘Give me one reason Justice will say yes.’

  Cristiani took a chair. ‘Because of something you said a while back: “No more bank scandals”.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘There’s one brewing at the Banque Eberhardt. I know it.’

  Bonnet gave a weary sigh. ‘You’re not still on about that old fart’s suicide?’

  ‘That and the earlier murder. Yes.’

  ‘What earlier murder?’

  ‘André Leber. Killed in Zurich last year.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, that was a hit-and-run accident.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Cristiani sat forward. ‘Think about it. Leber leaves the bank and Eberhardt keeps paying him – 10,000 francs a month, mind you – for five years. Then he’s run down.’

  ‘You’re suggesting he was murdered?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘By Eberhardt?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Bonnet gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Why wait five years to do it? If this fellow posed some sort of threat, why didn’t Eberhardt get rid of him right away?’

  ‘I can’t answer that. Perhaps he lacked the nerve at first.’

  Bonnet shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

  ‘Then comes di Marco,’ Cristiani continued. ‘We know he was concerned about something. He wanted to talk to me. He’s found floating in the lake one morning.’

  ‘Look, are you seriously suggesting that Eberhardt dragged that old fool down to the lake and pushed him in? Be sensible.’

  ‘He could have hired someone to do it.’

  ‘You’ve got to stop reading those murder mysteries,’ Bonnet said impatiently. ‘You’re getting carried away.’

  ‘You don’t think it odd, then? Two of his top men dead within a year?’

  ‘I consider it a coincidence,’ Bonnet said. ‘Nothing more. If you think that’s grounds for a murder charge then men in white coats will turn up one morning and take you away.’

  Cristiani got to his feet. ‘I’m going for a phone tap,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll never get it.’

  ‘I have a friend at Justice,’ Cristiani replied. ‘I’ll convince him there’s another bank scandal brewing.’

  Bonnet glared at him. ‘Thank God you’ve only got a few more weeks here.’

  ‘I know I’m right,’ Cristiani said doggedly. ‘You want to bet 100 francs on it?’

  ‘I would,’ Bonnet said. ‘But when you lose you’ll put it down on your expenses somehow. And I’ll have to sign the damn thing. So forget it.’

  ‘He did what?’ The voice at the other end of the line was slurred. Had she been drinking again?

  ‘He took her on the yacht for a short cruise.’

  ‘Where’s he now?’

  ‘On his way to South America.’

  ‘With her?’

  ‘No. She’s here in London.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Maybe it’s just a flirtation?’

  ‘He bought her a diamond necklace.’

  ‘The bastard.’

  ‘I’ll keep you informed. And thanks for the cheque …’

  The Devonshire Arms was crowded when Julia walked in. Michael was s
itting in one corner with two glasses of wine on the table. The fact that he had already ordered her usual drink irritated her. She tried not to show it.

  ‘Been here long?’

  ‘A few minutes.’

  The wine will be warm, she thought. She picked up her glass and sampled it. It was warm.

  ‘I’m glad you called,’ Michael said. He seemed nervous. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ she said lamely.

  ‘How’re things at the hotel?’

  ‘Grim. You saw the Standard ran a picture of the Queen leaving the hotel after a private lunch?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘The Palace requested no publicity. Now she won’t come back.’

  ‘Who cares?’ Michael said.

  ‘Be sensible, Michael. You know how important that sort of thing is.’

  ‘Well, it bloody well shouldn’t be,’ Michael said. ‘I can’t stand all that toadying to the Royals.’

  ‘Having the Queen lunching at your hotel can hardly be classed as toadying,’ Julia said sharply.

  Michael took a long swallow. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Who?’ Julia felt her cheeks redden. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Come off it. I knew as soon as I saw Brand in the Connaught that he was after you. You’ve been seeing him, haven’t you?’

  Julia said nothing.

  ‘He’s married. Did you know that?’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ Julia said.

  ‘You don’t want to discuss it,’ Michael mimicked. ‘So what am I supposed to do while you’re fawning over this man? Sit and wait for you to come home?’

  ‘We’re not married,’ Julia flared.

  ‘Nor are we likely to be,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not interested in picking up leftovers.’

  ‘That’s a shitty remark, Michael. You know me better than that.’

  ‘Do I? Listen to me. I’ve dedicated a year of my life to you. I’ve been in love with you since I first met you. Stupidly I thought you felt the same way about me.’

  Julia kept her eyes on the table. This was a terrible mistake, she thought; I should never have called. What did I hope for? An amicable farewell?

  ‘I trusted you,’ he went on. ‘But the first fucking millionaire that comes along – off you go. Isn’t that Lisa Faraday’s turf? I thought she’d cornered the market in screwing rich men. Or are you going to divide it up between the two of you?’