Blood Stones (37 page)

‘No, Monsieur, it's Louise.'

It was the maid.

‘Louise? The phone's been out since yesterday. I want to speak to Madame.' He was smiling, brimming over.

‘I'm sorry, Monsieur, but she's not here. There was an emergency … we must have left the receiver off … She was taken to hospital.'

‘Hospital? What hospital? What's happened to her?'

He heard himself yelling; he didn't realize he was shouting in English. He had begun to shake. Emergency. Elizabeth and the baby … With a great effort he calmed down and spoke French.

‘Tell me, Louise. Just tell me, where is she, and is she all right?'

‘I don't know, Monsieur. Monsieur Lasalle took her to the hospital in an ambulance. I've heard nothing since I put the telephone back this morning. The doctor will know. I'm so sorry.'

‘Yes,' James said. ‘Yes, I'll call him. Christ, I can't remember the number … Louise, look it up for me, will you. Dr Gaston Fabre, rue de Courcelle …'

He kept muttering, come on, come … until she found the name and address and the telephone number and repeated it. He hung up and began to dial so frantically, that it was a misdial and he had to start again.

‘Monsieur Hastings?' The voice was cold. ‘Ah, yes. I'm sorry to say your wife miscarried but she is perfectly well, and has left the clinic this morning. I saw her and said she was fit to go home. She left with Monsieur Lasalle, since you had not returned in time.'

‘Returned?' James couldn't believe it. ‘How the hell could I return when I didn't know anything about it? Surely to God you or Lasalle could have contacted me?'

‘I understood your office was informed,' the tone was openly hostile now. ‘Your wife was haemorrhaging and too distressed to give details of where you were staying. I must point out that I am not responsible for anyone but my patient. I do know that she was very traumatized, and your support at this time would have helped her. But if you didn't get the message, then that explains it.'

He didn't actually call James a liar, but the voice conveyed it.

‘Just tell me,' James said. ‘Just tell me – is she all right?'

‘I wouldn't have let her leave if she wasn't. Monsieur Lasalle is looking after her. Goodbye, Monsieur.'

The line cleared. James slammed the receiver down. Lasalle. The good friend and admirer that instinctively he had never trusted. He hadn't taken her back to their own apartment. He had taken her away from James.

When Françoise saw him come out, she smiled and said, ‘Lunch is in half an hour. This afternoon I hope you can amuse yourselves for a little while. We're going to great friends of mine for drinks and then a few more friends are coming to dinner … My dear James, you don't look well … Is anything the matter?'

He was grey faced, his expression was simply distraught. She was shocked and came close to him. She was a kind-hearted woman and she rather liked him.

‘What is it?'

‘My wife,' he managed to say it calmly. ‘My wife is in hospital. I must get back to Paris. I must call the airport—'

‘Leave it to me,' she said firmly. ‘You get ready and Paco will drive you to Nice. I am so very sorry. I do hope she will be all right. And the baby.'

‘That's gone,' he said, and his voice cracked. ‘She lost it.'

He turned and sped up the stairs to throw his clothes into the case.

There was no flight for three hours, Françoise told him.

‘I'll charter,' he said. ‘I must get home. Say goodbye to everyone, will you. Sorry, but I'll just go right to the airport and fix something.'

The cost of a small private jet was mind bending. James didn't even hesitate. The doctor's chill approach screamed at him during the flight.
She was very traumatized
…
your support would have helped …
But he hadn't known, he cried out. No-one had contacted him. His office had been told … Who had told them … or said they had?

Elizabeth had called Lasalle for help. While he was in the villa, trying to ring through, the phone was off, unadjusted in the panic that must have taken place.

Haemorrhaging, the doctor said. He felt sick at the picture in his imagination. Why had nobody called him that morning, at the villa? She must have recovered by then, or she couldn't have been discharged. She knew where he was. Why didn't she contact him? He knew the answer. Because he knew Elizabeth. She thought he had been told and was ignoring it because he wanted to get his business deal done first. He knew her pride and her priorities.

