Blood Stones (26 page)

She would see Reece. But he would have to sweat for a few days longer.

‘You know, I feel rather nervous,' Elizabeth admitted.

James stared at her for a moment. ‘Nervous? Why?'

‘Supposing the Karakovs don't like me? Clara Wasserman didn't … I know how important this dinner is for you, darling. I hope I make the right impression.'

He said fondly, ‘Don't be silly; these people are not like the Wassermans – they're big time, they're international. You'll be my greatest asset, don't you see? They'll love you. All you have to do is be yourself.'

He came and squeezed her gently to him. It was rather touching; normally so confident and out-going, so certain of being liked wherever she went. He had suffered social nerves, never Elizabeth. But pregnancy did funny things, no question …

‘We're going there with all flags flying. I want you to look especially beautiful, and put on all the family jewels. You'll charm them out of their skins!'

‘I'll try,' she promised. ‘Do I have to look like the Christmas fairy? You know I hate that sort of thing.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘But it's what impresses some people. Money, showing off … I know how you hate it, but just this once? Please?'

‘Oh, all right.' Elizabeth kissed him quickly. ‘I'd better get ready then.'

Upstairs he fastened her dress at the back. She was still very slim, but there was a new fullness in her breasts that he found very exciting … She stood before the looking-glass, fixing the massive Victorian pearl-and-diamond brooch at the neck of her dress.

‘Oh hell, I can't get this thing done up …'

He came round and adjusted the brooch for her.

‘There,' he said. ‘That's fixed and the safety catch is on. Mustn't lose Great Aunt Agatha's brooch, must we?' He ran his fingers down her neck and stroked her shoulder. ‘You know, this baby is making you more sexy than ever. What I'd really like to do is stay at home and make love to you.'

Elizabeth leaned against him. ‘So would I,' she whispered. ‘I won't always be like this. A lot of men get turned off when you get heavy …'

He closed both arms around her. ‘Well, this one won't,' he said.

When he let her go, he said softly. ‘You're wonderful, and don't worry about tonight. You'll have your walker looking out for you.'

‘Walker?' she picked up her bag. ‘You mean Jean Pierre?'

‘Well,' James said lightly. ‘That's what he is, isn't he?'

Suddenly she was angry. ‘No, he bloody well isn't,' she said. ‘He's a good friend and I like him. And he's doing
you
a very big favour by giving this party. So don't be a shit, James.'

James retreated hastily. ‘Only joking, don't be so touchy! He's a nice guy and you're right, I owe him. Now stop giving me that laser look or I'll deconstruct before your very eyes!'

He could usually defuse her by making her laugh.

‘You're just jealous,' Elizabeth said, ‘because he's so cultured and charming …'

He draped a wrap over her shoulders. ‘And you're crazy about him,' he added. ‘Can't have you getting cold. Let's go.'

Lasalle had a house behind avenue Montaigne. It was approached by a small courtyard that reminded Elizabeth of the apartment she had preferred on the rue de la Perle. It was intimate and belonged to an earlier age.

Jean Pierre met them at the door. ‘How lovely to see you both,' he said.

He shook hands with James and bent over Elizabeth's hand without actually touching it. He was a very correct man in public.

‘You look charming, as always,' he said. ‘Do come in and have a drink.'

As she passed close to him, he added, ‘How are you feeling?' in a lower voice.

‘Sick as a cat,' she murmured back. ‘But only in the morning. Oh, Jean Pierre, what a dream of a room this is.'

It was beautifully furnished; one glance told her that James was impressed by the exquisite taste, the clever placing of fine French furniture and lovely objects. They were introduced to four other couples.

‘Monsieur and Madame Hastings,' Jean Pierre introduced them.

A waiter offered champagne. Elizabeth opted for mineral water. James drank his champagne rather quickly; she realized how anxious he was feeling, and determined to make amends for being snappy with him. Maybe he had said that about Jean Pierre because he was a little jealous … She went across to James.

‘Relax, darling. And don't worry. It'll go well.'

