Lovers in Their Fashion (7 page)

Chapter 12

M
ichel LeGrand was not really Alice’s type. Certainly she liked self-assured men, even admired a touch of arrogance, but to be arrogant was a right and must be earned. There was a little too much bitterness about Michel, and not enough accomplishment. She would probably have refused the invitation to walk through the Lanes with him. Had he not mentioned Honfleur.

Honfleur was one of the first places John Pagan had taken her to, and they had gone back often.

The first time had been a stunning surprise. You arrived by car ferry in Le Havre, a port that had been bombed almost out of existence in 1943 and rebuilt in a style that was efficient and functional, but far from beautiful. You drove through uninspiring streets and left the city past concrete shopping plazas like anything anywhere in the world. Once out of town you headed west until you came to the Pont de Normandie, a truly spectacular bridge over the Seine between Le Havre and Honfleur.

The outskirts of Honfleur were pretty, but no more than that.

And then you arrived in the old town.

And it took your breath away.

She remembered now the name of the place where they had stayed. It was L’Absinthe, a strikingly beautiful restaurant overlooking the old fishing port where English soldiers had been billeted during the Hundred Years War. The bedrooms were in a three hundred year old presbytery a short walk away.

The morning after that first evening they had strolled two hundred yards to breakfast on café au lait and croissants fresh from the oven at an outside table overlooking the boats in the
Vieux Bassin
. Then they had ambled hand in hand through the old town. Every second shop sold pictures and
objets d’art
and some of them, frankly, weren’t terribly good. Honfleur was a tourist trap, she knew that. It didn’t take away the magic.

So why had she chosen this place of enchanted memories as the one where Martin Planer could take his revenge? She knew the answer to that. She didn’t like it, but she knew it. She was out to crush her dream of John once and for all. There would be no progress, no moving on, until he no longer held her heart so utterly in thrall. So, she would go to the place where she and he had been blissfully happy together and she would trample on the memories by doing there something utterly repugnant. When she thought of Honfleur, what came into her mind was beautiful. After she had been there with Martin, it would instead be vile.

None of which explained why Michel LeGrand had mentioned the place.

She allowed Michel to take her hand. ‘Tell me about Honfleur,’ she said.

‘But you said you knew it.’

‘I do. I want to know what it means to you.’

The face he turned to her was puzzled, but he was saved from the need to answer by the insistent trilling of a mobile phone. He took it from his inside pocket and began a conversation that was entirely in French. Alice let it flow over her head. It amused her that he so clearly believed she did not understand what he said. She kept her expression blank when he launched into a highly flattering description of the woman by his side. Flattering of her appearance, that is. Of her mind, he said nothing at all.

When he at last broke the connection, Alice did not allow the slightest hint that she knew what he was about to say to her.

‘The story I mentioned,’ he said. ‘It has broken. I must return to London.’

Alice felt a sense of relief at the thought that she could cut short the walk and return to the party to find Tony Frejus.

At that very moment, however, she saw Tony and Merrill turn a corner less than a hundred yards away and stroll arm in arm towards them. Two thoughts passed through her head. The first and most obvious was that if Tony was with Merrill he could not also be with her. The second was that, to judge by the lecherous glint in Merrill’s eye, she might enjoy the rest of the evening more if she did not have to think about getting Alice home.

‘Michel has to go back to London,’ she said to Merrill when the two couples were face to face. ‘I’m going to grab a lift with him, if that’s okay with you?’

Merrill cast a gaze of frankly lascivious enquiry over Michel, who himself was looking more than a little surprised. ‘It’s all right with
me,
honey,’ she said.

Aware that Michel was impatient to be off, Alice touched Merrill on the arm. ‘See you tomorrow evening,’ she murmured. ‘Would you mind bringing my things back for me?’

‘Sure will,’ agreed Merrill. ‘We can exchange war stories.’

N
ext morning, John was five minutes early at the Chairman’s hotel. He had made his decision. The sooner he put it into action, the better.

He thought for a second that the Chairman would refuse to get into his unprotected vehicle, but the moment passed. The busboys loaded the weathered leather bags into the boot, the Chairman took his seat up front and John scattered reals like confetti (which, indeed, the troubled currency was coming to resemble) before taking the wheel and heading northeast away from the Copa towards the airport.

He wasted no time. ‘I want the job,’ he said.

‘Congratulations, John. I’m really glad. You would always be my first choice.’

‘There’s a condition.’

‘Name it. Within reason.’

‘I want to know who sold me out.’

