Christmas in the Snow (46 page)

‘Could you turn it down?’ Allegra shouted, above the noise.

‘What?’ Isobel cupped her ear, waggling her shoulders to the beat.

‘Turn it down!’ She motioned frantically.

‘Oh.’

A moment later, the decibel level dropped to merely thunderous, and as Allegra watched Miley Cyrus twerking – or was it tworking? – she realized she’d gone cold turkey on her
Reuters habit. She’d become so wrapped up in the events here it seemed hard to believe the world was still going on outside these mountains.

‘Could you possibly put a news channel on for me quickly? Just for a few minutes.’

Isobel wrinkled her nose as she flicked over. ‘Honestly, Legs, you are such a grown-up sometimes. This is the most rock-’n’-roll pool I’ve ever seen and you want to watch
BBC News.’

But Allegra had already tuned out. Her attention was on the correspondent, who was standing in a hard hat and filing a report from Syria as shells exploded in the near distance behind, plumes of
thick dust clogging the sky. Her eyes quickly scanned the red ticker tape with the pertinent bullet points running across the bottom, getting up to speed. She looked back at the live images and,
particularly, a white truck parked in the corner. She recognized the logo.

‘Just turn it up a little,’ she murmured.

‘Tch, turn it up, turn it down, make your mind up,’ Isobel muttered mindlessly under her breath.

‘. . . six months ago reported fears that charitable aid convoys to Syria may be abused for non-charitable purposes and as cover for smuggling extremists into the country. The Charities
Commission is now investigating whether in fact a suspected American suicide bomber in Syria had travelled there as part of a humanitarian convoy assembled by PeaceSyria in August 2014 . .
.’

PeaceSyria. PeaceSyria. Allegra held her breath.

‘Legs, what on earth is wrong?’

Allegra looked at her. ‘When did that reporter say the bomber travelled?’

‘August, was it?’

‘That was four months ago . . .’ Allegra murmured. ‘And the notice period to withdraw investments is twelve weeks. Besakovitch is pulling out
today
.’ She looked
at her sister. ‘He must have known. He must have found it out somehow and
that’s
why he’s going.’

‘Who is?
What?
’

‘Sam drew down quarterly dividends of $750,000 and paid them through to PeaceSyria as part of the tax break on Besakovitch’s fund.’

‘Who’s Besa-what’s-it?’

‘The founding investor at PLF. After ten years of bloody good returns, he’s suddenly running and no one knows why. But this is why. It
has
to be. The timing fits.’

‘Why can’t it just be a coincidence? Surely people take money out all the time?’

Allegra shook her head, certain she was right. Links and connections that remained invisible to most people shone like gold thread on a spindle to her, and with those timings so aligned, she saw
the impossible tension immediately: money from an ethical trading pot invested in a warmonger’s charity? Of course he was running!

‘Not of this size. Not after ten years. Leo and Pierre made each other.’

Pierre . . .

‘Legs?’ Isobel was watching her closely, like a child seeing their father cry.

Allegra’s eyes widened as her brain began running faster and faster through the potential end-case scenarios of this. ‘Oh God, I’ve got to tell Pierre! This could . . . this
could destroy him . . .’ she whispered, slapping her hand to her forehead. ‘Any suggestion of links with terrorists and it’ll be investigated by the CIA and then it’s only a
matter of time before they trace the donations back to PLF.’

‘Well, I’m sure you can explain to them that you didn’t know,’ Isobel said weakly, struggling to grasp the seriousness.

‘You don’t understand – the markets run on confidence. If PLF becomes linked in any way to terrorism, everyone will pull their money. No one will touch him.’

She looked at Isobel urgently, remembering something, sensing a lifeline. ‘When is Zhou getting back? His father
has
to sign with PLF today. He’ll be locked in for three
months. It’ll be a public vote of confidence in Pierre. It’ll buy him some time.’

Isobel looked frightened. ‘Legs, there is no deal.’

‘I know
not yet
. But later—’

‘No, Legs,’ Isobel interrupted, looking serious for once. ‘There is no deal. Massi told me last night. He was drunk.’

‘What?’

‘He said Zhou’s dad’s here for a merger. That’s why they’re in Switzerland.’

