Blood Stones (24 page)

‘I'll have to get something new.' She said it aloud. ‘But it does seem a shame, just for one evening.'

‘What are you going to buy, Mum?'

‘A new dress, darling. I'm going out to a dinner, for Daddy's office. Get on with your homework. Supper's in half an hour.'

‘Lucky thing,' the child sighed. ‘I wish I was going to a party.'

Susan put away the darning in her workbox, and went out to the kitchen to prepare the supper.

The kitchen was the joy of Susan's life. She and Ray had planned it together; it was state of the art labour saving, brightly decorated, a joy to work in. Ray had insisted on spending more money on the kitchen than anywhere else in the house.

‘You spend so much time in it, looking after us all, it's going to be just what you want. No expense spared …' Susan loved him for appreciating what so many people think mundane and belittling. Her job, as he emphasized, was as important to the general welfare as his own. She chided herself for complaining about the wretched party, when Ray was struggling with his business problems in Moscow.

She decided to go shopping the next morning. She'd need shoes and a bag to go with the new dress. Spending money on herself still worried her, a legacy of the early days when both were working to pay off the mortgage on their small flat, and money was in very short supply. Together they had made the upward climb. Now they had a nice house, two cars, expensive holidays and supported their children in education. She owed it to Ray to put on a brave face and go to the party looking nice. But if only, she sighed, thinking of that dreadful entrance on her own, if only by some miracle, Ray got home in time …

Dimitri Borisov shook hands with Ray Andrews as usual, but there was a sharp look in his eye that Ray hadn't seen in their meetings for some time. He had left the final draft of an agreement with the Russian almost ten days ago and heard nothing until the peremptory summons to come round to his office that afternoon.

‘Sit down,' Borisov said. ‘I've sent for some tea. Now … I've had this agreement looked at in detail by our contract department and there is one area I am not satisfied with … a very important paragraph dealing with your company's commitment to the Baikal project. That seems to us ambivalent. I've marked the relevant paragraphs. Here.'

He handed the document to Andrews. Andrews read it, looking for flaws. He knew it had been carefully drafted in London, and, on first reading, couldn't see anything that might cause Borisov a problem.

‘It looks all right to me,' he said. ‘And remember, it's only a final draft; if it's a question of re-wording the de-pollution project more strongly, then that's easily dealt with.'

Borisov shook his head. ‘No,' he said slowly. ‘Rewording isn't enough. You're not a lawyer and neither am I. Ray, we've come very far in our negotiations. I'm optimistic that we'll have something to sign soon enough. I have been to see the President with this document. He and our contract experts are agreed on one point. It is not strong enough on our problem with Baikal. Everything else, the loans, the concession to sell our diamonds, in principle the output from Archangel, everything is acceptable. But not this.' He tapped his finger on the marked page in front of him.

‘Right,' Andrews nodded. ‘I take the point, Dimitri. Let me get this clear. Baikal is the linchpin, and our commitment to it has to be straight down to the bottom line?'

‘That's the President's instructions to me,' Borisov answered. ‘Without that he won't ratify any agreement with Diamond Enterprises. The document with Karakov is ready for signature. That is not a bluff, it's the truth. And the President doesn't want any delay. You have no time to manoeuvre.'

‘No,' Ray Andrews agreed. ‘I accept that. Look,' he had made a judgement and decided to act on his own initiative, ‘I haven't the personal authority to guarantee this. If I send it back to London, the bloody lawyers will drag it out for weeks. It's taken long enough to get this through on both sides. If my Chairman gives you a personal authorization and guarantee of our commitment, will that do for you? Will that satisfy the President's requirement and give us time to get the actual documentation prepared for signature? In other words, lift the deadline and give us a guarantee that you won't sign with Karakov?'

D. V. Borisov looked down at the draft and then up at Ray Andrews. ‘I will recommend it,' he said. ‘When will this personal letter from your Chairman be sent? I'll need to take it to the President, and he'll want to know when to expect it.'

