Last Resort (24 page)

"Congratulations, Penny. You know you've arrived on the Cote d'Azur now."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You mean you haven't worked out for yourself who they are?"

"If I had I wouldn't need to be asking you."

"They were, my little pudding, the Mafia."

"Don't you dare call me that!"

she flared.

"And what do you mean, they were the Mafia? What are you up to that 176

the Mafia should be paying me visits?"

They control magazine distribution in these parts/ he answered calmly.

"We have to pay, just like anyone else. So what did they say to you?"

he asked.

"That you have to pay/ she answered, irritated that he had already said it and suddenly wishing it had been a death threat.

"Now, what is going on, David? And I don't want any of your smart-aleck answers, I want the truth, because if you're involved in some sort of criminal activity I'm on the next plane back to London."

Like hell she would be, she was thinking to herself, for if he was involved in anything to do with the Mafia she wanted to know about it!

"Penny, Penny, Penny/ he said, shaking his head.

"Don't you know that the Mafia have their fingers in every pie down here? They want protection money. A share in the profits. Commissions, call it what you like, but you, we, aren't going anywhere with this magazine unless we play ball. But don't let it concern you. Like I said before, I'll handle it."

"You're not seriously telling me you're going to pay them?"

she cried.

That is precisely what I'm telling you/ he answered.

"Unless you have a better idea."

Tell them to go to hell!'

He nodded, apparently turning it over in his mind.

"Yeah, I guess that could get them running. Yeah, I reckon they'll be sure to back off if I tell them Penny Moon said go to hell."

"Don't mock me. Are these people dangerous?"

"Have you never heard of the Mafia?"

"Of course I have, you idiot."

Then why ask me such a daft question? Now, like I said, leave it with me, I'll sort it. Are you sure they didn't say anything else?"

"What they said was enough to give me two sleepless nights and a serious case of the jitters/ she responded.

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'Which is nothing compared with what I'm going to suffer now I know who they are."

They'll leave you alone as soon as I strike a deal with them."

"Then why come to me in the first place and not to you?"

To be honest, I thought they would come to me. I simply warned you on the off chance they might find their way to you instead. Of course, I'm presuming it was the Mafia,"

he added, eyebrows raised.

Penny threw up her hands.

"Oh, this is just great! It might be one of the world's most dangerous gangster organizations, but, there again, it might just be someone else. How many more are there, David? I mean, why don't we throw a party and invite them all? Why don't we just give them their own chequebooks? Why not just hand over to them now?"

"They're not after the company. Just a cut in the profits,"

he answered mildly.

"Presuming, of course, that it was the Mafia."

"Presuming,"

he agreed.

"So, who else could it be?"

"Search me,"

he answered, getting up from his chair.

"But don't let them scare you, Penny. It's not your chastity they're after."

"Don't you dare walk out that door,"

she seethed.

"I want to know what I should do if they approach me again. Better still, I want to know exactly who I'm dealing with."

"I'll get to the bottom of it,"

he told her.

"I doubt they'll come to you again,"

and he was gone.

Penny was tempted to go after him, but she didn't want a showdown in the office and she seriously doubted she was going to get any more out of him than she already had. The strange thing was, though she had reacted a touch hysterically with him, his casual acceptance of it all had, in a way, calmed her. Of course she

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knew that the Mafia were here on the Coast, everyone did, it was just that she hadn't expected them to come knocking on her door. Well, who did? The likes of David Villers, of course. But, as he said, it was part and parcel of running a business down here and, just so long as she wasn't the one who had to deal with them, it might be as well to turn a blind eye to the fact that gangsters were creaming off their profits. After all, ultimately it was his money, so what was it to her if he gave it to the Mafia?

"I'm not sure what it is to you/ Sammy said later that night.

"I mean, like you said, it's probably nothing for you to worry about, but you are involved with him and to be honest with you, Pen ..."

"What?"

Penny snapped when Sammy paused.

"Well, don't go biting my head off, but until Christian Mureau came on the scene I - and a lot of others, I have to tell you - thought that something might be developing between you and David."

"Why on earth would you think that when everyone knows he's involved with Marielle?"

Penny cried.

"I don't know/ Sammy shrugged.

"I suppose it's just the way you make each other laugh and the way you get so mad at him... I don't knowl It's just what we thought."

"Well, you're wrong/ Penny told her.

"And not just because of Christian Mureau."

"Have you talked to Esther Delaney again?"

Sammy asked carefully.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because/ Penny said through her teeth,

"she's not there. And I'm on a pretty short fuse right now, so don't bug me any more, OK? We're six weeks away from the launch and I'm strung out enough without you, David or anyone else'

"All right, all right/ Sammy cried, holding up her 179

hands.

"I just told you what I thought, that's all."

Had Penny not been in such a bad mood she might have confided more in Sammy, but since she was so tired and didn't know what the hell she was really feeling anyway she didn't see the point in trying. It was true to say that David had her at sixes and sevens, but apart from him - and Nuance, of course

- what she was becoming increasingly more concerned and frustrated about lately was how she was going to meet Christian Mureau.

After contacting a few journalist friends in the United States she now had quite a collection of cuttings about him that, instead of quelling her interest, which, at least on a personal level, it should have done, had only served to excite it further. But that was something she certainly wasn't going to tell Sammy, not when the crime he was wanted for had nothing at all to do with art and everything to do with drugs. Just thank God it was only marijuana, she had repeatedly told herself since reading the cuttings, for had it been anything stronger she knew she'd never be able to justify her attraction to him, even to herself. The trouble was she had become more intrigued with him than ever after reading how he had netted himself over a hundred million dollars smuggling vast container-loads of marijuana out of Hong Kong and the Philippines over to the States, and had done it with such style that he had made something of a hero of himself with the press, as well as making the Drug Enforcement Administration look like half-wits with some of the methods he had used to outsmart them.

