11 Harrowhouse (15 page)

“You're making something of nothing. It never occurred to me that you'd react.”

“Oh, I see. You go about fondling whores, and I'm so blase I'm not supposed to have any feelings about it.”

“I was curious, that's all.”

“Why?”

“She claimed she'd had silicone injections.”

“At least admit you were testing.”

“All right. I was testing. I was testing her.”

“You were testing me. To see if I'd just take it or get angry. I knew what you were up to, so I just took it.”

“That's how the game's played?”

“It's not a game. It's serious.”

“Yesterday afternoon was serious?”

“Of course.”

“I'd rather think it wasn't.”

“Do you still love me?” she asked.

“I still love you.”

“I know.”

“But I didn't like them sitting there watching you perform bareass off that diving board. And when Massey asked you to do another swan, I felt like throwing him in, white flannels and all.”

“That's precisely why I did it. To do it and have you not like it, but know that you still love me. That much. In spite. It was the same as your feeling up that whore.”

“It would take more than that for me to stop loving you.”

“How much more?”

“You'll never know unless it happens, will you?”

“Touché.”

“Really, why did you do it?”

“You mean, besides as a test?”

“Okay, besides.”

“Lady Bolding dared me.”

“And the champagne convinced you.”

“I had only two glasses, but thanks anyway.”

“What did she say to you afterward, Lady Bolding?”

“Nothing consequential.”

“I suppose she conveyed Massey's gratitude.”

“Merely her own.”

“Why should it turn her on? She'd seen you nude before.”

“There are circumstances and circumstances.”

“I don't believe she's as you say, not really.”

“Well, she is. You just don't want to believe it.”

“Makes no difference to me.”

“Most men consider beautiful lesbians an awful waste.”

“But women don't, I suppose?”

“Downshift, darling. Don't use the brake. Downshift.”

“We're lucky we missed most of the morning traffic.”

“Do we have to go back there tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Massey wants me back.”

“You work for him now?”

“He's getting a report on the theft. I want to be there.”

“Anyway, we're going riding tomorrow.”

“We are?”

“Oh, you can ride with us if you want. Lady Bolding might not mind.”

“Stop testing.”

“You're learning.”

“I know what Massey and his Lady Bolding want. They want to dispense with me and disrobe with you. I'm beginning to feel like a chaperone, for Christ's sake.”

“You're beginning to sound like one.”

“I've got to protect my interests.”

“I'm doing that for you, darling.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart, legs, and everything.”

“Will you be finished at Mildred's by noon?”

“Probably. I hope we get through to Jean Marc.”

“I'm sure you will. I thought we might have lunch somewhere. You and just me, for a change.”

“I'd like to kiss you right now.”

“I'm all yours.”

“I mean really kiss.”

“Beg and I'll pull over.”

“No. You've got diamonds on your mind. I can tell. I'm developing my psychic perception. Every day I get better at it. Mildred says I have extraordinary potential.”

“I've always thought so.”

“You know, the trouble with bucket seats is they're impossible.”

“You could have specified a regular seat.”

“Lack of foresight may well be my only flaw. I guess I'll have to settle for this, hmmm?”

“Do you feel more secure, holding on like that?”

“Depends on what you feel.”

“I'll be letting you know any second now.”

“That's good.”

“Keep an eye out for trucks. Truck drivers are notorious voyeurs.”

“Just don't let anyone pass.”

“Okay, hang on.”

“I love you.”

“I know. But prove it anyway.”

They made excellent time, better than expected, and the Ferrari pulled up before number 11 Harrowhouse shortly before nine thirty.

“The Ritz at noon sharp,” said Chesser, surrendering the driver's seat to Maren, who climbed over the transmission hump with careless disregard for personal exposure. She lifted herself to straighten her dress under her, left her skirt gathered high in her lap. She put the car in first and promised, “I'll be there.”

He leaned over for a brief good-bye kiss. She gave it, pressed her foot to generate approximately five thousand rpm's, released the clutch all at once and the powerful machine shot her recklessly away.

Chesser went into number 11 as he'd never gone in before—with an assertive nonchalance and a genuine bright smile for Miller at the door.

“I'm early,” said Chesser.

“Yes, sir,” Miller agreed.

“They might want to take me now. Would you call up and see?”

Miller got on the interphone.

Chesser remained standing nearby. Almost unconsciously he began humming a fragment of a happy song. He caught himself, cut the humming abruptly. He thought about how strong he felt, especially his legs. Capable of a high jump.

“Your appointment is at ten, sir,” informed Miller.

“They want me to wait, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chesser didn't mind. Probably they had Whiteman or someone of his importance up there, he thought. Probably they had scheduled sights early in the week for those who were to receive larger packets.

He sat on the Queen Anne loveseat and looked across at that same framed snowscape, which seemed to be whiter and more glistening than ever. He lighted a cigarette and watched the smoke violate the impeccable air of the foyer. He gave some thought to the Massey theft but didn't let it bring him down. Chesser was hopeful that Massey's private investigators would somehow resolve the case. Massey also seemed to think so. Although Massey hadn't come right out and said he believed they would recover the diamond, he had intimated as much. They'll get us the answers, were Massey's words, and that was enough to lessen Chesser's anxiety considerably, so that he could preoccupy himself with the consideration he expected from this sight.

He was truly looking forward to it. He was certain that his recent, very large transaction would affect his standing in The System. That was the way The System did things. Such a major deal warranted recognition: a larger packet, more stones, larger stones, better quality. Perhaps they'd double the amount of his usual packet. Maybe even do better than that, now that he'd proved he could handle big stuff.

Miller came over with an ashtray. He didn't place it on the table. Rather, he stood there holding it. Chesser flipped his ash and Miller stood there with a fixed smile. Chesser decided to hell with it and stumped out the cigarette.

