by Jon Cleary
This morning he had had his talk with Lucas. Nina and Prue were still asleep and the two men had breakfasted together in the dining room of the apartment. Both men ate American breakfasts: cereal, ham and eggs, toast, coffee. Lucia, who otherwise admired Americans, had never become accustomed to such barbarism and served them with ill grace.
‘I told Sally everything last night.’
‘What did she say?’
‘We’re going to work things out when I come back from Chicago. I have to settle the estate.’ He would not be coming back; but he had not even told that to Sally. He would be leaving here at the end of the week, saying goodbye not only to her but to Philip Mann. He was going back to being a Gentleman: he smiled at the bitter joke.
‘You’d do better not to come back,’ said Lucas.
Philip let that pass. ‘You have a great deal of power. Does it ever go to your head?’
‘Is that meant to be personal?’
‘No. It’s a question I’ve always wanted to ask someone like you. Ever since I was at the LSE. The London School of Economics.’ He explained as he saw Lucas’s eyebrow go up.
‘I know what it stands for. I’d forgotten you’d gone there. I’ve got used to thinking of you only in your other context. Power? No, it doesn’t go to my head. You use it if you have it, that’s what it’s for. But once you let it get the better of you, you’re finished.’
‘Lord Acton was right then?’
Lucas chewed on some toast. ‘Of course. But why didn’t you ever ask your father that question? He had power. The wrong sort, but he had it.’
‘I never thought of it.’ But he thought of it now, felt heavy, as if the coffee in his mouth were a potion. If he should become capo …
After breakfast he put on his jacket, picked up the Gucci brief-case Sally had given him on his birthday, said goodbye to Lucas and went down in the creaking cage of the elevator. He went out through the echoing entrance hall of the palazzo, his heels clacking hollowly on the terrazzo floor. Men of power had passed through this hall on visits to the family who had owned the palazzo: the Orsinis, Mazzini, Mussolini. Power had corrupted some of them, but he would see that it did not happen to him. He would study Lucas Beaufort, use him as a model.
He stepped out into the street, felt the heat at once even though the morning was young. He walked along The Corso, then turned into the side street where he garaged his car. He did not see the two men until they came up, one on either side of him, as he got to the short tunnel that led into the garage.
‘Don’t make any fuss,’ said one of the men, a big man in a seersucker suit and dark glasses. ‘Just keep walking. Where’s your car?’
His step faltered, but the man on the other side of him poked something hard into his waist. He was a thin young man, this one, dark-suited, dark-glassed and Italian. He said nothing, but he did not need to: the gun in his pocket spoke for him.
Philip walked down the slight slope of the tunnel into the dimly-lit garage. A car came in behind them, engine growling, and for one crazy moment he thought of breaking away and trying to run to the other side of the car. But he knew he would be dead before he had moved three feet.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Someone wants to talk to you,’ said the big man. He had a Texan accent and Philip wondered why Chicago had sent someone from Texas all the way here to Rome. ‘This your car?’
The dark blue Fiat stood at the end of a line of cars, but he could hardly see it. All his senses had stopped working.
‘Get in,’ said the Texan.
‘You – do you want me to drive?’ His voice sounded like his father’s: high, dry and soft.
‘It don’t matter.’
He slid into the driver’s seat, looked up as the big man took the pistol fitted with a silencer from his pocket.
‘Don Carlo said to say goodbye.’ Don Carlo Belgini had been his father’s friend and pall-bearer, the enemy who had killed him.
Jesus, Mary and … Philip died before he could finish the prayer.
Chapter Nine
Sally
1
Philip was buried two days later, quietly and without any notice in the newspapers. Lucas went through his papers in the apartment and the office out at EUR and found two passports, one in the name of Philip Gentleman, the other for Philip Mann. He was buried under the latter name and his murder was filed under that name. The police came to see Sally, but Lucas told them she was still in hospital, suffering from the shock of losing both her baby and her husband; but no one at the hospital was told of Philip’s death and Lucas made arrangements to get her out of there as soon as possible. He told the police he could think of no reason for the killing of his son-in-law except that of robbery. His son-in-law had left the apartment with a brief-case and no brief-case had been found at the scene of the crime. He had no idea what might have been in the case, but he presumed it must have interested the murderer or murderers; there had been no witnesses to the crime, the attendant at the garage saying that he had been away delivering a car at the time the murder was assumed to have taken place. Lucas told the police his son-in-law was a quiet-living businessman, happy in his marriage, doing his best, in his own quiet way, to increase American investment in the Italian economy.
The lieutenant in charge of the investigation knew with whom he was dealing. ‘Are you yourself investing in our economy, signore?’
Nina, sitting in on the interview, translated for her father. He shook his head. ‘Not at present. My son-in-law had his own interests, mostly in motion pictures. I never invest in motion pictures.’
‘Forgive my asking, signore, but what were your relations with Signor Mann?’
Lucas took his time about answering that after Nina had translated it. ‘We respected each other. And he was a good husband to my daughter.’