And that bastard had taken advantage of the situation to move in on her, take over what was James's role, and move her out of James's reach. He probably never called the office; nobody would have dared withhold such a message from him. No, Lasalle must have lied, hoping to turn his wife against him. To get her for himself.

And she had gone with him. She wasn't to blame. He thought of her in misery and realized how hurt, how abandoned she must have felt. And be feeling still. No word, nothing. Just silence while she suffered and their child died. But not for long. He would land in twenty minutes. He knew where Jean Pierre Lasalle lived. That night he would have Elizabeth back and safe with him. With all the terrible misunderstandings cleared away.

The door was opened by Lasalle's housekeeper. He pushed his way past her into the hall. He stopped. The place had an empty feel to it.

‘Where are they?' James demanded. ‘Where's my wife?'

‘Monsieur has gone to Normandy. He told me he would be away for some time. I know nothing about any lady, Monsieur.'

James said slowly, ‘Where in Normandy?'

‘He has a château outside Caen. I can write down the address and telephone if it's urgent.'

‘Thank you,' James said. ‘It is urgent.'

‘Elizabeth,' Jean Pierre said gently. ‘He's on the telephone. Do you want to talk to him?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I don't.'

‘He says he is coming down tonight … he is being very abusive, I don't think you should see him, but I will do what you want.'

‘I don't want to talk to him or see him,' she said slowly. ‘I want some time and some space. Tell him to leave me alone, Jean Pierre. Don't let him come down here. I won't see him if he does. Make sure he understands that.'

‘I'll tell him,' he promised.

‘Elizabeth won't talk to you and she doesn't want to see you,' he said. ‘She says to leave her alone. If you have any decency, you'll do what she asks. If you abuse me like that I shall hang up on you. I suppose you brought off your big business
coup
, so you thought you could come home and talk her round? You shit, Hastings. You've lost her, and you deserve to; you try coming here and upsetting her, I'll call the police. Go back to your business.'

He banged down on James. He went back to Elizabeth. She was crying. He put his arms round her.

‘My darling,' he said softly. ‘Don't, don't cry like that. He isn't worth it. You're safe here with me. I'm going to look after you. I love you. I'll do anything to make up to you for all this.'

She let him hold her. It was as if the tears were shed by someone else. She felt so dead, so wounded inside. He was kind and he was trying so hard to help her and protect her. He talked about loving her and she hadn't the heart or energy to stop him. James had come back. He wanted to see her, to talk her round, to exploit her love for him so she would forgive him for putting her last in the order of his life. She knew how convincing he would be. How he'd plead, and argue and coax till she ended up by being sorry for him instead of angry. But she wouldn't let him. She thought while Jean Pierre's arms were holding her, I want time to mourn my baby. At this moment I don't think I can ever forgive him for not being with me. Whatever the reason, whatever the excuse, I don't care. I can't cope with James as of now. I may never be able to; I don't know.

She said, ‘I don't know what I would have done without you. I'd better call my parents tomorrow. They're planning to come over. I can't face it tonight.'

‘You don't have to face anything,' he answered. ‘I will take care of everything. I will speak to your parents if you like. Just leave it to me. And now I think you should take your sleeping pill and get a good night's rest. Tomorrow you'll begin to heal. The Normandy air is famous. You'll sleep well.'

The phone was ringing. There was a glass of neat brandy beside his chair. In his eagerness to get to the phone, James knocked it over.

‘Liz?'

It was David Wasserman. ‘I couldn't wait. I've been sitting here hoping you'd call … How'd it go? James?'

‘Fine,' James said, ‘I screwed up the sale … My wife lost the baby while I was away, and I think she's left me. Otherwise, it was a big success.'

‘I don't believe it,' Wasserman said; he hissed at Clara to be quiet. She was by his elbow, trying to listen in. ‘I don't believe it. What can I say? Are you alone there? You want me to come over?'

‘No thanks. Don't worry about me.'

‘Listen,' Wasserman was concerned, ‘you don't sound too good. You need a friend. I'm on my way.'

‘No,' James repeated. ‘I'm pissed and I'm going to bed. I'll be in the office around eight Monday morning. I have to check on something. If you want details, come there. And thanks for offering, but don't worry about me.' He repeated himself. ‘I'll get her back.'

