Lovers in Their Fashion (6 page)

Chapter 10

S
he got through the days somehow. David knew something was wrong, Marissa knew something was wrong and Merrill knew something was wrong, but none of them could get her to talk about it. Alice knew what she was going to have to do. She knew that Planer would call again, and she knew what she would say.

When the call came, Planer said nothing. Alice could hear his breathing, unhurried and assured, as he waited for her to speak.

‘Honfleur,’ she whispered, the word squeezed out of dreadful pain.

‘Eh?’

‘Honfleur. On the coast of...’

‘I know where it is. What I don’t understand is why a Normandy fishing village when you could go anywhere in the world.’

‘You said I could choose.’

‘Very well. Honfleur it is.’

Her voice sounded tiny, even to herself. ‘There’s a converted sixteenth century presbytery. I can’t remember its name. A restaurant with rooms, really. It’s on the Quai de la Quarantaine.’

‘I’ll find it. May I ask why there?’

‘It’s…private.’

‘Very well. I’ll pick you up at midday on that Friday. From home. Whatever you were going to do, cancel it.’

‘All right.’

‘And don’t forget to wear my gift.’

Alice sat for a long time with the phone clenched in her fist. Then she rang her mother.

‘I have agreed to do as you asked.’

Her mother sounded relieved. ‘I’m sure that’s the sensible course of action.’

‘I will do what I have to do. I will let that man…I will let him do what he wants to do.’

‘Really, Alice, you make it sound like an appointment with an executioner instead of a pleasant weekend with an eligible man. If you’d let a few more men do what they wanted to do, you might be a happier person.’

Alice hung up. Her anger was such she could not have continued the conversation without breaking down. And she would not break down. She would make this sacrifice, not for her mother’s sake but for her father’s. And she would be strong. She would make it clear that this was the last time she would come to her mother’s aid. She would go to the party. She would meet a man. Because she must, she would absent herself for a weekend in Normandy. And then she would get on with her life.

M
errill drove them both to Brighton. Alice had no car, there always being someone paid to drive her where she wanted to go, and neither of them wanted to travel to a party by train.

If Alice was quiet on the journey, Merrill chatted enough for both of them. On arrival they found that the hotel had no parking of its own, but a member of staff took Merrill’s car away while they went upstairs to unpack and change. They did the latter together in Alice’s room, supposedly so that they could go on talking but really because they were both a little nervous about what was to come.

Merrill had ordered a bottle of champagne and smoked salmon sandwiches to be waiting for them. ‘You know what parties are like. Who knows how long we’ll have to wait for something to eat?’

As it happened, she need not have worried. Bernice had retained what she described as “the best caterers on the south coast”, and Alice was ready to believe the description. As she circulated, glass and plate in hand and constantly replenished, she met a number of people she knew so that any uncertainty she might have been feeling soon dissipated.

Bernice appeared at her shoulder. ‘Don’t look now,’ she murmured, ‘But there’s a guy over there who’s really keen to meet you.’

‘I’m intrigued,’ said Alice.

‘His name’s Michel LeGrand. One of those intimidatingly educated Frenchmen, you know? He’s 35. A nice age, if you know what I mean.’

‘He’s single?’

‘Divorced. He’s a journalist. Covers the UK beat for one of the quality French papers. His ex got the Washington job. Word is, Michel was chagrined. Though no doubt he wouldn’t pronounce it the way I do.’

Alice laughed.

‘Do you want to meet him?’

‘Sure,’ Alice said. ‘Why not?’

‘I’ll take you over. But listen, honey, don’t fire all the shots in your locker if you know what I mean. If this one doesn’t light your fire, there’s others here who will. Tony Frejus for starters.’

‘That’s an interesting name.’

‘For an interesting guy. I’d introduce you to him before Michel, but he seems to have a heavy conversation going with my husband. Ed doesn’t like it if I interrupt something that might mean business.’

‘How’s Merrill doing?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about her,’ Bernice said. ‘Merrill is going to make out fine. In every sense of the word. You do know why she’s doing this?’

‘I guess she wants a man in her life,’ said Alice.

‘She wants her mother off her back,’ Bernice replied. ‘The old girl’s starting to wonder when she’s going to see grandchildren. She’s been at Merrill to go home to LA so she can introduce her to some eligible men. Merrill likes it here, so she needs to find some British guy to take back there and show off. Reduce the pressure.’

Both women laughed as they crossed the floor towards Michel LeGrand. Bernice made the introductions and left. Alice, noticing that he was standing alone, had wondered whether he was intimidated by lack of facility in the language, but she soon found that Michel’s English, though charmingly accented, was impeccable.