The lieutenant nodded, but it was impossible to tell how he accepted that argument. He was a gaunt untidy man with a face grey from pessimism and bad diet. ‘It may be difficult to keep the matter out of the newspapers – ’
Lucas said, through Nina, ‘I understand that, lieutenant. All I ask is that my daughter be left alone. If her name were not mentioned – ’
Nina said, not bothering to translate her own remarks for her father’s benefit, ‘If our name could be kept out of it, lieutenant, I think a substantial donation could be made to any police charity you care to name.’
‘Are you trying to bribe us, Signorina Beaufort?’ The lieutenant looked sideways at the sergeant who had come with him. They were both middle-aged men who knew they would probably climb no higher up the promotion ladder before retirement.
Nina looked at both of them in turn. ‘Yes, I think I am. There is no scandal involved in this. All I’m asking for is privacy, especially for my sister. Wouldn’t you wish the same for your wife or sister in the same circumstances?’
‘The circumstances could never be the same, signorina,’ said the lieutenant, eye running round the grand apartment, then winking at the sergeant, finally settling back on Nina. ‘But the sergeant and I appreciate your position.’
‘What’s going on?’ demanded Lucas.
‘I’m offering them some inducement to keep our name out of the matter.’
‘No! I’m against any sort of bribery.’ But Lucas did not look squarely at her as he said it. He had bribed her husband, which was worse than bribing any policeman.
Nina turned back to the two policemen. For the first time in God knew how long she had acted positively for someone else’s benefit. What she was suggesting was both immoral and illegal, but ethics did not worry her if it meant Sally could be protected. ‘My father dissociates himself from what I’ve just offered you. He is sometimes more honest than pragmatic.’
The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. He believed that an honest rich man had to be a contradiction in terms, pragmatic or otherwise. ‘We all have our standards, signorina,’ he said tongue in cheek. ‘Will you pay in cash or by cheque?’
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p; ‘Cash,’ said Nina. ‘A cheque would have our name on it. Ours and yours.’
The lieutenant did not miss the point: he smiled at the acumen of this beautiful American woman. No wonder the Americans were successful in business, when even their womenfolk knew how to make the dollar work. ‘The sergeant and I will leave the amount to your discretion, signorina. Americans are noted for their generosity.’
The police went away and Lucas made a show of being angry at the bribery. He was surprised that Nina had taken such a course. It would have been more likely coming from Margaret or Prue; or himself. But he was afraid to offer a bribe any more: the last one had bounced back at him too hard.
‘I hope you don’t make a practice of that,’ he said.
‘I thought I was doing the right thing. You were actually asking them to keep our name out of it, yet you wanted them to do it for nothing. I didn’t think you were that mean with money.’
‘I’m not.’ He tried to sound indignant but it came out more like petulance. Which made Nina look at him, for he had never been petulant, either. ‘It was the principle.’
‘Well, it’s money under the bridge now. We’ll bury Philip and leave for home as soon as we can. You’d better leave before the funeral, just in case. If Sally feels up to it, Prue and I will go to the church and cemetery with her.’
‘Is he being buried as a Catholic?’
‘I suppose we’d better. I don’t know what he was, but his father was a Sicilian and I guess all Sicilians are Catholics of some sort.’
‘Did you know who his father was?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you introduced your sister to a man like that? The son of a Mafia gangster.’
‘I only found out when it was too late. We seem to have a talent for that – us girls, I mean. Finding out things too late.’
That hurt him, but she did not know it. ‘Well, while we’re bribing people, there’s the housekeeper and her nephew to be kept quiet. Though I doubt if Italians can keep secrets, they’re so damned talkative.’
‘You haven’t read any Italian history. Lucia and her nephew will be all right, they have a lot of affection for Sally. Italians protect the people they love. Unlike Americans.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Don’t be so touchy, Daddy. It was only a general observation.’
As Lucas had said, Sally was indeed in a state of shock. But she was brought home from the hospital and put to bed in the apartment, where Nina, Prue and Lucia took turns in nursing her. Margaret was telephoned and said she would fly over immediately but was dissuaded from it by Prue, who all at once had the chance to prove she was as adult as she claimed.
‘It won’t help, Meg. The fewer Beauforts around, the better. We’re going to get Daddy out of here as soon as we can. We’ll bring Sally home as soon as she’s fit to put on a plane. We’re chartering a Constellation and we’ll get away quietly. Will you ask Magnus to fly over as soon as possible? Daddy says there is not much of Philip’s estate here in Italy, but some things may need to be cleaned up.’
Lucas left for home on the morning of the funeral. Only Nina went to the funeral, Prue remaining with Sally. The priest looked askance at the small crowd of mourners: Nina, Lucia, Enrico and Philip’s secretary from the EUR office. The secretary had wondered if some of Signor Mann’s business acquaintances should be invited, but Nina had vetoed the idea. Signor Mann’s unexpected heart attack had made Signora Mann very ill and she did not want to have to face the condolences of strangers. Signor Mann had been a quiet man, as the secretary must have noticed, and it would be a mark of respect for him to be buried as he had lived. The secretary, wreathed in black and with a much larger severance cheque than she had expected, had agreed wholeheartedly that Signor Mann deserved what he would have wanted. The news of the manner of his death might eventually leak out, Nina thought, but the Beaufort sisters would be gone by then.