Allegra stared at her sister with an anger that bordered on madness. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she snapped. ‘They’re investing, not merging.’ God, did her sister
even know the difference? ‘I’ve had meetings with them in Zurich, in Paris. Zhou was desperate to get me out here.’

‘It’s Glen-something. Gleneagles? No—’

‘Glencore?’ The word came as a whisper. Her sister had never heard that name before, she knew that. There was no way Isobel randomly knew the name of the biggest commodity and mining
company in the world, which had a listing on the Hong Kong stock exchange and was headquartered here in Baar.

‘Massi says Zhou got you out here because he feels bad about what he did to Sam.’

Allegra didn’t ask what he’d done to Sam. She didn’t trust her voice.

‘Sam tried to pull out of his wedding to Amy. He didn’t want to go ahead with it, but Zhou was his best man and thought it was just cold feet. He made him go through with it.
Apparently the marriage lasted four months and now she’s slagging him off left, right and centre and taking him to the cleaners.’ She shrugged apologetically. ‘So when Zhou saw
how Sam was around you, he tried to do something about it.’

‘But . . . that doesn’t make sense. Zhou wouldn’t get his father to table long and bloody
boring
meetings with me across Europe just to do a spot of matchmaking for
his friend . . . I mean, come on!’ she shouted as Isobel just stared back at her with a frightened look of apology on her face. The proverbial messenger . . .

Allegra stared back, her head spinning. No. There was a deal here. It didn’t make sense. ‘Massi’s wrong and I’ll tell you why.’ She began jabbing her finger in the
air as her brain sped up to warp speed, cooling under pressure. ‘The timings don’t work for that to be true. I was en route to meeting Yong when I met Sam. He was on the plane, but I
had
already
made contact with Yong by then. The deal came first. Sam came after.’

Isobel shrugged hopelessly. ‘Look, I don’t know, Legs. I’m just telling you what Massi told me Zhou told him.’

They blinked at each other beneath the chandelier, which swung almost within touching distance of their heads. Allegra felt so much information was being machine-gunned at her she was in danger
of falling. She didn’t know what the Zhous were playing at, and she didn’t know how this tied in with Sam. And she wouldn’t know until they all came back and she could confront
them. In the meantime, she had to keep focused. Limit the damage where she could . . .

‘I’ve got to tell Pierre,’ Allegra said, wading through the water in giant strides and hauling herself out. Without even grabbing a towel, she ran along the side of the
pool.

‘Hey! What about me?’ Isobel cried, paddling furiously and trying to get back to the edge of the pool again. But Allegra couldn’t stop. Not right now. She ran up the stairs as
silently as an owl on the hunt, only beads of water on the ground marking her flight.

She grabbed her phone from the table and called Pierre without hesitation. All the pride, all the longing, all the hope that he would do the right thing and make the first move – she
forgot it in an instant. She had to warn him what was coming.

He picked up on one ring. ‘Fisher.’

She swallowed at the sound of his voice, so assured, so familiar, so certain she’d be back. ‘Have you seen the news?’

‘Many times.’ She could hear the smile in his voice, imagine the glimmer in his eyes. He loved playing games.

‘I mean about PeaceSyria. Do you know what’s happened?’

There was a pause. ‘Tell me.’

‘They’re being investigated as a cover for getting terrorists into Syria. Besakovitch paid out over two million dollars to them in charitable donations over the past year.’

Her words were met with silence.

‘Pierre, do you understand what I’m saying? He effectively funded them and the CIA will trace the money back to you. The firm will be implicated, and innocent or not, this mud will
stick. Doubt will be enough. Everyone will pull.’

‘Not with Yong on board, Allegra.’ A note of calm pervaded the words and she wondered whether he had a brandy in his hand, London spread beneath him like a rug. ‘He’s
bigger than Leo. He’s the honey to the other bees.’

‘No . . .’ Her voice cracked. How could she break this to him? ‘It’s all been a game, Pierre. They’re not investing. They’re merging with Glencore.’

Silence rang out again, but this time it was taut, vibrating down the space between them like a garrotting wire.

‘Pierre?’

‘Then what the fuck have the past few weeks been about?’

