Lady of Fortune (79 page)

‘All right, what did he tell you?'

‘He knows the head guy at Unidexter, and the head guy at Unidexter is a man called Sigsby. Well, according to Sigsby, it seems that five major holding companies, including Unidexter, have now been interlinked by heavy capitalization from South America and Europe – a lot of it with money that my friend believes was smuggled out of Germany in the closing stages of the war. The
overall
holding company is your friend the Poind Corporation. The whole thing looks very much like a way of laundering German war profits so that the Allies don't get their hands on them as payment towards reparations. No wonder the German steel and armaments factories appeared to be so broke when the Allies took them over: all of the money which companies like Schmaussen and Krebs and Wonlarts had been paid during the war – most of which came from British and the United States in the first place – was whisked back out of Germany in 1919 and hidden in secret suspense accounts in Uruguay and Switzerland and Mexico.'

‘Then Robert is doing all of this to legitimise the funds from German war profiteering?'

‘Don't underestimate him,' said Jimmy Byrd. ‘He's not just drawing these funds out of South American banks and openly investing them in US corporations. He needs to bury the money completely; and the only way he's going to be able to do that is to make these holding companies and 51 manufacturing companies collapse, or appear to collapse, so that the money can be spirited away altogether. If people start asking embarrassing questions about it, all he'll have to say is, the companies crashed and it's all gone. That's why the name ‘Poind Corporation' has more than just one double-meaning. ‘Poind' can mean reparations, too.'

Effie said, ‘What do you think Robert himself is going to get out of this? I mean, ultimately?'

‘A huge mountain of commission from the German banks and businesses whose money he's managed to save. Tens of millions of dollars, I expect. Maybe more than that, who knows? You've seen what's happening in Germany at the moment. Maybe the money's going to find its way back there one day, and be used to finance a military and political reconstruction.'

‘Why did Sigsby let all this out?' asked Effie. ‘I would have thought that Robert would have sworn everybody involved to utter secrecy.'

‘He let it out because my friend promised him several thousand dollars commission if the arrangement can conclusively be proved to be suspect; and also, and more importantly, he promised him unlimited use of the key to Suite 788 at The Walford Hotel on 51st Street, which is the residence of a young lady name Sabine Something-or-Other. Also, it doesn't look to me as if Robert's really too worried about secrecy. Whatever Sigsby says, the arrangement has to be
proved
to be crooked to the satisfaction of the law, or at least to the satisfaction of the governors of the New York Stock Exchange, and even then there are too many fingers in this one particular pie for Robert to be very much at risk. Too many German sympathisers on Wall Street.'

Effie slowly rubbed her forehead. She could feel one of her summer headaches coming on. She had been having them more and more frequently lately, and she wondered if she was really pregnant, or simply approaching the change of life. But, she
had
to be pregnant. She knew it.

Jimmy Byrd said, ‘There's one more thing. I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to tell you.'

‘What is it? What are you talking about?'

‘Sigsby told my man the identity of the fellow who helped Robert to set this whole deal up. I don't think he meant to, but my man has a particular way of talking to people as if he knows everything already. The man who set the deal up was Caldwell.'

‘Caldwell? Is this some kind of a joke?' Effie took the telephone receiver away from her face and stared at it as if it had spat at her. Then she put it back again, and said, ‘
Caldwell?
'

‘Believe me,' I'm just as shocked as you are,' said Jimmy Byrd. ‘My grandmother on my mother's side was German, and I wasn't too hot on the United States going into the war, but believe me, if those war profits go anywhere, they ought to go back into making Europe whole again, not lining the pockets of a few exiled German millionaires, or earning interest on the New York Stock Exchange so that they can be ploughed back into another war.'

Effie whispered, ‘Caldwell.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Jimmy Bryd. ‘I don't know what else to say.'

Effie said, numbly. ‘Thank you for everything, Jimmy. Thank you for being so prompt. If you can find out anything else …'

‘Sure thing. And listen, I'm really sorry …'

‘It's not your fault,' said Effie. ‘I think, if it's anybody's fault, it's mine.'

