Blood Stones (47 page)

‘I can't,' he said. ‘I can't be beaten like that.'

‘You won't be beaten,' Fuller said. ‘You'll have taken the initiative. After all, there's Heyderman, marshalling all his big guns for a fight, and you just say you don't think it's worth it. You retire. You could concentrate on sailing in a big way. That's what I'm going to do, anyway. Phyl and I have decided we want some time to ourselves, and I'm semi-retiring this year. Why don't you do the same? We could have a lot of fun. Phyl's devoted to you, you know that.'

‘She's a wonderful woman,' Arthur said. Phyllis Fuller was a cheerful, sporty woman, passionately fond of sailing, and she never got on with Christa. Arthur had always liked her.

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘I don't know what to do. You've got your wife, Hugh. You've got someone to retire with.'

‘That,' Fuller said, ‘won't be a problem. Just get rid of that bloody wife of yours. I'll handle the divorce!'

‘Don't worry,' Arthur said. ‘That's the first thing I'm going to do.'

‘Gentlemen,' Julius announced, ‘I've called you in this morning because I've something to tell you.'

Every place at the Board table was taken except David Wasserman's and Arthur's chairs. James and Kruger and Johnson and the man who had taken Andrews' place, a brilliant accountant called Bennett, were all seated round the long table. Julius had a young secretary beside him to take the minutes. Reece was away; he was said to be ill.

‘This is a special meeting,' Julius said. ‘We won't bother with the reading of the minutes of the last, or any company business, because we'll have our usual monthly meeting on the eighteenth of January as planned. I wanted to tell you that I have received a letter of resignation from Arthur. He has decided not to seek re-election at the Annual General Meeting. The Managing Directorship is now open, and we will elect the candidate at the next Board meeting and have the office approved by the shareholders at the Annual General Meeting.'

Arthur Harris's letter was quite short, and it was very dignified. It regretted the misunderstandings which had taken place, and reaffirmed that he had at all times acted in the best interests of the company. It expressed regret at leaving the Board in the circumstances in which he found it necessary to resign, but wished his successor good luck. He had decided to take this step rather than expose the company to the bad publicity which must result from a public fight to clear his name.

‘So that's that,' Heyderman said. ‘There's nothing else but to say that my personal nomination for the Managing Directorship will be James Hastings. I have here Wasserman's formal approval, and I take it that nobody will oppose at the next meeting?'

He looked round and for a moment his eyes challenged Dick Kruger. Kruger cleared his throat. ‘I'm not at all happy about Arthur's resignation,' he said. ‘I can't commit myself at the moment to voting for Hastings. I hope you understand.' He turned to James.

‘Certainly I do. I shall be sorry if you can't change your mind. I'd like to feel that I'd have someone as loyal to me as you've been to Arthur.'

It was a clever reply and it took Kruger off his guard. He reddened and said nothing. It sounded as if the vote at the coming meeting was just a formality. If he didn't come to a truce, then he would have to resign with Arthur.

As the meeting broke up, Heyderman called James aside. ‘I think it's pretty well in the bag for you, Hastings,' he said.

‘Yes, Chairman, thanks to you, I think it is.'

‘Come and have lunch with me; one o'clock at the Savoy Grill. I want to talk to you about one or two things.'

James went out, holding the door for him; the rest of the Board members hung back, Heyderman went down the corridor and into his office. He felt relieved and full of his usual confidence. Problems always diminished when you faced up to them squarely. He wanted to get home and gear up for Christmas. Then go to St Moritz and ski over New Year. But there was one more thing he had to do. He buzzed his secretary.

‘Call Ruth Fraser, please. Ask her to come up.'

Joy Reece didn't hear the front door bell the first time it rang because she was vacuuming the floor. Ever since the letter arrived by special delivery, she had been getting up at first light and cleaning the flat in a demented ritual, turning back the rugs, moving furniture, dusting and polishing every tap and metal surface till they shone.