She shook her head, pinching her forehead with her hand as she sank back onto the bed in her wet bikini. ‘I don’t know. A bluff maybe? They were trying to throw everyone off the
scent until they announced the real deal? I haven’t seen Sam yet. I haven’t got the full facts. I’m just telling you what I know.’

She heard the sound of his breathing getting heavier, his footsteps on the floor as he began to pace.

‘The fucking bastard. After everything I did for him . . .
everything
I did and he goes and fucks me over anyway.’ His words were low and jumbled, an indistinct stream of
fury, and Allegra frowned. Was he talking about Yong? ‘I bent over fucking backwards to meet his demands. He said he’d keep it quiet! That was the deal. We had a deal!’

‘Who had a deal?’ she asked in a weak voice.

‘Who do you think? Sam fucking Kemp! The man who kicked off this whole sorry mess in the first place! He made the investments and yet somehow I’m cleaning up his pissing mess!’
Pierre was shouting, venom colouring his words red, his voice straining to match his fury.

‘Pierre, I don’t understand. What’s going on? You have to tell me.’

There was another beat of silence, a heavy, weary sigh. Pierre’s voice, when it came back, was flat. ‘Sam came to me telling me about the fuck-up with Leo’s money back in
October. Rumours on the news desks at some of the papers got back to some of our contacts in finance . . . I told Kemp to go public. If we blew the whistle on it, we could disassociate ourselves,
it would prove our innocence, but he said what you just said – that even the suggestion of any involvement would ruin us. The fund would be finished. He said he had a better idea.’

Allegra covered her mouth with her hand, waiting for him to continue as her mind began freewheeling and gathering speed with his every word.

‘He said he couldn’t keep Leo from pulling out, but he’d managed to get him to promise his silence – that fat bastard’s even more interested in his reputation than
we are about profit. Then Sam told me he knew the Yongs were looking to invest outside China and that he’d make it happen. He convinced me to keep quiet about the charity while he got the
deal.’ His voice changed. ‘I had to go along with it, Allegra. I had no choice. I couldn’t tell you what was going on. If you were involved, you could have been implicated.’
He paused. ‘But I couldn’t afford to lose Sam either. If I put you before him . . .’

He didn’t need to finish for Allegra to understand. It was all so clear now. If Sam didn’t get what he wanted, he could have left and leaked the information at any time. It
wasn’t a question of innocence, it was a question of association – and PLF was the goliath that would take this fall.

She was almost scared to speak. Each question she asked opened another secret, the lies winding round the truth like ribbons on a maypole: wrapping, obscuring and hiding something that was
really very plain and simple. ‘He was blackmailing you.’

He had held all the cards; he had controlled this game from the start: Pierre was
his
puppet. But what about her? She had stood in his way from the first meeting, fighting him at every
step, refusing to concede a single point. Had he underestimated her ambition, her determination to win, to never give up? Had he thought she’d just roll over and die?

Or had he played her too? Had he worked out that her weakness wasn’t in her head, it was in her heart?

She thought back to the beginning, the very beginning – his seat on the plane just ahead of hers, the lingering smile, the late-night knock on her door . . . He’d not only known she
was flying out to see the Yongs, he must have been the one to dangle them in front of her in the first place. He’d known her CV, read up on her trades. Why hadn’t she seen it was just
all too neat, the way he’d pitched up in her life, his friendship with the son a coincidence too far?

Even this afternoon . . . She remembered Sam’s unusual calm as Yong had prowled and paraded looking for big words for his big announcement. Sam had known none of it concerned him. And when
she’d told him she was here to pitch, he’d just smiled, almost laughed, almost told her he loved her.

That was the worst part of it. That was what made him most dangerous. Not just what he’d done, but what he’d almost made her believe.

The night seemed without end, but when daybreak did come, the sun split open the inky sky like a cracked egg, pouring sunlight over the valley, and Allegra felt a tangible
relief to have survived it. Blinking into the dark had made her feel like the only person alive, and as the streets began to fill with noise – deliverymen shouting, metal screens rolling back
in the jewellers’ windows, jingle bells tinkling on the horses’ reins on their runs to the station – she watched from the balcony with ashen eyes.

Her body was cold. Even with her snow boots on, a towelling robe wasn’t enough against the mid-December temperatures and she was forced back into the hotel room to order a breakfast she
knew she wouldn’t eat.