Crimson (41 page)

Sylvie, the cook, sat at the big kitchen table by the window, writing a list and shooing pigeons away. The bane of Sylvie’s life was the pigeon droppings that littered the windowsill and had to be cleaned up daily.

With a shudder, Sylvie refused a cup of tea. Still whistling, Buzz laid the tray.

The soporific calm. of the drowsy afternoon was shattered by the bell indicator above the kitchen door.

Someone was jabbing the bell nonstop in Elinor’s bedroom. Knowing that Adam was probably in the elevator on his way to the beach, Buzz hurled herself out of the kitchen and ran upstairs.

Frantically she tore open the door to Elinor’s apartment. In the passage, she stumbled and almost fell, then flung back the door to the bedroom.

To her relief, Elinor was not slumped on the floor; deathly white, she clung for support to the silver brocade hangings of her bed. Wordlessly, she pointed above the fireplace.

Buzz turned her head to the left, where the portrait of the three sisters hung.

At first Buzz saw nothing, but then she gasped in horror.

Each of the three long, creamy necks had been cut horizontally: a small triangle of canvas hung downward from each slashed throat.

WEDNESDAY, 17 AUGUST 1966

In the foyer of the Clanrickard Club, Mike Grant leaned against the wall at the bottom of a double-sided curving staircase. With his hands in the pockets of his dinner jacket, he surveyed the room. It was going to be a good night, in spite of the fact that it was August and a Wednesday. Making sure to appear casual, he carefully watched the men in dinner jackets and the women in full-length ikcol-kt dresses move slowly over the red carpet towards the restaurant at the rear, or climb the staircase to the gaining rooms.

Mike noticed a group of heavy gamblers, most of them Greek, move towards the baccarat room, where the Sultan of Rupolei had been losing for the last hour. His attention was also caught by a woman dressed in midnight-blue satin and diamonds; the sister of a Middle-Eastern ruler, she was known as an audacious gambler. He stiffened as he recognized a man move upstairs with a distinctive, boneless saunter: he had better send someone up to check the backgammon room. The club owners, the casinos, and the multinational bookmakers knew which professional gamblers successfully played games that contained an element of skill such as backgammon and poker and they preferred to have nothing to do with them; ideally, the house welcomed inexperienced, rich idiots.

“This is certainly a good night to play the odds.” Mike heard a sarcastic voice from behind him.

He turned and smiled at Adam.

“Come into my office for a drink. What’ supT In Mike’s office, furnished with heavily varnished Victorian club furniture, Adam shook his head curtly at the offer of a chair.

“I’m not staying,” he said.

“I merely wanted to tell you that you’ve scared the hell out of everyone at Saracen except me. So kindly curb your theatrical, James Bond streak. I knew immediately what your message meant: “If you don’t pay up, one slash is all it takes.”” He glared at his brother.

“I thought you were fond of Elinor. I seem to recall that Elinor helped you to buy your first good bike. Why drag her into my problems? You might have given her another stroke.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I can’t comment until I do.” Mike, his face alert and wary, lit a cigarette.

Adam briefly described how the triple portrait had been slashed and added, “D’you really expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with it? Someone told some cat burglar where to find that picture!”

Mike stared at his brother, then slowly said, “Not me. I agree, it’s clearly a warning to pay, but I swear I know nothing about it. It couldn’t have ‘been the brothers they’d be even less subtle…” He inhaled deeply.

“Who else do you owe money, Adam, you stupid bastard?” “No one who’d do anything so bloody childish! How do I stop this bloody nonsense?” “How many times must I tell you that if you let things go too far, nobody can stop what will undoubtedly happen? Adam,” Mike went on quietly, “you’ve always taken full advantage of anyone who’s fond of you. You think you can push me around because you’ve been doing that since we were in the nursery. You also grew up watching Grandfather’s clients literally get away with murder.” He sucked on his cigarette, furiously threw it into the fireplace, shoved his hands in his pockets, and glared at Adam.

“Do you want to be found washed up on the seashore with a few i bits missing? Are you so anxious to know what it feels no have both eyeballs gouged out, one at a time? Do you want to be slowly battered to death, before dying in agony?” “Of course not, you bastard,” Adam said.