‘Well?' Clara demanded. ‘So, what happened? What went wrong?'

‘With the business? Nothing. Between us, we've shafted Ivan. But he says his wife had a miscarriage and she's left him. He sounded stewed to the eyeballs.'

‘Oh,' Clara said. ‘Well, if she has left him, it's no bad thing … So she loses a baby. These things happen. Does she have to make a drama out of it? He needs a wife that understands him, someone to be there for him. Don't ask me to be sorry about it.'

‘I'm not,' her husband said curtly. ‘I'll go and see him at the office on Monday morning. Maybe there's something I can do to help …'

James finished the brandy. He poured another and sat close to the telephone. She must be asleep by now, he decided. Asleep in Lasalle's house in Normandy. She wouldn't call him now. He didn't go to bed, he dozed in the chair and woke bug eyed with a hangover just after six o'clock. He showered and swallowed some painkillers. He forced himself to eat breakfast and drink coffee. He watched the dawn come up over the rooftops of the city, and opened the balcony windows for fresh air. The dome of Les Invalides, Napoleon's massive tomb, was briefly touched with red and gold as the sun came up.

Your office was informed
. The doctor's words beat in his head like a metronome.
Your office was informed
. And Lasalle's bitter accusation followed on.
I suppose you brought off your big business
coup
so you thought you could come home and talk her round …

Standing on the narrow ledge in the chill wind coming off the Seine below, James realized that losing control was not the way to reach Elizabeth. She believed he had abandoned her, that at the crisis point he had put his career before his responsibility to her. However mistaken and unfair, he had to accept that and prove to her that she was wrong. There had never been such a need for self-control and cool thinking in his life, if he wasn't going to lose everything that really mattered.

The office was open by seven-thirty. He walked through, nodded to the two secretaries in the outer complex and went into his private office. Ruth Fraser didn't get in till after eight. He buzzed through to the switchboard. ‘I want a record of any calls that came through for me after midday on Friday.'

‘There's a note of them on your desk,' he was told. ‘I put them there myself.'

He looked. There was a list. Half a dozen calls, all listed with time and reference. All business. No record of anything else. Nothing.

The door opened and David Wasserman said, ‘James, my boy – how are you? We've been worried sick, you sounded so bad last night.'

‘Hello, David. Yes, I was,' he admitted. ‘But I'm in control now. Thanks for your concern. Sit down.'

He could imagine how sympathetic Clara had been towards Elizabeth. Wasserman thought he looked dreadful, as if he hadn't slept at all. But he said he was in control, and he was. Almost dangerously pent up.

‘First things first,' James said. ‘The Saudi swallowed our story. He'll never buy anything from Karakov again. And he won't be able to sell those red diamonds anywhere in the world after they've finished bad mouthing him. You don't cross an Arab and get away with it. Luchaire will be so disappointed she'll spread the word everywhere. So we have the old bastard by the short and curlies. That was a great idea of yours.'

He didn't sound enthusiastic.

‘But you made it work,' Wasserman pointed out. ‘Congratulations. It was a lovely piece of business. You should fax Heyderman right away. And London. This gives them more muscle in the Moscow negotiations.'

James said coldly, ‘I'm not giving them anything. I'll help Harris as much as he helped me. I've already drafted a fax for Heyderman. Here, read it.'

After he'd looked through it, Wasserman said, ‘You've given me a lot of credit, James. Very generous of you. But you must let London know. I admit Arthur tried to piss on you, but he's still the boss.'

‘He won't be for long if I can help it,' James said. ‘Why don't
you
fax him, or call him? I've got other things to do as soon as I send this to Johannesburg.' He paused. ‘Better still, have a private word with Reece as well. If I've blown your trumpet, you can blow mine.'

Wasserman nodded … Dangerous was the word. Whatever had happened in his personal life, Hastings was out for blood. ‘Sure,' he said. ‘Everything gets to Julius through that little creep. You have him on your side, you're on your way. I'm so sorry about your wife and child. You want to talk about it? Is there anything I can do to help?'