The Secret Heiress (20 page)

The butler turned and nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Adrian went back into the bedroom and took his wallet out of a trouser pocket. From it, he removed several hundred pounds, then went to the bed. He gave the boy on the pillow several of the notes.

“What’s this for?” the boy asked excitedly.

“It’s time to leave,” Adrian said. “Get dressed and go. And be quick about it.”

On the other side of the bed, he repeated the offer with the other boy. “Hurry,” he told him. “The butler’s waiting to escort you and your friend to the door.” The boy snatched the money and began dressing with alacrity.

When both boys were dressed, Adrian took them down the hallway. “Charles,” he said, “please see them to my car downstairs. Tell the driver to take them home, wherever that is. Okay?”

“Certainly, sir,” the butler said. His eyes shifted to the waiting boys. “Follow me, young gentlemen,” he said archly. “You are to be driven home by a chauffeur.”

Adrian went back to Nikoletta’s bedroom. She and the Jamaican were still in bed together, although he was now atop her, slowly making love to her, pumping in and out, as they both groaned in lustful bliss.

Adrian turned his back to the scene, although neither Nikoletta nor the Jamaican seemed bothered by his presence in the least. “Nikoletta, please ask your friend to leave,” Adrian said to her. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want him to leave, Adrian,” she rasped. “No way.” She laughed. “You don’t want to leave, do you, Timothy?”

Her speech was quick, too quick, Adrian thought. Cocaine-fueled perhaps.

“No way,” he said, continuing to make love to her. “No way will I leave now.”

“See? It’s settled, Adrian,” Nikoletta said. “Two against one. You lose.”

Adrian was both embarrassed and angry. He was no prude. Far from it, in fact. But Nikoletta shouldn’t be subjecting him to this humiliation. When their lovemaking continued, he finally took a deep breath and asked point-blank, “Did you send Bianca Coveri to Ivory Coast? Angelo is extremely distressed about it, and I’m certainly not happy about it myself. Did you do this so you would have Frans all to yourself?”

From the bed came a laugh, muffled at first, then louder. “I did no such thing,” she scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. Does it look like I need Frans? If you don’t believe me, just give Bianca a call. Why are you wasting your time coming here? For God’s sake, she’s got her mobile with her. All you have to do is give her a phone call.”

“I’ve tried her and haven’t gotten an answer,” Adrian responded.

“Then try her again,” Nikoletta said impatiently. Timothy had dismounted and was fondling and licking her breasts.

Disgusted, Adrian took his cell phone out and speed-dialed Bianca’s number. He received a message that said the person being called was out of range.

“She’s out of range,” Adrian said worriedly.

“Well . . . ,” Nikoletta said, “try her again later, Adrian.” She sat up in bed and stroked Timothy’s dreadlocks. “And when you get hold of her, why don’t you ask her whether or not I warned her it was dangerous to go? Bianca’s a big girl, Adrian. You might remind Angelo of that fact.” She sighed with exasperation. “And think about it, will you? I
need
Bianca. This job is extremely important. Do you think I’m going to cut off my nose to spite my face?”

“No, Niki,” he replied. “That’s one thing I would never think of you.”

“I didn’t think so,” she replied, “but you and the rest of the board have made it clear that you think that I’ve made some unwise decisions regarding the company.”

“We certainly haven’t agreed with some of your decisions,” Adrian admitted.

“Well, as you can see, I’m preoccupied, and I’m in no mood to discuss this nonsense now,” Nikoletta said. “So why don’t you buzz off, Adrian?”

“Of course,” he replied. “Be glad to go.”

 

Bianca was simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. She’d flown into Abidjan from Paris, and Moctar Yanou and two security guards had been there to meet her. The flights had been long and tiring, and she had thought that Mr. Yanou, a tall, thin, and very gracious man, would suggest that she rest in an Abidjan hotel before venturing out. He’d met her with a surprise, however.

“We are going down the coast,” he told her in French-accented English. “It’s about a three-hour drive to the place you’re going to be staying. The guards and I will be staying with you.”

“I see,” Bianca said. “I thought I would be staying here in Abidjan and making trips into the field from here.”