‘You’re not drinking,’ she said, noticing the still mineral water in his glass. The last thing she wanted was to be paired off with an alcoholic.

‘I may have to drive,’ he said. ‘There’s a good chance I’ll be called back to London. A story I’m covering could break tonight.’

‘You live in London?’

‘Hammersmith. And you?’

Alice told him where she lived. His eyes dilated for a moment. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘A good job? Or lots of alimony?

‘I think I’ve just been insulted,’ Alice bridled. ‘I’ve never been married. Everything I have I’ve worked for.’

‘Pardon,’ said Michel. ‘In France it would not be considered an insult to suggest you screwed your ex to the max.’

‘I’m not convinced. But I accept your apology. Don’t do it again.’

‘So,’ drawled the Frenchman. ‘What is it that you do to earn all this money?’

‘Something fascinating in the doing but boring to talk about.’

‘Nothing bores a journalist. We store information the way a squirrel stores nuts. Tell me.’

‘Very well. I’m in the fashion business.’

‘Ah. At the top? I mean, for a French house?’

‘At the top, yes. For a French house, no.’

Michel’s eyebrows rose perceptibly.
‘C’est pas possible, n’est ce pas?’
He smiled to show that this was a joke. Or could have been.

‘These crazy English,’ he went on. ‘They leave a woman like you unmarried while they fly their model airplanes on Hampstead Heath or drive their silly little go-karts round dead aerodromes.’

Alice let this go over her head. She had been wooed by French men before and could probably have written Michel’s speech for him. In French, at that – though she had decided not to make clear her command of his language just yet. French men needed to feel that it was they who were in control.

‘Perhaps I’m better out of it,’ she said. ‘Marriage was not a happy experience for you.’

Michel’s face darkened. ‘That bitch,’ he murmured. Alice noticed that anger made him more French: it came out as
zat beesh
and could almost have been charming had the thought behind it not been so unpleasant. She laughed.

‘Oh,’ said Michel. ‘You think it is funny when a woman sleeps with her boss to get promoted ahead of her husband.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Alice said. ‘I didn’t realize that’s what had happened.’

‘She is in Washington. The prime posting for any journalist.’

‘After Paris, surely.’

Michel glared at her, almost—but not quite—sure that she was pulling his leg. ‘And I—I am in London. Not even a secondary posting. Rome would have been better. Even Berlin!’

‘That’s really not very flattering.’ The interruption had come from a tall, solidly built man with dark, curly hair. Alice turned to look at him.

He held out his hand. ‘Tony Frejus. There is only one problem I have with you British, and that is the way you laugh when others insult you.’ He glanced at Michel. ‘Especially French others.’

‘You think that, do you?’ asked Michel. ‘You have perhaps not understood that they laugh because they do not care what others think. And they call the French arrogant! Pah.’ This was presented in a theatrical manner that invited them to think he was being humorous, while knowing that he might not be. Alice was beginning to realize that it was impossible to take Michel at face value.

She tuned to the newcomer. ‘And what nationality are you?’

‘I am Bolivian.’

Alice wondered whether Tony Frejus had failed to notice the slight but unmistakable contempt in the way Michel lifted his eyebrows at this statement. She knew that, for a Frenchman like Michel, only La France really signified. Italy and Germany had some geographical importance. Washington and New York were too powerful and too rich to be ignored. Other than that, the further a place was from the Quai d’Orsay the less it mattered.

‘How far is La Paz from Paris?’ she asked.

Tony Frejus looked puzzled by the question, but the slight amusement that touched Michel LeGrand’s lips showed that he had read her thoughts. He tipped his glass of mineral water towards her in silent acknowledgement of the hit. Then he turned his back on the other man in what Alice found a stunningly rude manner and placed a hand on Alice’s arm. ‘Have you walked through the Lanes on a warm summer evening?’

‘I don’t believe I have.’

‘It’s an experience. Not Honfleur, of course, but…’

‘What?’

‘I said it is not…but what is it? You look as though you have seen a ghost.’

A pit of terror seemed to have opened before Alice’s eyes. ‘What did you mean, not Honfleur?’

She scanned the Frenchman’s face closely. His expression showed only baffled concern. But was that true?

‘Why, I meant simply what I said. Do you know Honfleur?’

Unable to trust herself to speak, Alice nodded.

‘Then you must know it is the most delightful seaside town in Europe. So Brighton cannot be. But we are not there. We are here. So we shall let this suffice.’