At that moment the drawing-room door opened, and their host came in with Ivan and Laura Karakov. Ivan always liked to make an entrance. He had timed his arrival just right. A little late, but not too late. His glance swept round the room; he had met the British diplomat and his wife before, and the distinguished French author whose companion was a
directrice
of the couture house of Saint Laurent. A German industrialist whose wife was one of his biggest clients, and a man who looked rather flamboyant in that company, with a theatrically pretty woman, probably American, he judged, and another younger pair, both obviously English. A good-looking man and a very beautiful blonde girl. Guided by Jean Pierre they acknowledged their acquaintances among the guests, Ivan bowing low over the German lady's hand and beaming at her husband, and then they were face to face with James and Elizabeth.

Before Jean Pierre could introduce them, James stepped forward. ‘James Hastings,' he said. ‘My wife, Lady Elizabeth.'

Laura Karakov held out a birdlike hand, weighed down by a huge diamond. ‘Laura Karakov. My husband, Ivan … Oh dear, Jean, we've done it the American way … Do forgive us.' She flashed a dazzling smile upon him.

Karakov did not hold out his hand. He gave Elizabeth a polite inclination of the head, and James a look of dark hostility.

Hastings. James Hastings. David Wasserman had mentioned a titled wife. So this was Julius Heyderman's troubleshooter.

Elizabeth smiled at him. ‘I've heard such a lot about you, Mr Karakov, I've been looking forward to meeting you. I understand you and Jean Pierre are old friends?'

She had a charming smile, he decided. Beauty appealed to him in women, but then he knew so many beauties, and a lot of them owed their perfection to the surgeon's skill. In their social circle, naturalness and warmth were as rare as his red diamonds.

‘We've known each other a while,' he admitted. ‘His ex-wife was a friend of ours, but, even though they split up, we're still fond of him. How come you know each other?'

‘My husband is over here on business,' Elizabeth said. ‘And Jean Pierre found us a furnished apartment.'

‘Oh?' Ivan pretended ignorance. ‘Will you be in Paris a long time?'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘That depends. Oh, no thank you, no champagne, I'll have a glass of mineral water.' She turned to the waiter who had approached them with a tray of drinks.

‘You don't drink, then? Wise lady,' Ivan remarked, taking a glass for himself.

‘Normally I do,' Elizabeth said. ‘And I love champagne. But I'm pregnant, so it's water for me from now on.'

Old instincts stirred in Ivan; he liked the idea of children and big families. He decided that he liked her. No French woman would have been so forthcoming on first acquaintance. He found it refreshing. He smiled at Elizabeth and it was friendly.

‘Congratulations, my dear,' he said. ‘Is it your first?'

‘Yes,' she nodded. ‘We've been hoping for a baby for ages. We're terribly excited. Do you have a family?'

‘I have two daughters,' he said.

‘How lovely. Do tell me about them.'

‘Why don't we go over there and sit down,' he suggested. ‘I'm an old man, and I don't like standing. And you shouldn't.' He slipped a hand under her elbow and guided her to a sofa.

‘Tell me about your daughters,' Elizabeth said. ‘Do you have grandchildren?'

Ivan leaned a little towards her. He was beginning to relax and enjoy himself. ‘Most women ask me about my jewels,' he said.

Elizabeth laughed. ‘I'm sure they do. But I'm more interested in people. I'd love to hear about the jewels later on. Tell me about your family first.'

‘My eldest daughter is in the States; she wants to go into business so she's taking a degree in gemology and business studies. She's a very ambitious lady, very bright. Like her mother.' He glanced over at Laura. She was talking to the Americans; he noted how quickly she had abandoned Hastings.

‘My second is interested in husbands. She's had two already. The first one was a disaster and he cost a fortune in alimony. Now, she's married to a prince. Prince Eugene Titulescu. I have a little grandson and he's a prince, too. He's two years old, just starting to talk. We're crazy about him.' Which was true in his case; Laura went through the motions, but she wasn't at all patient with small children.

Elizabeth said, ‘Titulescu? I'm sure I know the name. Is it Hungarian?'

‘Romanian, very old family. Lost everything when the Reds took over after the war. It was terrible what happened to people like Eugene. Thank God it's different now. Russia's becoming a democracy.' Ivan never missed a chance to emphasize that.