Joy had brazened out the confrontation with Stella Heyderman, and in her judgement she had won. The woman wouldn't dare do anything. Not unless she wanted her father dragged through the dirt. Joy hadn't told Reece about the visit. She didn't want to worry him for nothing. He was so sensitive, and he took anything concerning them to heart. They had been sitting after a nice supper, watching a wildlife programme on TV, when the letter was delivered, at peace with the world and each other. When he opened it, he remarked, ‘From Mr Julius … I wonder what's come up …'

And then he gave a cry like a stricken animal. Joy had rushed to him. He couldn't speak. He just handed it to her. He was dismissed on grounds of moral misconduct. He was barred from Diamond Enterprises' offices. Joy held him close, fierce as a tigress with a wounded cub. He had been the strong one, protecting her. But not now. He was broken and she knew it, feeling him break down and cry with his face hidden in his hands. It was her turn to support him.

She had urged him to go home, to catch the first flight back to Johannesburg next morning. He seemed incapable of doing anything. He didn't sleep all that night. He stayed in bed the next day; he seemed so ill, she hadn't the heart to suggest leaving. A day or two was what he needed, just to get over the shock. So she cleaned and polished to relieve the anxiety that was tearing her apart.

She shut the machine off and heard the bell ringing, long and insistently. She put a duster in her apron pocket and went to the front door. Two men were standing in the passage. One had a brown trilby hat on, and he took it off.

‘Are you Miss Reece?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘What do you want?'

‘I'm Detective Sergeant Reynolds. This is Detective Constable Batchelor. We are making some inquiries. I wonder if we could have a word with you. And is your brother at home?'

13

‘I hope you don't mind me leaving suddenly like this, Mr Hastings?'

James shook his head. ‘No, of course not. It's a great opportunity. You deserve the chance, Ruth. You'd be a fool not to take it.'

She perched on the chair by his desk. He thought dispassionately that she looked glowing that morning, immaculately dressed as always, as bright and polished as the diamonds that would be more and more central to her life from now on.

‘The Chairman gave me until Christmas to think it over, but I wanted to discuss it with you first.'

James smiled slightly. ‘I think you've already made up your mind, Ruth. And good luck. Who knows where a job with Heyderman will lead you?'

‘That's true,' she agreed.

Heyderman had no son to follow in his footsteps and the daugher was into politics. She had already established that he disliked his nephew Martin Harris through the office grapevine where most things were known. The boy had paid him a visit just before the Heydermans left for South Africa. He had been loutish and arrogant. The meeting wasn't a success.

‘But it's exciting, anyway. I'm ready for a career change, and I've never worked outside the UK before. The salary and benefits are fantastic too. But I have to say, I'll miss working with you, Mr Hastings.'

‘Not for long,' James said. ‘You're set for big things, Ruth.'

‘I hope so. The irony is,' she said, ‘the Chairman told me it was Reece's report that made him offer me the job. He gave me a terrific write up over my part in the Paris operation. Mr Heyderman said he always trusted Reece's judgement. In spite of everything.' She tried to look sympathetic. ‘What a terrible business that was.'

‘Yes,' James nodded. ‘Awful. God knows what was behind it.'

The news about Reece burst on the company like a bomb blast. A girl in the typing pool saw it first, and came rushing in with the newspaper. It was a small item headlined ‘Brother and sister found dead.'

They had committed suicide. The caretaker had broken the door open when he saw newspapers piled up in the corridor. They were lying in the bedroom and they had been dead for some days. There was no note. At the inquest it was revealed that the police had been making inquiries. The verdict was suicide from barbiturate poisoning, and the case was closed.

‘I'll say one thing,' Ruth went on, ‘I'm glad to be out of Dick's way. Will you keep him on?'

‘Depends,' James said. ‘I want a good Board working with me. It's up to him. Any attitude problems and he's out. So when are you leaving?'

She smiled, pulled instinctively at her skirt, which only made it ride up higher. She just couldn't help using sexual body language, he realized, even though she knew it was quite meaningless to him.