He held out his arm and Alice, scarce knowing what she was doing, took it and walked out of the apartment, completely unaware of the disappointment with which Tony Frejus watched her go.

Chapter 11

I
t was two days since John had collected Charles and delivered him to the Rio Atlantica. Insisting on a hotel right on Copacabana beach and then confining his swimming to the admittedly opulent rooftop pool was endearingly typical of the Chairman. He wanted to be where people said you should be, but he wanted also to stay well away from the famous beach’s equally famous muggers.

Charles’s oceanfront suite had a large balcony from which the two men enjoyed stupendous views of Sugar Loaf Mountain to the north and the Ipanema headland to the south. A waiter in a starched linen jacket was serving mounds of seafood and salad onto two plates; another poured chilled Chablis into heavy crystal glasses. John had tried to persuade Charles to join him on a trip to one of the justly famous restaurants in Leme or Copacabana itself, but without success. As a young man building his company, Charles was said to have been audacious and utterly unafraid. Where those qualities had gone, no-one could say.

John never bothered with bodyguards, much less armour plated cars and bullet-proof windscreens. With the Chairman here he had been given no choice and had endured two days of ponderous travel from office to office and ministry to ministry as Charles pressed the necessary flesh. Pointing out that Rio’s subway is one of the safest in the world had been met with a shake of the head. Heaven knew what reaction he might have received to a suggestion that they try a
frescão,
one of the
air-conditioned buses that you hailed like taxis.

Through all of this activity, John had been aware that there was personal business to be done and he waited patiently for Charles to bring it up. He, after all, was not supposed to know about Tom McGarrick’s impending retirement, or how the Chairman planned to deal with it. As Charles was leaving next morning, the moment must be soon.

It came after both waiters had left the balcony and the two men had started on their meal.

‘Rhoda’s not well,’ said Charles.

‘I’d heard the odd word,’ replied John, who did not have it in him actually to lie, even by implication.

‘Naturally we all hope she pulls through,’ the Chairman went on. ‘Tom’s decided to call it a day, though. Wants to spend some time with her. Just in case.’

‘Poor Tom.’

‘He’s earned his retirement,’ said Charles. ‘His is a hard job and he’s set a demanding example. I need someone just as good to follow him. There aren’t many around.’ The Chairman’s eyes focused on John. ‘I’m offering it to you.’

‘Me?’ John kept his expression completely blank. Although he’d expected this, he still did not know how he was going to respond. Knowing that something wouldn’t be offered again was a powerful incentive. So was his duty to Tony. And there was, of course, Alice.

None of which could change the fact that he didn’t really want to give up his globe-trotting lifestyle.

‘It’s time to move on,’ Charles said. ‘You’ve held this roving commission nearly ten years now. You’ve proved yourself. And you know the company on the ground, right across the world, better than anyone.’

‘When do you want a decision?’

‘What’s to decide? Look, John. Ten years ago you were a coming man in Head Office, the world before you. Suddenly we lost some business. It happens. And then you were knocking on the Chief Exec’s door asking for a move. Any move. We didn’t ask why then and I’m not asking now. Of course, you hear things.’

The old fox – how long had he been keeping this up his sleeve? ‘You do?’

‘You do. Things that might be true and might be nonsense. What does it matter? Young men get restless.’

‘What sort of things did you hear?’

‘How many sorts are there when a single man in his twenties suddenly wants to be thousands of miles away?
Cherchez la femme,
John. Not difficult in this case, seeing as she worked for us, too. She left at about the same time. Done very well for herself. But that’s your business, John. Not ours. The other thing, now. That might have been our business. If we’d chosen to make it so.’

John waited for him to go on, but Charles had suddenly become immersed in selecting the fattest and juiciest from a bowl of shrimp in chili sauce.

‘The other thing,’ said John.

Charles nodded. ‘The other thing.’

You spent years dealing with the man and you forgot how he could be when he really wanted something. How closely he held his cards until, one by one, he played them. How he always made sure he had the best cards before he even sat down at the table. ‘Chairman…’

‘Charles, please. Board members should be on first name terms, don’t you think?’

‘I haven’t accepted yet.’

‘I expect you want to know what “other thing” I meant.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘You’ve come on leaps and bounds as a negotiator,’ said Charles. ‘One of the reasons I want you for this job. Ten years ago you’d have been thumping the table, demanding to know. Five years, even.’

He shucked another shrimp from its papery shell, swallowed it and patted his lips dry with his linen napkin before taking a draught of the dry Chablis. ‘That business we lost. You remember it?’

‘How could I ever forget? It was mine. I lost it.’