It came back to Chesser then. What Massey had said about The System's inventory of stones. Twelve billion dollars worth. Where did The System keep them? Chesser glanced up because up was where he usually went to get his packet. Then he remembered Massey had said something about walking over them, obviously meaning the stones were kept somewhere below. Of course. They'd have to be underground in a vault. Chesser tried to imagine twelve billion dollars worth of uncut, gem-quality diamonds. The idea subdued him, made whatever quantity he was about to receive in his packet seem a pittance by comparison. He tried not to think about it, tried to get back the good high feeling he'd had. But he couldn't lose the image. It was too much. Twenty million carats, according to Massey. Over four tons of stones, just sitting there, being held back by The System, being doled out like candy to good boys.

Greedy bastards, he thought.

“You can go up now, Mr. Chesser,” said Miller.

Chesser's legs had turned heavy. As he walked across the foyer, he had the irrational sensation that he might sink right through the floor and end up waist-deep in diamonds. Going up the stairs he wished he were going down instead. He'd sure like to get a look at, get at, those twelve billion dollars worth, he thought.

He expected to find Meecham in the sight room. But the only one there was Watts. Meecham would be along in a moment, thought Chesser. Meanwhile, this was an opportunity to make the apology he felt he owed Watts. He hurried right to the subject, anticipating Meecham's entrance.

“I'm sorry you didn't get to see that diamond after it was cut.”

“It came out all right, sir?”

“Wildenstein did a beautiful make. Perfect. An oval, as you suggested.”

“I'm glad to hear that, sir.”

“I had to send it registered delivery from Antwerp,” lied Chesser. “You understand.”

“Of course, sir.”

“But I did want you to see it. I really did.”

“Things can't always go the way one wants,” said Watts.

Chesser thought Watts looked discernibly more haggard than when he'd last seen him. It had only been a month since they'd last met, but Watts looked years older.

“Your packet is ready for you, sir,” said Watts.

It was on the black-velour-topped table. The usual small, plain manila envelope.

“We're waiting for Meecham, aren't we?”

“He instructed me to handle the transaction,” said Watts. “If you don't object, sir.”

That was a disappointment. Meecham's presence was part of the reward Chesser had anticipated. Meecham usually handled the more important sights. To know he was accepted, Chesser needed to read the confirmation on Meecham's face. “I don't mind,” he lied to Watts. “Not at all.”

Chesser glanced at his watch. “Actually, I'm running a bit late. I don't suppose there's any reason why I should take a look. I've an appointment with a client, a good prospect for another big one.” He smiled his best smile.

“Are you sure you don't want a look, sir?”

“No need. Thanks, anyway.”

“As you wish, Mr. Chesser.”

“How much?”

At the moment Chesser was asking the price, Meecham, in his office one story above, was inserting a photographic color slide into a portable 35-mm. viewer. He had been at the window looking down to see Chesser arrive. He'd noticed Chesser's crisp, confident movement, Chesser's lean, fashionable appearance, the rich vitality of the Ferrari convertible, and especially the girl, Chesser's beautiful, young girl, flaunting her desirability with bold indifference.

Meecham's imagination had worked on the girl. For a minute or so, he had the actual pale flesh of her thighs for raw material. As well as her unusual long hair. He had to believe she was erotically audacious—a demanding girl. One who would thoroughly enjoy being served, obeyed. His imagination remained fixed on the reality of her, until she drove herself away. Then, not wanting her gone, he quickly unlocked a drawer of his desk, hurrying to retain the impact of his imaginary concoction. He got out the viewer, inserted a slide, pressed for illumination.

All the slides Coglin had sent over did not suit Meecham's taste. He had culled them down to about twenty that were possibly relevant. Those that showed Chesser positioned above the girl disgusted Meecham. He disliked seeing the girl pinned down like that, and the idea that she was eagerly submitting was even more intolerable. Obviously, Chesser was an ingrate, thought Meecham, hadn't progressed beyond the schoolboy level of passion, didn't know how to express the proper humility toward such a lovely mistress. Chesser was an intruder. Chesser had to be eliminated. It was most frustrating. The more Meecham looked at the slides, the more difficult it was for him to replace the image of Chesser with himself. Not only that. Even those slides Meecham had selected were losing their effect because he'd been over them so many times.

Now he had in the viewer what his senses considered the most inspiring slide of the lot. Taken with an extra sharp long lens. Maren in a full-length strong stance, legs slightly parted and head raised, looking superior, imperious. Her lips open, as though issuing a command. Only a portion of Chesser could be seen, out of focus and not identifiable, in the lower foreground.

As he studied the slide, Meecham thought he'd go out early that day and take advantage of the anonymity London offered. He'd had two consecutive days in the country with wife and visiting married children, an oppressively bland weekend. He decided he wouldn't call one he knew or even call for a referral. He'd go out and find a new one.

Preferably a redhead.

“How much?” was the question Chesser had just asked.

“Fifteen thousand,” answered Watts, head lowered.

Chesser was certain he hadn't heard correctly. “Fifty thousand?”

Watts didn't want to say it again, but he had to, distinctly this time. “Fifteen thousand.”

Chesser just stood there, silent. The back of his neck felt on fire and he had the impression that his hands were solid, heavy objects, dangerous, meant to be slung and exploded from the ends of his arms.

“I pass,” he finally said, calmly.

“You what, sir?”

“I don't want the packet. I refuse it.”

“Perhaps you should have a look at it, sir,” suggested Watts, trying to help.

“
No
. And I hope this room is bugged. I'm sure it is. Meecham can take those cheap lousy stones and shove them up his ass. That's probably what the bastard would like. The hardest thing in the world right up his ass.”

Watts shook his head, not condemning but rather in sympathetic approval.