Ray stood up. ‘The quickest way is for me to go back to London and get it for you. One to one, I can explain the situation to him better than faxing or telephoning. He trusts my judgement, and he'll do what I suggest.'

Borisov stood up and came round the desk. He placed a hand on Andrews' shoulder. ‘Do this,' he said, ‘and we will sign within three weeks. That is my guarantee to you. By Russian standards, that is very fast – when will you leave for London?'

Ray said, ‘I'll leave Saturday night. I should be back by the middle of next week.'

‘Good,' Borisov said. ‘I will take you to the Bolshoi to celebrate. If you bring me the letter.'

‘I'll bring it,' Ray Andrews promised. ‘I promise you.'

Arthur Harris had left his wife in the hallway. The party at the Dorchester had finished early because several of their employees had trains to catch, or a wife driving home so her husband could have a few drinks. It had been a good evening, as far as he could judge. The food and service were excellent, the atmosphere convivial, induced by pre-dinner drinks and plenty of wine afterwards.

The South African guest of honour had been effusive in thanks and seemed to have enjoyed himself sitting next to Christa. Arthur had watched her being charmed, and marvelled at her capacity to act a part when she wanted to: the perfect boss's wife. But for how long? They hadn't talked much on the way home.

‘It went well, I think,' she had volunteered.

He had waited for some scathing comment to follow, but she had said nothing more till they were inside the hallway.

‘I'm going to bed, are you coming?'

‘Later,' Arthur answered. ‘I have some work to do.'

He wondered why she'd asked him. They hadn't shared a room for years. He went into his study, poured himself a mild whisky and soda and sat down to think. Andrews had flown in the day before, bringing the Russian conditions with him. The same terms of agreement that Arthur already knew, and which his lawyers had drafted so carefully. The huge loans, interest free, the development and financing of the mines in the Archangel area and the project to de-pollute the biggest water mass in Eastern Europe: Baikal. With his personal written guarantee that Diamond Enterprises would provide the technical means and the full funding.

It was impossible. He couldn't do it. He couldn't promise something that Julius Heyderman would reject out of hand as an open-ended commitment that could drain their resources for years to come with no return in sight. Arthur couldn't put his name to that guarantee, and without it, the Russians would go ahead and sign with Karakov. Ray Andrews would have failed, and Arthur's head would be on the chopping block. He sipped his whisky slowly. He was going to lose, and he had accepted that at some point during the evening, when he looked across and saw Ray with his wife Susan. He had registered rather numbly that she looked quite well dressed for once. They were a nice couple; good family people. Ray was loyal and gifted, and he would be ruined, too. A sense of sadness had come over Arthur. He had lived for his business for so long, because it was his only source of happiness, besides his sailing and his yachts. What else did he have? A miserable marriage, poisoned by the sense of failure which Christa embodied sitting there, looking attractive and desirable; a son who despised him because his mother set him the example; Julius, longing to get rid of him, and now being given the opportunity. He had lost everything.

He heard the door open and he looked up. His wife stood there.

‘Aren't you coming up? It's after one …'

She wore a lace-trimmed négligé and her face was still made up. He stared at her.

‘I won't be long. I'm just going through some papers.'

She advanced towards him. She sat down facing him. ‘What kind of papers?'

Arthur braced himself for the inevitable attack. Whenever she mentioned the business she did so in a way that undermined him. It was his most sensitive spot. She took a cigarette out of his silver box.

‘You're not smoking,' he protested. ‘You never smoke. You hate it!'

She lit it, and said, ‘I smoke sometimes. I feel like one now. What are you working on?'

I smoke sometimes
. He had been banished to his study if he wanted a cigar …

‘Nothing much,' he said. ‘Just routine stuff.'

‘You don't bring back routine stuff and sit over it till one in the morning,' his wife said. ‘Why don't you tell me?'

‘Because I'm tired, and it's complicated. You wouldn't be interested.'

She blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke; it rose and drifted over the circle of light from the desk lamp. He waved it away, and put his papers back in the drawer.