‘Ever wonder how that happened?’

‘I thought of nothing else for a long time. Allied seemed to know everything we were doing. Who our customers were, what we were selling them, how much for, what special arrangements. I was completely outmanoeuvred.’

‘You must have guessed we had a spy in the camp.’

‘I can think of no other explanation.’

‘You never found out who it was?’

John stared at the Chairman. ‘I’d have liked nothing more.’

Charles stood up abruptly and walked to the very edge of the balcony, overlooking the ocean. He seemed deep in thought, as though wondering whether he was right to do what he planned. ‘Julian Malan was in the chair at Allied back then,’ he said.

‘I never knew him.’

‘No. But I did. Julian and I were in the army. Too young for the big bash, of course, but we were second lieutenants together in Kenya. Mau Mau,’ he added in explanation. ‘Nasty business. You young chaps are lucky to have missed all that.’ He stared out at the endless blue. ‘Being shot at brings you together. There’s a loyalty you can’t get any other way.’ He turned slowly to face John. ‘So, when Allied seemed to know more than they should, I called Julian. He made some enquiries. Name Martin Planer mean anything to you?’

John nodded. ‘I’ve met him, of course.’

‘Get on?’

John shrugged. ‘He has a reputation for ruthlessness. I don’t mind that particularly.’ He struggled to put his thoughts in order, bringing sense out of a jumble of impressions. ‘I don’t like him, if I’m honest, and I think what I don’t like is the way he always seems to be smirking to himself. As though he knows something I don’t.’

‘Well, he does, my boy. He knows that he stole the information that made him and could have destroyed you.’

It made sense. That one piece of information brought a decade of occasional meetings and strange glances into focus.

‘Julian wasn’t pleased,’ Charles went on. ‘Bit old school, Julian. High regard for ethics. Almost cost Planer his job. Left a cloud over him, at any rate. He hasn’t quite made it to the top. Yet.’

‘Planer worked for Allied,’ said John. ‘He needed someone on the inside. One of our own people. Did Julian establish who that was?’

Charles looked away with troubled eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he said. ‘The person left and we didn’t pursue it.’

‘But you do know who it was?

‘Yes. Yes, John, I know. Now. People back at HQ imagine that if you don’t take Tom’s job I’ll give it to Roger Neal. Roger himself certainly thinks so, and I’ve no doubt Tony Frejus mentioned the idea when he called to prepare you for my visit. Of course he did, old boy,’ he went on as he saw John’s surprised expression. ‘I’d think less of him if he hadn’t. Tony won’t want Roger as his boss. You won’t, either. So threatening to put him there would be a good way to blackmail you into accepting.’

The grin was so infectious, John had to smile back. There was no doubt about it; whenever you started to question the Chairman’s age, he said or did something that reminded you who you were dealing with.

‘You’re thinking maybe the old goat isn’t past it after all,’ said Charles, his grin now quite wolfish. ‘Well, let me reinforce that impression. Roger won’t get the job if you turn it down. I’ve already had Martin Planer sounded out by a headhunter and I can tell you that, if you don’t want it, he will.’

It was John’s turn to stare into space. Charles poured himself more wine. Neither man spoke. Charles had played his ace of trumps. He would say no more until John committed himself.

John could never work for Martin Planer. Not knowing what he now did. Of that he had not the slightest doubt. His choice had become stark. He could accept the offer. Or he could resign.

‘I’d like some time to think it over,’ he said.

Charles nodded. ‘I have to be at the airport at eight tomorrow morning. It’s only a forty minute drive. Pick me up at seven. You can tell me your decision on the way.’

I
f Alice had been unaware of the expression with which Tony Frejus watched her walk out of the apartment with Michel LeGrand, Merrill had not. She pressed a glass into his hand. ‘You look like a dog who’s seen a juicy bone stolen from under his nose.’

‘I was devastated,’ said Tony. ‘Until I saw you.’

‘Why, thank you, you honey-tongued smoothie.’

‘Who is she?’

‘I may be a bit slow here, but how can you be devastated if you don’t even know her name?’

He smiled. ‘All right, not devastated. I was piqued. She preferred a Frenchman to me.’

‘Typical man. Her name is Alice. And mine is Merrill. Unlike Alice, Merrill is available. Not that I’d want to press myself on you. Where were they going, did they say?’

‘For a walk round the Lanes.’

‘Well, I’ve heard it called some things in my time. Mind you, a walk could be pleasant on an evening like this.’

Tony smiled. ‘A walk would be wonderful.’

‘I’ll get my wrap and make my excuses to our hostess.’