“I think you will find that you like it down in the Sassandra region near Dagbego,” Mr. Yanou said. “There is a very nice place where I’ve booked us. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not,” Bianca said. “They assured me that you are the best guide in all of Ivory Coast.”

Mr. Yanou bowed his head slightly. “Thank you,” he said, smiling. “This place is also very near to the cocoa plantations and the smaller farms that you’re going to be visiting.”

“So it’s very convenient,” Bianca said. “That’s great.”

He nodded. “Also relatively safe,” he said, holding up one long, thin finger to make his point. “These people have been in business for quite some time, and they’ve had the cooperation of both the government and rebel forces. Besides, we are headed south, and most of the rebel strongholds are in the north. The Sassandra region is government controlled. So”—he spread his hands wide in a gesture that assured her all was well—“I hope that you can see that you are in capable hands.”

“I don’t have any doubts,” Bianca said.

They’d hopped into the waiting Toyota Land Cruiser, an ancient, beat-up vehicle that proved to be the perfect transportation on the dusty, rutted roads that led down the coast to Dagbego.

Bianca, tired as she was, came wide-awake on the journey, entranced by the beauty of the landscape. Through the coconut palms and other vegetation, she caught glimpses of the Atlantic to the west. When they reached the place they were to stay, she was stunned. In a country of dire poverty the resort bordered on the luxurious, with lovely rooms, a swimming pool, an attractive restaurant, impeccable service, a very useful conference room with Internet, an extraordinarily beautiful lagoon, and a private white-sand beach lined with stately coconut palms.

She and Moctar Yanou dined in the restaurant, while the guards went elsewhere. Bianca was stunned again. The cuisine was classic French along with local specialties. She followed Mr. Yanou’s suggestions and had braised chicken piled with onions and tomatoes, followed by
aloco,
a ripe banana fried in palm oil and spiced with steamed onions and chili. They washed the delicious food down with a bottle of
Bangui,
a palm wine made nearby. In the background, lively regional music played on the sound system.

“It is music of the Dan,” Moctar Yanou told her. “They are one of the indigenous peoples and very musical. There are also Senufo. . . .” He paused. “But we’ll get into that tomorrow. You’ll be meeting people from different ethnic groups. I think you’ll find it very interesting. We have a small percentage of Christians and Muslims, but Ivory Coast is predominantly made up of people who’ve retained their native customs. Ancestral worship and all sorts of magic.”

“It sounds fascinating,” Bianca said. Although she already knew a lot of what he was talking about from her briefings at PPHL, she didn’t want to steal his thunder, so she feigned ignorance of the country. “I can hardly wait.”

“We will leave in the morning about seven a.m.,” he told her, “so you will want to get a good night’s sleep. I want to show you the lay of the land tomorrow and introduce you to a few of our cocoa farmers. You’ll be seeing everything from huge plantations to small farm plots. There are also a lot of pineapple and coffee growers and citrus plantations in this area, but we’ll be concentrating on the cocoa growers, of course. Part of the time we’ll be on quads, so dress very informally in lightweight slacks or jeans.”

“What’re quads?” she asked.

“Oh, I believe you call them . . . what is it? Recreational vehicles. Something of the sort. Small vehicles with four wheels. They can get almost anywhere. Places the Land Cruiser can’t reach.”

“It’s that rugged?”

“In places.” He nodded. “The guards will be going everywhere with us, so you needn’t worry about your safety.”

Sitting in the restaurant of the resort, Bianca couldn’t conceive that anyone would need a guard for anything. “I’m not worried about it,” she said.

“Good. I’ll meet you in the dining room at, say, six thirty?”

“Fine,” Bianca said.

He walked her to her room, then went on to his own. Bianca quickly undressed, showered, and got ready for bed. She was so excited, she was afraid that sleep would elude her, but she had hardly pulled the sheet over her before her eyes began to droop. When she got the wake-up call at six a.m., she groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, but was dressed and ready to leave in mere minutes.