Though Penny was trying hard to remain professional about this, it took little more than a glimpse of his face in the cuttings to make her heart tighten with the anticipation of what might happen between them were they to meet. The pull she felt towards him seemed to grow stronger by the day and the fact that he had been pho-180

tographed with several people she knew - rock stars, actors and writers - fuelled the flame of fascination. But though she was sorely tempted to call one or two of them to find out more about him, she was refusing to give in to it. The last thing she wanted was any of them telling him she was making enquiries about him; if they did, he would naturally assume she was on the hunt for a story

- which she was, or at least in her saner moments she was. But there were all too many other moments when the romance and intrigue that surrounded him, coupled 1 with the memory of his eyes across the room and his

[voice on the answerphone, seemed to encourage her sus-jpicion that, should she ever get to meet this

[French-Canadian drug smuggler, he was going to be a

[great deal more important in her life than a mere subject

[for Nuance.

[When it came to faking orgasms Marielle Descourts was [pretty damned impressive, David was thinking, as he [detached himself from her and rolled on to his back. If [he'd cared he might have done something about it, but

[already his mind was moving on to other things. Raising [an arm, he looked up at his watch, turning it to the sil[very glow of moonlight coming in through the slatted [blind at the window. Just after midnight: not even Penny [would be at the office now. Sliding out of bed he walked [across the master suite of his apartment and into the [bathroom. It took him only a few minutes to shower, [then, going back into the bedroom, he looked down at [Marielle, who was still lying naked on her back, assum[ing the role of a sleepily satiated vamp. |

"Penny tells me our friends along the coast have paid [her a visit,"

he said, knowing that Marielle would have [no difficulty understanding the euphemism. | Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh?"

she said, trailing a finger [along his thigh towards his groin. |

"Oh,"

he repeated, catching her hand and removing it.

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'Why her and not you?"

she asked.

"Good question. Any ideas?"

She shrugged.

"How would I know?"

He kept his eyes on her a moment or two longer, then turning away he started to dress.

"Are you going somewhere?"

she asked from the bed.

"No, but you are/ he answered.

"I want you to go to the office and check out the phones."

"What do you mean, check out the phones?"

she hissed.

"What do you think I am, a fucking telephone engineer?"

"Check them for bugs/ he said.

"Especially mine, Pierre's and Penny's."

"What kind of bugs?"

"Lice, roaches, beetles. Electronic bugs, sweetheart.

Listening devices."

She looked at him as though he was losing his mind. "Why on earth would there be bugs on our phones?"

she

cried.

His eyebrows came up, as though impressed.

"Another good question, Marielle/ he complimented her.

"No ideas on that score either, I suppose?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I know anything about bugs in telephones? I don't even know what they look like."

"You will when you see them/ he answered, throwing her clothes on to the bed.

"Now, no more discussions, there's a good girl. Just go do as you're told and come

back."

When she had gone, he stood on the balcony looking down at the late strollers on the Croisette until she emerged from the apartment block and walked to the middle island, where her car was parked.

Smiling to himself, he turned back inside. The hell she didn't know what a bug looked like! His guess was she'd put the damned things there herself. Pierre had found them the day before and, under David's instructions, had left them in place. It was going to be

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interesting to see what story Marielle came back with. Bugs or no bugs. Time now, though, to check his own phone before putting in a trans-Atlantic call to his wife.

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Chapter 9

"Don't you ever leave this boat?"

Marielle asked, curling her fingers over Stirling's balding pate as she sauntered lazily past him.

"Course I leave the fucking boat/ he snapped, jamming a cap on his head and closing his bloodshot eyes to the blinding rays of the sun.

"What do you think, I'm fucking Popeye or something?"

He shifted in his deck chair, unable to get comfortable, perspiring profusely in the heat.

"Why don't you come to the launch party?"

she teased.

"You're not funny, Marielle,"

he muttered.

"But I'm sure David would love to see you,"

she baited.

Teah, I just bet he would,"

Stirling said sourly. Then, after a pause. Tell me, did he deal with the boys from Nice yet?"

"I don't know. He won't tell me what's happening there."

Stirling opened one eye to look at her. She had great tits, he'd give her that, all oiled up for the sun, nipples standing out like freshly popped claret corks. She had great legs too, but shit, was she one dumb broad.

"You must be losing your touch, Marielle/ he remarked maliciously.

"I don't think so/ she purred, winding her arms around his neck and sitting into his lap.

"Save it for Villers/ he rasped, pushing her off as he 184

broke into a coughing fit.

Marielle wandered across the deck and gazed out at the palm-lined sweep of the Croisette.

"Was it the Mafia?"

she asked, with a sideways glance.

"Quit bugging me, Marielle,"

he wheezed.

"I'm not in the mood."

You know,"

she said, putting a slender finger to her chin and gazing thoughtfully up at the sky,

"I could always tell him you're here."

"If you don't think he's figured that out yet/ Stirling responded, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief,

"then you're even stupider than you look."

Marielle turned to look at him, a great beached whale in a Chicago Bears cap and khaki shorts frying in the sun. She could take his insults, welcomed them in fact, for the perverse truth of it was they actually turned her on.

"What'd you tell him about the bugs, by the way?"

Stirling asked.

"What you told me to tell him. That they were there."

She waited for him to comment, when he didn't she said,

"I asked him if he thought the Mafia had done it."