Elizabeth said, ‘I think my grandfather used to shoot with a Prince Titulescu before the war … in the Thirties. I'm sure I've seen photographs of him outside some vast castle with mountains of dead birds, in an album at home. He was mad on killing things. He shot with the Esterházys too, in Hungary.'

Ivan accepted a second glass of champagne. He loved talking about the old aristocracy. He was really enjoying himself. He decided to flirt a little, just to remind himself what it used to be like. She was very sexy in an off-beat way.

‘Can't I tempt you? Just a little sip for luck?' He offered her the glass.

Elizabeth decided that she liked him. He had a twinkle in the eye. From James's description she had anticipated meeting a monster.

‘How sweet of you – why not?' She drank a little and gave the glass of champagne back to him.

‘May I ask your family name, Lady Elizabeth?'

‘Only if you promise not to call me that. Liz, please.'

‘No,' he corrected gallantly. ‘You're too beautiful. Elizabeth.'

When she gave him the surname, he nodded. He hadn't heard of them, but England was full of old blood and little money to go with it. He said, ‘I think your aristocracy are wonderful. I admire the way they've coped with a changing world. Is your home open to the public?'

She shook her head. ‘No, it's not big or important enough. We're not at all grand, you know. In fact, I never use that title.'

Ivan grunted sympathetically. ‘I have English friends who say it puts ten per cent on the bill. But I guess your husband's proud of it.'

‘I suppose he is,' she smiled at him. ‘But I can't think why. He's romantic about things like that. I often tease him about it. After all, he's the successful one. I'm just my father's daughter.'

‘That's what you say, and it's charming to be so modest. But I guess any man would be proud to be married to you.'

‘You must feel the same about your wife,' she remarked. ‘She's incredibly elegant.'

Ivan laughed. ‘She should be, she spends enough money on it! But you're right. She looks good. I'm lucky.'

Elizabeth watched Laura Karakov for a moment. Elegant was right. She was so small and thin, almost Oriental and she had emphasized this by dressing in a slim sheath of vivid green silk, her blond hair drawn down either side of her face like a classical ballerina. The face itself was remarkable. It was old, but there wasn't a line on it. It was smooth and drawn tight like a mask. She had brilliant black eyes, heavily mascaraed, with a mouth painted the same crimson as her nails. Round her neck she wore a twisted rope of multicoloured beads and a bracelet to match. It didn't occur to Elizabeth that what she supposed was costume jewellery were cabochon rubies, emeralds and sapphires. Ivan heaved himself up from the sofa. He held out a hand to help Elizabeth to her feet.

‘I think we're going into dinner. I hope we're sitting next to each other.'

‘I hope so, too,' she said. ‘I haven't asked you about the jewels yet!'

They weren't seated together, but James was beside Laura Karakov.

He had set out to charm and impress, knowing that she would see right through him, but counting on two factors. One, that she was well known for liking handsome young men, very young, in some cases, and two, that she would be curious about him and hope to glean some information. She was Karakov's right hand, a super businesswoman, calculating, reputedly more ruthless than her husband in commercial dealings. She was a good talker, with a sharp spice of American wit, and a tinge of malice that made her amusing. She oozed sexuality in a way that he found embarrassing.

He felt as if he were sitting next to a dangerous snake, that weaved and swayed, and provoked before it struck. And then she did.

‘You're over to try and talk my husband round, aren't you? May I call you James?'

‘Please …' he said quickly. Then, ‘He won't see me. I wish you'd try and persuade him.'

He'd not only deflected the bite, he'd bitten back. She acknowledged this with a slight smile. Clever. Fast moving. Like dropping the wife's title in case Jean Pierre didn't use it.

‘Why should I?'

‘Because I hear you have more influence over him than anyone else, Mrs Karakov. Or may I call you Laura?'

She didn't respond to him. If he was going to play games, he'd soon learn not to give her an opening. ‘He listens to me,' she agreed. ‘We talk things over. If you had anything new to tell him it might be different. But you don't, do you? So why should you waste his time?'

James said gently, ‘How do you know what I've got to offer? How does he, when he won't give me a chance to explain? I need to talk to him. I think he needs to talk to me, and that's no kind of ego trip on my part. We don't want to quarrel with your husband. He's too important. He's too big a man in the industry.'