They left Rome in the chartered Constellation two days after the funeral, a nurse, brought in by Magnus from Kansas City, travelling back with them. Magnus himself stayed on in Rome to dispose of the lease on the apartment, all the furnishings, Sally’s plane which she had not flown for six months, their two cars and the odds and ends of Philip’s life. It was Lucia who came to him and told him she had witnessed a will for Signor Mann only the day before he had died.
‘Almost as if he had a premonition, signore.’
‘Where is it, signora?’
Lucia’s English was not good, but it was good enough for Magnus to understand her. She had taken an envelope to Signor Mann’s bank. It would be there in his safe deposit box.
It was, along with other papers. Magnus did not find it easy to get access to the box; he had to bring someone from the US Embassy to confirm that he was acting for the widow of Philip Mann and that, since Mr Mann had been a United States citizen, his papers were the property of his wife, a United States citizen. The bank spread its hands and gave over the contents of the box; it also reluctantly revealed that it held a considerable balance in Signor Mann’s account. Several billion lire, to be inexact. Magnus, accustomed though he was to zero numbers, still blinked. He wondered what astronomical figures Lucas’s wealth would add up to in lire.
Besides Philip’s will, a six-line document that left everything to Sally, there was a letter from a Chicago firm of lawyers and a photostat copy of Antonio Gentleman’s will, leaving everything to Philip. The letter stated that it was understood where certain bequests by the said Mr Gentleman could be found. In the safe deposit box, among the other papers, was the address of a bank in Zurich and the number of an account held there.
Magnus tidied up everything that he could for the moment in Rome, then flew to Zurich. He checked into the Baur au Lac, treating himself to the best at Lucas’s expense. Next morning he went to Tony Gentleman’s bank, introduced himself to the Director. The Director had not heard of Philip’s death, but Magnus produced the death certificate and gave a short verbal account of how Philip had been shot by some unknown robbers.
‘So many of our foreign clients seem to die violently,’ said the Director. ‘We Swiss only die violently by breaking our necks on the ski slopes.’
Magnus sympathized with the risks the Swiss took on their mountains and asked if he might see a statement of Mr Gentleman’s secret account. ‘There will be no withdrawal, of course, until my client has decided what she wants done with it.’
The Director had not missed the significance of the middle name, Sarah Beaufort Gentleman, in the will. Magnus had said he was from Kansas City and the Director had put several facts together in his mind, though he had been surprised that Beaufort money should be linked with Mafia money. The Swiss prided themselves on knowing where all the substantial money in the world was located. It meant that no faux pas as to identity were made when the substantial money came to Switzerland looking for a haven.
‘Mr Gentleman had a substantial amount in his account.’ Substantial was a favourite word with the Director; men of substance were his gods. ‘Shall I quote it to you in Swiss francs or US dollars?’
‘Dollars,’ said Magnus, afraid of more zeros.
‘Seven million three hundred and forty two thousand eight hundred and sixteen dollars. And some cents, which we normally do not bother about in such sums. You look surprised, Herr McKea. I thought you would have been accustomed to such substantial amounts.’
‘I am,’ said Magnus. ‘Only not from those sources.’
‘We make no moral judgements, Herr McKea. All money is clean once it enters our doors.’
Magnus was impressed by such piousness but said nothing. He went back to the Baur au Lac. By chance he met an Englishwoman in the bar, took her to dinner, spent the night with her and caught a plane out next morning for New York and Kansas City. He could not remember having had a more interesting and enjoyable trip since he had entered his father’s firm.
On the way back he debated whom he should see first, Sally or Lucas. It was Lucas w
ho was paying his fee and expenses, but Sally was the beneficiary of the will. In the end he decided he would see them together.
Lucas and Sally waited for him in the drawing-room. Though summer was almost over, the weather was still hot. Lucas wore a seersucker suit and Sally was in a simple black dress that accentuated her thinness and the lack of colour in her face. Her blonde hair, still cut short in the French style, was as lustreless as an elderly woman’s.
‘Your husband has left you – ’ Magnus looked at his notebook and quoted from it. ‘All of it, I’m assured by the Director of the bank, perfectly clean respectable money.’
‘Ridiculous,’ said Lucas.
‘I don’t want the money,’ said Sally.
‘Of course you don’t!’ Lucas was the Lucas of old; he strode about the room stiff with fury and authority. ‘It’s some sort of sick joke! You can’t touch it!’
‘You can’t leave it there,’ said Magnus.
‘Why not?’ said Sally.
But Lucas suddenly looked dubious. ‘It is criminally wasteful. One shouldn’t leave money lying around doing nothing.’
‘Could we give it away to some charity?’ Sally was too wan and listless to care about the money: it was another burden she did not want.
‘We could, I suppose. But it’s an awful lot of money to unload without giving away the source.’ Magnus saw that Sally could dismiss the money, turn her back on it. But Lucas, a money man all his life, could not do the same without a great deal of heartburn. It would be like turning his back on the flag. ‘Unless we spread it over a number of years. You could give it to one of the international charities based in Europe.’