After breakfast, she and Moctar Yanou met the guards in the parking lot. They took off in the Land Cruiser and traveled inland, due east, toward the plantations that stretched across the vast plateau as far as the eye could see. The roads here, as everywhere, were a dusty red clay. In small villages she saw little, unadorned houses built of concrete blocks alongside wooden structures, sometimes with the boards laced together with a reedlike material. Tall women wrapped in traditional ethnic fabrics walked down the roadsides with baskets balanced atop their heads. Some of them were loaded down with produce, while others were piled high with laundry. The women were erect, tall, and lean, and their walk was elegant, Bianca thought.

Inevitably, she caught sight of small children, most of them dirty and poorly clothed, sometimes accompanying their mothers, often playing with one another unattended. She knew that some of these children should be in school, but she consoled herself with the fact that at least they weren’t yet working on the cocoa plantations. Her job was going to be a highly challenging one—of that, there was little doubt. The parents of these children were uneducated and poor. Convincing them that their children needed to be in school rather than helping to support their families was a daunting task. Trying to convince the landowners, many of whom were educated, that they shouldn’t use the children for cheap labor was going to be equally difficult.

They passed through another small village and reached an area where cocoa grew on both sides of the roads as far as the eye could see. “We’re going to stop at a large cocoa plantation,” Moctar Yanou told her. “I want you to see a big operation first.”

“Do they use child labor?” Bianca asked.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I want to stop here first. You can have a firsthand view of the situation. But there’s another reason as well. The owner of this operation is a very influential man in all of the Sassandra region. Very rich and powerful. He is also, I believe, somewhat less rigid than some of the other owners. If you can get him to listen to you, then other owners will listen to you, too.” He looked at her with a smile. “There’s yet another consideration.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to offend you, but I believe he might be susceptible to your feminine charms,” Moctar Yanou said.

Bianca laughed merrily. “Using the oldest ammunition there is, huh?”

“Precisely,” Yanou said.

They soon reached the simple gates of a cocoa plantation. The Land Cruiser came to a stop, and Moctar Yanou got out. The guards, who were riding on the roof with their automatic weapons, hopped off.

“The owner knows we’re coming,” Moctar told Bianca. “He has provided some quads. Said they would be inside the gates and down the road a little way. We’ll walk from here, then tour the operation on the quads.”

He opened one of the gates—they weren’t locked—and let her in. The foursome walked down the road for about a quarter of a mile before they spied the quads sitting on the side of the road.

A boy of eleven or twelve was sitting on one, waiting for them. He hurried to Moctar Yanou, thrusting keys into his hand. Yanou said something to the boy in a strange tongue, and the boy mounted one of the quads, standing on a steel rod that ran across the quad behind the seats.

“I thought the owner might be here to meet us, but apparently he couldn’t make it,” Yanou said. “We’ll see if we can catch him after we’ve finished the tour.”

He handed the guards a set of keys and pointed to the quad the boy wasn’t standing on. They got seated and fired it up, and Yanou led Bianca to the other one, indicating that she take a seat. He sat down beside her, turned and said a few words to the boy, then started the engine and put the quad in gear. “Hold on tight,” he said to Bianca.

They led the way down the road, the guards bringing up the rear. They traveled for a quarter hour without seeing another human being, a building, or farm equipment of any kind. Cocoa grew everywhere. They reached a sharp bend in the road, and Yanou slowed down considerably. “These things are known to tip over,” he told Bianca. She turned to check that the boy was holding on tightly. His knuckles were white from the effort. She assumed he knew the drill. He’d probably been doing this most of his life, she thought.

Around the bend another straight stretch of road unrolled. “We’ll soon reach an area where they’re working,” Yanou told her. He sped up on the straight stretch, the quads throwing up a terrific ducktail of dust. On they went, until they reached a hairpin curve. Yanou slowed down again, and Bianca and the boy held on tight.

They had just rounded the bend when they saw an olive drab truck with a big bed of wooden slats coming their way. The bed was covered with an olive drab canvas, lashed to the bed with rope. The engine noise of the quad behind them became faint. Bianca turned in her seat and saw that the guards had let off on the gas and were making a turn in the road. As she watched, they gunned the engine and headed straight into the cocoa fields.