“I only want to know who slashed that picture if you didn’t.”

“Whoever they are and only you know that these people are serious. Punters often try to avoid paying. Examples often have to be made. You know that.” Mike star tod to stride up and down the room.

“Take that fucking urbane look off your face and face reality, Adam. If you lose money, that’s tough. But if you don’t pay up, that’s insanity.9 “I’ve had enough of your melodrama,” Adam snarled.

Mike glared at his brother again.

“I’m not exaggerating. ““Remember that incident when the Sultan’s sister had her Rolls stopped, at two in the morning on the Grande Corniche, after leaving the casino? They blew away the chaufcues head with a machine gun. She wasn’t touched. She paid all her gambling debts the very next day. And when ..“Ahe story was’ carefully leaked to the newspapers, quite a ““Aat of other debts were suddenly settled in full.” 6 I’m not some goddamned sultan’s sister.” No, but you also like playing with fire. You never be that the gods will really let it bum you. You think you’re omnipotent but you aren’t.”

“Keep your voice down, “Adam gr?wled.

“I’ll do what I bloody well like in my own office,” Mike said.

“Don’t you understand? I’m on your side, Adam. You’re the only brother I have.” His voice deepened.

“I’m probably more worried about this than you are. If anything happened to you … I’d be left without you. So for God’s -sake, pay up, you stupid shit! Don’t think you can get way with it just because you’ve always got away with everything, since you set that nursemaid’s apron alight.”

“I thought you were too young to remember that,” Adam said uneasily. He added, “She shouldn’t have left the matches within reach of a child.”

“She was in hospital for six weeks, and I was the only one who knew it wasn’t an accident. I knew you wanted to see how far you could go.”

“Let’s not argue about something that happened over thirty years ago,” Adam said finally.

“Can you raise money to help me fend them off? I promise you, within six months I know I’ll have no more money problems. Never again.”

“You’ll have money problems as long as you gamble, Adam.”

Annabel was determined to get a grip on herself and do as Scott advised: remember 1965 as the year she stopped having to go to auditions and 1966 as the year in which she blossomed into a successful young New York hostess as she met Andy Warhol, Lenny Bernstein, Baby Jane Holzer, and all the other gossip-columnist fodder. By July, Annabel was a Junior Friend of the Metropolitan Museum, a Friend of the Museum of Modern Art, and a patron of the Bronx Zoo. She also allayed her insecurity with a massive spending spree: each charity dinner required a new ball gown and each new glittering friend contacts for Scott required a glittering party. So the year thus far was a busy one.

FRIDAY, 19 AUGUST 1966

On the hottest morning of the year, Scott’s news editor asked him to step into his office.

From behind the untidy piles on his desk, the news editor said, “Shut the door and prepare to listen to some good advice, Scott. I know you went after an anchor job last year and didn’t get it. I know you’re now up for 1,7 . anchor job. I know you’re going to be interviewed ww” M.4 W know which network it is, so don’t deny a thing.” He Jfidvd a paper cup of lukewarm coffee across the desk to Cou.

“I’d rather you went after it with my support than behind my back. At least if a guy from a local station gets S’prominent network job, it reflects well on that station.” He picked up his cup, took a whiff of it, and put it down again.

“In order to get that job, Scott, you have to clarify thing in your mind a picture of what they’re looking for as an anchorman.” Scott said nothing.

“Forget the crusading-journalist approach, Scott. Or the hard-nosed, insistent, tough approach. That’s what everyone applying for that job will pitch. The network is looking for something extra. They want someone who looks as if his been shot at, wounded, and spent the day crawling Orough minefields to deliver the dispatches. So don’t go Jonking too neat. On the other hand, don’t go looking too battered: they aren’t looking for Walter Huston, they’re Jo-olang for. a younger, well-scrubbed, cheerfully confident Robert Mitchum.” I don’t think they’re looking for a battered glamour boy,” Scott said.

“They’re looking for a firstclass pro-Ossionaljournalist.”

“Me news editor looked cynical.

“Viewers don’t switch channels for a good professional journalist; what prompts That switch is something less tangible.”

“And they also want something else,” Scott went on quietly.

“A quality that you and I share.”