‘Well, I've put my place up for sale, and when I've sorted out what I want to take with me, I thought I'd go over as soon as possible. Find a nice apartment and get settled in. I really can't wait!'

Then, after a pause, she said, ‘What are your plans for Christmas? Going away somewhere nice?'

‘No,' James answered. ‘I haven't thought about it. I expect I'll stay in London, there's plenty of work to do over the holiday.'

‘Oh,' Ruth got up. ‘Your wife won't be with you?'

‘No, I'm afraid not.' He looked bleak, as if he resented the question.

‘More fool her, then!' Ruth said suddenly. ‘I'll come and say goodbye before I go. And I wish you every success, too. You'll make a great Managing Director. I'll be coming over with Mr Heyderman, so we won't lose touch.'

She gave him a little wave over her shoulder as she opened his office door and went out. Christmas. James had put it out of his mind. The Wassermans had invited him to join them in Nassau for five days. Friends had suggested skiing. His mother was staying with her niece in Canterbury. That was the last place he wanted to go; noisy children and carol services in the cathedral. He had made an excuse as soon as she mentioned it. He could survive Christmas if he kept busy. It would pass quickly, and then he would be back in his office with a whole new horizon ahead of him. Christmas meant nothing to a lot of people. It wouldn't mean anything to him from now on.

Ray Andrews had already taken a job as an adviser to a firm of commodity brokers. The salary and bonus were less than he had been earning, but he was happy. There was no travelling, and he and Susan had time to do things together. They planned to go to a small hotel in Cornwall with their daughter and their student son for the holiday. Ray had received a personal letter from James Hastings asking him to reconsider and rejoin the Board at his invitation after the meeting on 18 January. James expected his appointment as Managing Director to be passed by the Chairman and Directors. Andrews had been flattered but unmoved. He refused graciously, but firmly. He had made a new start in a new business he found interesting. He didn't believe in turning back once a break was made with the past. He sent James his sincere good wishes.

The gossip columns followed Arthur Harris into retirement. He was seen at smart restaurants and night-clubs like Annabel's and Tramps with various attractive women. He smiled when asked about his marital breakup after thirty years. He said he had decided to devote himself to sailing and having fun.

The South African press and television gave wide coverage to the arrival of Julius Heyderman's daughter after a long absence, and her announcement that during her stay overseas she had married the black lawyer and activist Jacob Yakumi. As his widow, she hoped to carry on his work in the new South Africa.

At Blackfriars Road, the work pressure was slackening before the start of the five-day break, followed by the hiatus of the New Year. James brought work home with him in the evenings. He had their old housekeeper, everything ran as smoothly as it did when Elizabeth was there, but it was different. The atmosphere in the house was impersonal, like a well-run luxury hotel. He couldn't wait to get rid of it. Spring was the best time to sell. He wouldn't buy another house. An apartment in St James's Place was on offer through a business contact. It had magnificent views over Green Park and a forty-foot reception room, ideal for business entertaining. Full service was available. Driving home in the December traffic, slowed to a crawl by shoppers and sightseers come up to view the Regent Street lights and decorations, James decided he wouldn't wait any longer. He might as well put in an offer for the pad close to the asking price because of its amenities and prestige position. He could move out of the house as soon as the purchase was completed. It was partly furnished, so he needn't denude his own property. He was surprised by his lack of sentiment. He'd bought the house just before he married; they had looked at it together, made plans for decorating and improving it.

Elizabeth had been so excited, matching colour schemes and scraps of material. It meant nothing to him now. That part of his life was over. Perhaps it was never meant to be more than an interlude, a painful lesson in the fragility of human relationships.

Like should marry like. They had had nothing in common but their love for each other, and, when the crunch came, it wasn't enough. He parked and opened the front door.

The house was empty; his housekeeper had gone out for the evening, he planned to have an early dinner at his club, and then go through some papers. The drawing-room door was open and the light was on. He knew she was there before he walked in and saw her. He could feel her in the house. She was sitting in an armchair by the unlit fire. He stopped in the doorway.