‘Who…I don’t follow you.’

‘Of course you do. Someone sold my business secrets to Martin Planer. It must have been someone I knew. Someone I trusted. He betrayed me. I want to know who it was.’

‘John. The…the person…’

‘Left the company. You told me that. I still want to know who he was. I want his name.’

‘No, John. You don’t. Trust me.’

‘I do, Chairman. Charles,’ he added with a smile, using the name for the first time. ‘It’s the only condition I make, but it
is
a condition. I won’t take the job without it.’

The Chairman stared unseeingly through the windscreen. After a long pause, he said, ‘I need time to think.’

John drove the rest of the way in silence. As they drove into the airport, the Chairman turned to look at him. ‘It’s a mistake, John,’ he said. ‘Believe me. You’re better off not knowing.’

John pulled in to park outside the departures hall. At once, porters descended on the car, opening the boot and placing the Chairman’s bags onto a trolley. The Chairman showed his ticket and one of the porters whisked the trolley away towards the first class check-in desk.

The Chairman stood for a moment, deep in thought. ‘I want your undertaking, John. If I tell you who betrayed you, I want your word that you will not change your mind about joining the Board.’

‘You have it.’

The Chairman’s face was without expression. ‘I shall hold you to that.’ He stared closely into John’s face. ‘It was Alice Springer.’

John was as still as if he had been turned to stone.

‘I’m sorry, John,’ said the Chairman. ‘I told you you didn’t want to know.’ He began to turn away. ‘There’s not the slightest doubt, I’m afraid.’

The Chairman walked away towards check-in and home. When he reached the desk, he glanced back. John was still by his car, the doors and boot still open. He had not moved a muscle since being told his betrayer’s name. His mouth was slightly open, but no sound emerged. His eyes focused on something far away. Far in distance and far in time.

‘Could anyone other than you have had access to these bags since you packed them, sir?’ asked the check-in girl.

The Chairman shook his head. ‘No. No, it was all my own work.’

Chapter 13

T
he following evening, Merrill called Alice. ‘Are you free?’

‘Most people would call me very expensive,’ said Alice. ‘But for you, my dear, I will moderate my demands.’

Merrill laughed. ‘No jokes like the old jokes,’ she said. ‘I fancy an Italian evening. I’ll bring pecorino and sausage. And I have a splendid Barolo.’

‘I’m sure I can rustle up some fettuccine,’ said Alice. ‘I could make a sauce with smoked salmon and cream?’

‘I’ve got a jar of artichokes I brought back from Milan.’

‘We’re in business.’

The cheese was the mature Roman kind, so much saltier and sharper than Tuscan pecorino ever got to be. They ate it in slivers with bread and pieces of cold garlicky sausage as Alice prepared the pasta.

‘Since when did smoked salmon become Italian?’ asked Merrill.

‘Since now,’ said Alice. ‘This wine is excellent. Will one bottle be enough?’

‘We have grappa to drink with the coffee.’

The water came to the boil and Alice dropped in the fettuccine before turning the heat to a slow simmer.

‘Take it easy there,’ said Merrill. ‘English people always overcook pasta.’

‘Am I doing this or are you?’ Alice ripped up handfuls of rocket and basil to sprinkle over the dish at the last moment. ‘So. Tony Frejus. Tell all. Good grief. Was that unseemly noise a giggle?’

Merrill put her hand to her mouth. ‘Tony is a sweetie,’ she said.

‘Did you disgrace yourself?’

‘To the contrary, chérie. I think Mister Frejus would say I gave a very good account of myself.’

‘As did he?’

‘He was magnificent,’ affirmed Merrill.

‘I’m glad both bedrooms weren’t wasted.’

Alice strained the pasta and took the plates from the warming drawer. ‘Do you want to top up our glasses? This is about ready to eat.’ She forked the sauce into the fettuccine and scattered the herbs on top.

‘Mmm,’ said Merrill as she began to eat. ‘Good.’

‘Not overcooked?’

‘Perfectly al dente. My own mother could hardly have done it better.’

‘Mrs Abercrombie is Italian?’

‘Mrs Abercrombie was born Irene Secco.’

‘Aha. All becomes clear. So a Bolivian…’

‘Would be a good Catholic boy, and highly acceptable.’

‘Merrill! Is this getting serious?’

‘After one night? Please. But I think Tony and I will be seeing more of each other.’ She took a mouthful of pasta. ‘What about you?’

‘With Michel? I don’t think so. He’s far too wrapped up in himself.’