She tried to telephone Caldwell, but there was an electrical storm in Los Angeles, and she could hear nothing but popping and fizzing when the telephone at Caledonia was eventually picked up. She tried to call Dougal, but his secretary told her that he had left to go back to Long Island. She tried to call Mariella, but her nerve failed her when Mariella answered, and she put down the phone again.

She dressed carefully that evening: in a severe black Chanel suit and black shoes, with only a spray of diamonds on her left lapel and five diamond rings for jewellery. Robert arrived at seven o'clock exactly, dressed in a dark evening suit, and a purple-lined cape. He seemed to have lost a little weight, and he was fit and tanned from a week's sailing off Cape Cod.

‘Well, it's so nice to see you again,' he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I was hoping that sonsie young daughter of yours would be here, too.'

‘She'll be here next week. She's been studying with a school friend in New England.'

‘But how are you?' Robert asked, swirling back his cape and sitting himself down, uninvited, on the sofa. ‘You don't look as
if you've caught much of that California sun. Have you seen what young girls are doing these days? Letting down the shoulder-straps of their swimsuits to get their backs all brown. I must say there were some good things to see off the coast of Massachusetts, and they weren't all fish and foam.'

‘I'm pleased you found something to titillate you,' said Effie. She found that she could scarcely look at him; his pale colourless eyes were like a repellent magnet, from which needs and iron-fillings would fly and twitch in disarray.

‘Have you heard from Caldy?' Robert inquired.

‘Caldy?' asked Effie. Only she ever called Caldwell ‘Caldy.'

‘Well, your dear husband, whom you left so urgently to be with us this week.'

‘No, I haven't heard. Not that it's anything to do with you.'

‘You don't have to be so testy, my dearie,' smiled Robert. ‘I know why you're here. Didn't I always say to you that good intelligence is half the battle in banking? Knowing what your adversary is up to; knowing which currencies will float, and which will sink. Knowing when stock markets are ready to rise, and when they are right on the brink of collapse.'

Charlene came in, and said, ‘Will you be wanting a cocktail, Miss Effie?'

‘No, thank you, Charlene. I understand that Mr Watson is taking me out to dinner.'

Robert smiled. ‘That's right, my car's waiting outside. I have a table booked for us at L'Ecstase.'

‘Sparing no expense, I see,' said Effie. ‘Charlene, will you fetch my coat for me?'

L'Ecstase was on 49th Street between Madison and Park; the most costly and fashionable restaurant in New York, and probably in the world. Even at 1929 prices, with a case of twenty-year-old (prohibited) Scotch going at less than $45 the case, and a brand-new vacuum cleaner costing just $28.50, an evening at L'Ecstase rarely cost less than $60 a head, and often more. Robert's Rolls-Royce glided to the entrance, and the grey-uniformed doorman saluted with his white-gloved hand as Robert and Effie walked across the grey-carpeted sidewalk to the restaurant's lobby. Inside, they were accompanied and pursued by three or four flunkeys, who took their coats and capes, their hats and gloves, and guided them swiftly to the rope, where Ernesto, the imperious maître-d', was presiding over an unhappy line of would-be diners.

‘Mr Watson … please, this way,' beamed Ernesto, and unhooked the rope for them so that they could sweep past the disconsolate queue and follow his gleaming black hair across the dining-room. The décor was French flamboyant, sparkling with ornate Versailles chandeliers and gilded wood work. There were flames everywhere, as everything from trout to prime ribs of beef was spectacularly set alight. The man who had created L'Ecstase, Henri Carvel, had always believed that the diner would pay more if you incinerated his food in front of his nose. ‘If in doubt,' he used to say, ‘set fire to it.'

Robert and Effie were shown to a small, secluded table in the corner, next to a glowing-pink painting of a Renoiresque girl taking a bath in what looked to Effie like a frying-pan. ‘I can see why this is your favourite table,' she said to Robert, as Ernesto snapped open her napkin for her.

‘Mr Watson would care for a glass of White Rock?' asked Ernesto. ‘And for Mrs Brooks, perhaps some ice?'