‘You're in trouble, aren't you? Why can't you be honest with me? I'm your wife.'

Arthur shut the drawer and locked it.

‘I find that difficult to believe at times. Why this sudden interest in my welfare? It's not like you.'

‘You're very quarrelsome,' she said coolly. ‘You must be upset about something. I'm not just thinking of your welfare, my dear Arthur. I'm thinking of our son as well. I've known things weren't going well ever since Julius came over. It's perfectly obvious the London office is on the mat with my brother. Now tell me what it's all about. I've got a right to know.'

He had begun by confiding in her when they were first married; they hadn't been so unhappy then because they didn't know the ill adjustment between them was going to be permanent, and she seemed to be in love with him and anxious to make the marriage a success. It had been a great relief to talk to her, and to feel that she was his ally and sympathetic. But the atmosphere between them had begun to change; she showed her sexual disappointment in flashes of spite which wounded him deeply, more so because he was fully aware of the cause. And then their son was born and she turned away from him completely, and all those early confidences became weapons with which she taunted him. He had not discussed anything with her for years, and at this crisis in his life, he couldn't bring himself to risk it.

‘We're having some trouble,' he admitted, ‘but it'll pass off. It's only to do with this new Russian mine, and Andrews will sort it out.'

‘You've a lot of confidence in him, haven't you?' she said. She leaned forward and the gold lights in her hair glowed under the lamp. ‘Arthur, let's stop fighting just for a moment. We've been fighting each other for years, but this isn't the time to do it. Julius is really after your head, isn't he?'

‘He's been after it for thirty years,' he said. ‘You've always known that and it never stopped you taking his side against me.'

The sad eyes were bitter as they looked at her. He had loved her so much and wanted her, and there had been so many moments over the years when he felt that love again and fought it down because the pain of her refusal would be so great.

‘He's my brother,' she said. ‘And I love him. But that doesn't mean to say I'd like him to kick you off the Board. We've got Martin to think of; he ought to take over from you in due course.'

Their son was another nail in the marital coffin, indeed the final one that closed the lid. They had been in league together, mother and son, since he was a tiny child; she gave him everything he wanted, partly in protest against Arthur's realistic attitude to showering money on the young before they'd learned how hard it was to earn it – she called him mean, and bought the boy a Porsche for his twenty-first birthday, and if ever Arthur criticized his son, she took sides with Martin.

‘If Martin's going to succeed me, he'll have to do better than he's done so far,' Arthur said. ‘When I was at Magdalen I left with a first in PPE. He'll be lucky at this rate if he gets a third. He won't work.'

‘He will,' she said. ‘You're always trying to force him. He won't let you; he's too like me.'

He looked at her and he smiled suddenly. ‘If he had a tenth of your determination, my dear Christa, he'd amount to something. I know it annoys you, but I'm afraid he's a bit of a weakling like his father.'

She didn't answer him at once. She still wasn't sure why she had come down to his study. She didn't understand her own motive in seeking him out to try and establish some communication after all these years. It was instinctive. He was in trouble, and it was too serious for her to sit back and enjoy it, as she had done before. Her son's future might be threatened. She knew Julius disliked him. Fear for Martin brought her closer to the stranger she had been married to for nearly thirty years. He and he alone could turn the threat aside.

‘What are you going to do?' she said. ‘How are you going to fight Julius?'

‘It will depend on Moscow,' Arthur said. ‘And on Andrews. If his head rolls, then your brother will be in a position to take a cut at mine.'

‘You mustn't let him,' she said. ‘You mustn't let him win. It doesn't matter what you do, you've got to beat him.'

He smiled again. ‘I'll try, my dear. I haven't run this business for all these years to let Julius lever me out on a pretext and put his own lackey in. That's what he's been after for years, of course. But he couldn't do it, because there just wasn't anyone of my stature to take over. No, I'm not being conceited, it's the truth. You may think I'm a fool, Christa, but I've run the London operation for all these years. And made a success of it.'