‘I thought that was obvious. So why did you go off with him?’

‘Why? Because I was heading back to reclaim a handsome Bolivian, and I found that someone I considered a friend had stolen him away.’

Merrill laughed. ‘I wondered. It was fairly obvious he hadn’t invited you to go back to London with him. But he did ask you for a walk in the Lanes.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Alice. ‘That was pure paranoia on my part.’

‘Say some more?’

‘He mentioned Honfleur.’

‘Honfleur?’

‘Honfleur. On the coast of...’

‘I know where it is.’

Alice finished her pasta and mopped up the last of the sauce with the last of the bread. She raised her glass of Barolo and stared into its red depths. ‘That’s exactly what Martin Planer said.’

‘Martin…? Alice. You’re talking in riddles.’

Alice sighed. ‘My mother has done it again.’

‘Stolen money from Planer?’

Alice nodded.

‘And he let her? Why?’

‘To get to me. I think.’

‘You’d better explain.’

So Alice did. In full. When she had finished, Merrill stared at her in silence.

‘Speak,’ said Alice.

‘Alice. I don’t believe you. If you mean what you just said, you intend to go to a French fishing village you adore…’

‘It’s not really a fishing village any longer.’

‘Don’t pick nits. You intend to go there with a man you detest. A man two porters had to tear off you only last week in this very apartment. You plan to put on some utterly sleazy undergarment solely in order to let him to take it off you again. At which point you will put yourself completely at his mercy. Have I got that right?’

‘I think that’s a pretty good summary, yes.’

‘Well. What can I say? You English girls, you’re something else.’

‘But you do understand why I’m doing it?’

‘Understand? No. No, Alice, I don’t. I think you’re crazy.’

‘If it were your mother…’

‘My mother wouldn’t put me in that position, Alice. But if she did I’d make it very clear to her that she was on her own. You’ve already lost the love of your life because of your mother and now you’re going to…to…well, Alice, words fail me.’

‘That’ll be a first.’

‘I’m glad you can laugh about it, Alice. But, actually, it isn’t very funny.’

J
ohn Pagan held a party in O Belisco, his favorite Ipanema club, to say goodbye to his many Brazilian friends. Mostly they thought he was his usual friendly self; those who noticed any change assumed that he was a little sad to be leaving Rio, and a little daunted to be taking on a main board role. No-one guessed the truth.

For in reality John was entirely cold inside. How Alice must have laughed, when they met at Gatwick, to realize that he still carried a torch for her – in his dreams the only woman he had ever loved; in reality the traitor who had got close enough to him to be able to steal his most precious business secrets and hand them to a deadly rival.

He could guess what she had gained from this cruel deception. When Alice had pretended to love him – and he had no doubt now that it had been, must have been, pretence – she had actually been carrying on an affair with Martin Planer. He had never heard of any subsequent romance between Alice and Planer, and he knew she was now with David Tucker, so their affair must have run its course and ended.

John had learned, as most people do, that the person who holds a grudge is the one who suffers. His generosity of spirit was one of the things that had earned him so many friends, to say nothing of Alice’s love (though he no longer believed in that love) and he knew it was in his own interests to forgive, forget and move on. He hoped he would one day be able to do so. It certainly wasn’t possible right now.

‘
Well,’ said Merrill. ‘Enough recriminations. If you’re dumb enough to do what Planer wants, I’m dumb enough to let you. Tell me about Michel.’

‘There isn’t a lot to tell. Being with Michel is like watching an actor. He knows how to move around the stage and speak the lines. What you never get is the slightest feeling of sincerity.’

‘How sad.’

‘The only time he really comes alive is when he thinks he sniffs a story. I told him we have a huge show coming up and suddenly he got interested. You coming, by the way?’

‘Try to keep me away.’

‘I’ll arrange a good seat.’

‘You couldn’t make it two?’

‘For Tony?’

Merrill nodded.

‘Of course, I will,’ smiled Alice. ‘And you must both join us at the party afterwards.’

‘Funny you should mention that. An old friend of Tony’s is coming back to England after years away. Tony thinks he’d be perfect for you.’

Alice laughed. ‘Well, I’m promising nothing. But it’s fairly clear Michel LeGrand isn’t the answer to this maiden’s prayer. Tell Tony to invite his pal to the party and we’ll go on to dinner afterwards.’

‘I’ll book the table. Is this before you go to Honfleur with the loathsome Martin Planer, or afterwards?’

‘The show’s next Thursday. I go to Honfleur on Friday.’