The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ by his security. A thick-set man approached and bent to speak in his ear. Bernstein nodded. ‘Bring him in.’

      He ground out the cigar, then, standing to deliver a final, crushing blow, said quietly, ‘If you ever set foot in my place again, I’ll tear both your balls off and send ‘em so far up your tight white ass you’ll have a sore throat for a week.’ He jerked his head towards the street door–the heavies would escort him, where they’d have a last go. ‘Now get outta my sight.’

      The man gone, Robert appeared, looking put upon. He shrugged off his suit jacket. ‘Presentation ran over.’ He sat down. ‘Where is he? ‘

      Bernstein smiled. ‘He took a walk out that way, kinda.’ He nodded to the far door. ‘I dealt with it myself.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘He ain’t comin’ back any time soon.’

      Robert frowned. He looked around him, taking in the blood-spattered floor. Something caught his eye and he put a hand down to retrieve it. It was small and bone-hard.

      ‘What the hell …?’

      Bernstein made a face. ‘Had a guy in here needs t’see a dentist.’

      ‘We agreed, Bernstein. No violence.’ He kept his voice low but menace channelled through it, a quiet, measured warning.

      Bernstein laughed, his big belly rising and falling. ‘You’re funny, St Louis.’

      Robert shook his head. ‘Get real, Frank. These guys are working a complex piece of kit, there’s things we needed to know. This wasn’t the right way to do it.’

      Bernstein stopped laughing. ‘Thing is, son, your way takes a fuck of a lot longer.’

      A silence hung between them.

      Eventually Robert said, ‘What did you find out?’

      ‘That a big man cries like a girl.’

      ‘About the scam. Who else is in on it, who they’re working for. How they set it up.’

      Bernstein shrugged. ‘Beats me.’

      It was Robert’s turn to laugh. ‘Don’t you give a fuck?’

      ‘Course I give a fuck. I give a fuck about the next time they want to pull a stunt like this, and I’m tellin’ you now, it ain’t happenin’ again. Not to you, not to me. It’s over.’

      Robert stood up, his eyes fixed on the older man. He could have Frank Bernstein in a second, knock out a whole fistful of teeth in one hit. Truth was he’d endured enough violence in his past. He was tired of it.

      ‘You gotta wake up, kid,’ Bernstein said. ‘This is a big boy’s game. There’s rules.’

      Robert leaned across the table. ‘Those rules are mine. I run my own game.’

      ‘They was your father’s rules before you,’ Bernstein shouted as he turned to leave. ‘Don’t think for a second your shit don’t stink!’

      Without looking back, Robert stepped out and closed the door firmly behind him. He ran into Elisabeth almost instantly.

      ‘Robert!’ she exclaimed, her eyes wide. ‘I thought you were at the Orient.’

      He grimaced. ‘I had a meeting with your father.’

      ‘Oh, good, he’s here.’ The relief in her voice was considerable. She seemed to catch herself and rein it in. ‘I need to talk to him,’ she explained quickly.

      ‘He’s otherwise engaged,’ said Robert flatly, taking her arm.

      She broke free. ‘It’s rather urgent.’

      Robert frowned. ‘Surely I can help?’

      ‘No,’ she said abruptly. ‘I mean, it’s fine. I’ll catch him later.’

      He looked unconvinced.

      ‘It’s nothing!’ Her voice was shrill.

      ‘Are you sure?’

      Elisabeth looked hesitantly over his shoulder. ‘Of course.’ She forced a smile.

      Robert checked his watch. ‘I’ve got to shoot, I’ve got a meeting with Bellini.’

      Anxiety strangled her voice. ‘Alberto?’

      ‘I’m already running late.’

      She gulped. ‘You’d better go.’

      As Robert made his way across the Parthenon lobby, he tried to focus on the afternoon ahead. It couldn’t possibly mess with his head more than the morning.

60

      Elisabeth knocked on the door to her father’s office. Silence.

      She pushed it open. A musky smell enveloped her, like smoke and sweat. Papers were scattered on his desk, half-full cups of coffee and a smouldering cigar bent in half in one of his crystal ashtrays. Battle scenes adorned the walls. She remembered being frightened of them when she was a girl.

      Deciding to wait, Elisabeth took a seat at his desk. She leaned back in the chair, put her feet up and crossed her arms behind her head. So this was what it felt like to be a man. This was what it felt like to be Frank Bernstein.

      She poured herself a drink. The seconds dripped by on his shagreen desk clock.

      Her confidence began to falter. After another sleepless night she’d decided this was her and Bellini’s only way out. Bernstein would be mad, he’d be crazy, but he’d stand by her. Once the blackmailers knew the big man was involved they’d run a mile and never dare set foot in this town again. It was a risk she was willing to take–she knew her father was so dead set on the wedding that he’d protect her reputation at all costs. She’d made a mistake. So what? People made them every day. No doubt he’d made a few.

      But now she wasn’t so sure. She’d always made such a point of her independence–what would it look like if she came running to him soon as times got tough?

      On Bernstein’s desk was a photograph of the family outside the Mirage. It showed Elisabeth, a sulky twelve-year-old holding her father’s hand, whose other arm was cradling a baby Jessica. She squinted and leaned closer. In the background, something she’d never noticed before, was a recognisable figure looking on, half-obscured behind the dazzling waterfalls. Alberto Bellini.

      She opened her father’s desk drawer for something to do. The smell of leather assaulted her, a catalogue of files and account books. Bored, she closed it.

      The drawer below didn’t yield much else. A stack of old papers impaled on a silver pin, some sleek pens with their lids off, the nibs dry. She tried the last one.

      Inside was a locked box. Elisabeth frowned, reached for it, extracting it with care. She shook it, СКАЧАТЬ