When the waiter had brought their glasses, and Robert had poured out two malt whiskys from his hip flask, Effie sat back in her seat and stared at Robert in silence.

‘You're worried about this $24 million loan, aren't you?' said Robert.

‘Of course. I didn't know when we first agreed it that you were going to buy stock on a twenty-point margin. That means that Watson's New York could be liable for loans totalling more than $120 million. That's a fortune, by anybody's standards, even yours.'

Robert took out a cigar, and a waiter hurried across to light it for him. While he puffed out smoke, steadying the waiter's hand by clutching tightly at the poor man's wrist, he watched Effie as though he were sizing her up in a game of poker.

‘How much do you know?' he asked her, at last.

‘Probably not even the half of it. But enough to concern me.'

‘Watson's New York are holding my bill.'

‘Do you really think that's worth anything?'

‘Of course it is. It's worth $24 million. Enough to cover all the loans which Watson's New York have been supervising for us.'

‘Supposing the market falls, and the brokers want more margin?'

Robert shrugged. ‘In that case, I'll
provide
more margin. I'm in this business to make money, Effie, not to lose it. Besides, the market's not going to fall.'

Effie felt an almost irresistible urge to tell Robert how much she had already discovered about what he was doing, or what she thought he was doing. She even began to say, ‘I know –' but she stopped herself, and placed her hand tightly over her mouth, and sat there unmoving while Robert stared at her from across the table.

Robert leaned forward. ‘You misjudge me, you know. You always have. You've always considered me to be the blackguard of the piece. All right, I arranged some loans to Germany; but nothing that made any difference to the outcome of the war. All right, I've outwitted one or two European banks, and taken over half a dozen more. But I'm a banker, Effie, not the director of a home for worn-out pit-ponies, or old ladies with arthritic joints. I have a duty to protect and nourish the money with which my customers entrust me, and my customers aren't all piggish French shipping-owners, or fat Turkish tobacco-growers, or Jewish diamond-merchants with long fingernails and hooked-noses. Watson's have thousands of ordinary accounts, held by ordinary men and women, and I have an equal duty to protect and nourish
their
money, too, by whatever legitimate means possible.'

Effie said, ‘That's very touching. You made me a speech rather like that when you destroyed the Deutsche Kreditbank, and Karl von Ahlbeck with it.'

The waiter arrived, and Robert said, ‘I'm having the sardines in tomato sauce. How about you?'

‘I don't think I'm very hungry,' said Effie.

‘You must eat something. Have an artichoke.'

‘I'm not in the mood for picking things to pieces.'

‘You seem to be in the mood for picking
me
to pieces. I don't understand you. What do you think I've done? I've invested a little European money into a small selection of American business, through the good offices of Watson's New York and with your full knowledge and approval, as well as Dougal's, and you're treating me like some kind of financial ogre.'

‘What about the Poind Corporation?' Effie couldn't hold it back.

Robert looked at her narrowly. ‘What about it?' he wanted to know.

‘With Caldwell's paid assistance, you've set up a small group of holding companies, all held in turn by the Poind Corporation, to control the destinies of every one of the companies in your so-called portfolio. The value of the stocks in those companies is therefore completely artificial; you can puff them up or let them down whenever you feel like it.'

Robert nodded. ‘That's right. Within the limits of what the market will stand, of course.'

‘But that means that you have complete control over the loans for which Watson's New York are supposed to be responsible. And
that
means that you have complete control over my $20 million, over Dougal's $77 million, and over all the other millions that are invested in Watson's New York.'

‘That's right,' Robert agreed.

‘But the situation is intolerable, as well as illegal.'

‘What's illegal about it? Your own employee arranged the investments for me.'

‘Dan Kress, that's right. Poor stubborn Dan Kress. How much of a slice of this cake is Dan Kress going to get, when everything's over and the smoke has all cleared away?'

The waiter brought Robert's sardines, four plump silvery fish in thick tomato-and-onion sauce, rich with spices and garlic. Robert asked for another glass of White Rock.