“What’s th at?” “Devotion. We love this business. You’d rather be doing louriobthan anythingelsein the world You feel guilty about joying it so much. The real reason you often put in fourteen Aours seven days a week is because you t1ink it’s important 1hat people know what’s happening in their world.”

Jake laughed.

“You can buy me a drink after you land the job One week after Scott’s interview with the network, Jake arrived at his office to find a bottle of pure malt Highland whisky standing on top of the papers on his desk.

FRIDAY, 26 AUGUST 1966

The feather an ordinary pale grey pigeon’s feather softly traced Miranda’s thighs. She sighed sleepily. They’d had a wonderful afternoon.

The secret of Adam’s sexual success with women was simple: he took plenty of time to stroke or massage, to make sure that his partner was completely relaxed before they made love. Then he always made sure that she climaxed before he entered her. Gradually Adam would discover where and how each woman liked to be touched, and he would change his techniques to suit her, then move on to something that she wasn’t expecting or had never experienced.

Adam blew the feather into the air and let it drift to the floor. He stretched.

“Looks as if we’re in for a storm.” Miranda slipped from her bed and wandered to a window; leaning out, she smelled rosemary and eucalyptus as she watched the summer storm approach from the distant cobalt-blue mountains. The bright light of Provence changed theatrically as the sky darkened to grey, then turned slate purple.

After an ominous moment of silence, when not a leaf fluttered, two incandescent white worms of lightning flashed across the sky. A mighty clash of thunder followed, after which heavy rain fell. Below Miranda, the dusty terra cotta tiles of the medieval roofs were slicked and sharpened to glistening ochre, tangerine, and brown. Then it was curtain fell in front of the window, blotting out a grey Mwgi dolour. Miranda frowned at the rain; her visitors would shortly be arriving at the village hotels, for she had decided to hold the KITS annual sales conference weekend at Saracen.

JMe sales conference, held just before the all-important Christmas run-up began, was meant to psych up the sales fom for the new line. Miranda loved everything about the sales conference except making her speech. She really ought to rehearse that presentation again, she thought. She drew in her head, shut the windows, pulled the heavy cream linen curtains, and switched on the lamps; they glowed cheerfully over the primrose chair covers and the yellow silk bed quilt, upon which Adam lay naked.

“I’d better creep off,” Adam said.

“It’s nearly five o’clock. This place will be humming with staff in a few minutes.” Miranda, sounding slightly mutinous, said, “I don’t see why we can’t sleep together openly.”

“Because we’re not married,” Adam said, “because I’m not an earl.”

“I don’t intend to marry to please my grandmother.”

“Soon,” Adam said firmly, “but not yet. I’m too busy with SUPPLY KITS But there’s something else I must discuss with you before I leave.” Miranda, not wishing to quarrel with Adam, did not pursue her argument.

SUPPLY KITS was negotiating for three businesses, and Adam was handling all three deals: a direct-mail business, a premium-gift business, and a public-relations business. Should all the deals be successful, SUPPLY KITS would then own five subsidiary businesses, including KITS.

A director from each of the new companies would acquire shares and sit

on the SUPPLY KITS board; as Miranda owned the entire company, these inducement shares would reduce her holding, but Adam had convinced a reluctant Miranda that by relinquishing fifteen per cent of her shares, she was exchanging a hundred per cent of a small orange for eighty-five per cent of a crateful.

Adam turned on to his back, his hands behind his head, and looked at the ceiling.

“It’s about time we considered going public.”

Astonished, Miranda sat down on the edge of the bed.

“So soon? Why?” “We can’t do it until next March, when we’ll have five years” trading figures to show,” Adam said.

“But such a move would provide more cash for acquisitions. We can’t go on leveraging for ever.”

“No,” said Miranda, remembering that Angus had warned her about this.

“But won’t it be expensive to go public?”

“Very expensive,” Adam said.

“But you want more outlets for KITS and you want them in the best and most expensive locations.”

“So the reason to go public is to finance expansion?” “Not only that. We’ll also be more respectable and credit worthy

“What about control?” Miranda worried.

“I don’t want to lose control of my business.”

“You won’t lose control so long as you retain over fifty per cent of the shares,” Adam reassured her.