The Account. Roderick Mann

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I’m sorry to worry you so late but there are a couple of papers here that require your signature.’

      ‘My signature?’ The old man’s voice was vague. He sounded as if he’d been dozing. ‘Surely it can wait until Monday?’

      ‘I’m afraid not. I must express them to New York tomorrow. Don’t distress yourself. I’ll send someone round with them.’

      ‘It’s very late, Paul. I was about to retire …’

      ‘I realize that, but this is really urgent. I wouldn’t dream of bothering you otherwise. I’d bring them round myself but I am still at the office.’

      ‘What papers are they, Paul? I don’t recall –’

      ‘The de Boissy estate.’

      ‘I thought that was all settled.’

      ‘There are a couple of loose ends.’

      ‘Very well. Send them round.’

      ‘The messenger will wait and bring them back.’ Eberhardt paused. ‘You haven’t had second thoughts, I suppose?’

      ‘Second thoughts?’

      ‘Our discussion the other morning.’

      ‘No, Paul. No second thoughts.’

      ‘Then you must do what you think is right, Georges. We must all do what we think is right.’

      When the buzzer sounded di Marco pressed the button to open the street entrance and unlocked the door of his apartment. He went into the bedroom to remove his comfortable slippers and put on more formal black shoes.

      When he returned to the living room he was surprised to find the messenger standing by the open door with a large envelope in his hand.

      ‘I did knock,’ the man said.

      ‘That’s all right. Come in, come in. I just have to sign a couple of papers.’

      He took the envelope from the messenger, a burly young man, and went over to the desk by the window. Inside the envelope were two blank sheets of paper. He turned, bewildered.

      ‘There’s nothing –’

      Before he could finish his arms were pinioned behind him and tape was wrapped around his wrists. He let out a whimper of fear.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      Before he could say more another tape was pasted over his mouth.

      Eyes wide with fright, the old man was hustled out of his apartment. The door slammed behind him.

      The morning following the cocktail party Julia had arranged to have breakfast with an American travel writer and take him on a tour of the hotel. When she finally got to her office Emma was waiting for her.

      ‘I hear it was a great success,’ she said. ‘Everyone was there.’

      ‘Not everyone,’ Julia said. ‘The Foreign Secretary didn’t make it.’

      ‘Oh pooh,’ Emma sniffed. ‘Who cares about him? Robert Brand was there, wasn’t he? Imagine him turning up.’

      ‘Life is full of surprises.’

      There was a pile of messages on Julia’s desk, together with that morning’s mail.

      ‘Anything important?’ She flicked through the notes.

      Emma held up a letter. ‘There’s an invitation to speak on public relations at the annual conference of the International Travel and Tourism Research Association in Acapulco. Expenses paid.’

      ‘Acapulco,’ Julia signed. ‘Wouldn’t I just love to do that. But how can I get away now?’

      ‘Tell Moscato to get stuffed and go.’

      ‘Don’t tempt me.’

      Emma chuckled. ‘So what shall I tell them?’

      ‘When is the conference?’

      Emma consulted the letter. ‘A couple of months’ time.’

      ‘Don’t reply just yet. Who knows what’s going to happen?’

      Emma turned to go. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a bottle of champagne in your bottom drawer. Came an hour ago.’

      After Emma returned to her own office Julia opened the drawer. Wrapped in Cellophane was a bottle of Krug ’81. Thank you for inviting me, the card read. It was signed: Robert Brand.

Chapter 5

      Julia Lang stood by the bedroom window of her flat, sipping a glass of white wine, looking out over the darkened town. It was a cold, wet night, the sky a seemingly endless panoply of grey. The lights of the pub on the corner were hazy in the light mist. Across the street she could see directly into another flat. In one brightly lit room a man and a woman were sitting in armchairs, reading. They looked comfortable, settled, at ease. She felt a momentary pang of envy. She was, she knew, ambivalent about marriage. Did she really want it? Would she trade her independence for a shared life with a man? When she had first come to London from Birmingham her one aim had been to have a career of her own. To abandon that plan now, to marry and have children – was she ready for that?

      She knew she really liked Michael Chadwick, the man with whom she had been involved for a year. He was a design artist of great flair, who had already won most of the prestigious prizes available for his work. He was bright and cheerful and witty. She liked him a lot. She just didn’t know if she wanted to marry him. He had already asked her twice.

      She had many friends and was much in demand socially, but she did need a man in her life. Someone to wake up with, to touch during the dark hours, to watch shaving in the morning, to share breakfast with. Someone to talk to. Particularly at a time like this.

      The re-emergence of Guido Moscato into her life had shocked her. She had known for only a month that he was coming. The Sultan of Malacca, who owned the hotel, had kept the news quiet until negotiations were complete. During those four weeks she had been plagued by indecision. Should she stay or should she go? And, if she walked out on her contract, should she give the Sultan, whom she liked, her reasons?

      Sixteen years earlier, when she had staggered up from the Italian lakeside, bruised and battered, almost unable to see, she had vowed that one day she would settle the score with Moscato. Picked up by two English tourists, she had been taken to the small hospital at Bellagio where a doctor operated to save her right eye. Ten days later she had flown to London. Over the years the hatred she had developed for the man who had raped her had gradually abated. The idea that she might one day see him again had never occurred to her.

      Now here he was, the new Managing Director of the Burlington. All her loathing for the man had come back. And, to her surprise, her resolve to somehow get even.

      At СКАЧАТЬ