Blood Stones (48 page)

‘Hello, James,' Elizabeth said. ‘I let myself in. Mrs Glover said you'd be coming back around now.'

James took in the scene as if he was a spectator watching someone else playing himself. But Elizabeth was real.

‘Liz? Hello. How are you?'

‘Fine, thanks.'

He managed to say, ‘You're looking well.'

Well, but not herself. Something had gone for ever; the lovely face had lost its innocence, its confidence.

‘So are you. James, I'd love a drink.'

It sounded so forced and ridiculous it made him wince.

‘Of course. Gin and tonic?'

‘Please. Why isn't the fire lit? It's so gloomy.'

‘I'm going out,' he said. He poured gin and tonic and dropped in ice, then helped himself to whisky.

‘There's no lemon, I'm afraid. I only drink Scotch these days.'

He gave her the glass. Their hands didn't touch. He sat down opposite her. He had no idea he could still feel such pain. He had really imagined he was immune until he saw her sitting there, looking at him with those large grey-blue eyes. There were deep shadows under them now.

‘Well,' he said after a long agonizing pause. ‘This is a surprise. Why have you come back suddenly like this?'

‘I wanted to see you,' she said.

To ask for a divorce. He nearly said it for her. She wouldn't take the coward's way and hide behind solicitors. Whatever the cost to either of them, he knew Elizabeth would be straight, as she saw it. He just wished that, for his sake at least, she hadn't decided to be brave. He said, ‘You want a divorce, I suppose?'

Elizabeth didn't answer. She picked up her drink and nearly drained it. She tried to smile at him but it didn't work. ‘Dutch courage,' she said. ‘No, I haven't come for that. I came up to London to see Jean Pierre and tell him it was never going to work with us. And I came here to ask you to forgive me.'

He said, ‘Forgive you?'

She nodded. ‘Yes. If you possibly can after the way I've behaved. If you can't, and I wouldn't blame you one bit, then I'll just go.'

She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve.

‘Oh God,' she said. ‘I don't want to cry, it's not fair on you.'

James said slowly, ‘Elizabeth, what do you mean, forgive you?'

‘Ruth Fraser came down to Freemantle to see me,' she said. ‘She just arrived on the doorstep. She told me what happened. She took the message from Jean Pierre when I went into hospital. She stood there and told me right out that she decided not to tell you because you'd have come back to be with me, and ruined your chances.

‘She said I was spoilt and stupid and didn't deserve you, and she only bothered to tell me because she liked you. She looked at me as if I were dirt. Then she just walked out of the house and drove off. Bloody tears …' She scrubbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. ‘I wouldn't listen to you,' she went on. ‘You swore to me and I wouldn't believe you. Oh James, what a terrible mess I've made of things.'

She reached blindly for her purse, stuffed the handkerchief away, and stood up.

‘Look, I'll go now. Just try to forgive me, will you?'

He reached her before she could take a step. He held her firmly in his arms. ‘You're not going anywhere. There's nothing to forgive, and if there is it doesn't matter. I still love you, Liz. Do you love me?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes, I do. But can we ever be the same after all this?'

He went on holding her. He said quietly, ‘I don't know, darling. Not the same, no. But we can be together and work it out. That's what I want. Will you come back to me, and we'll try?'

Elizabeth looked up at him. ‘Are you really sure, James? Do you think we can be happy again?'

James answered, ‘I can't be happy without you, I'm sure about that.' He kissed her and they held tightly to each other. ‘Ruth,' he muttered, his face in Elizabeth's soft hair. ‘You never know anyone, do you?'

‘Let's light the fire,' she whispered back. ‘Make it feel like home again.'

Laura Karakov stretched; her thin arms were tanned a deep brown, but her face was shaded from the South African sun. She knew the damage sunlight did to ageing skin. ‘What a climate,' she remarked. ‘And everything's so cheap.' Ivan sprawled beside her in a lounger by the swimming-pool. They had spent a week as Julius Heyderman's guests in Johannesburg. The reconciliation was complete; they appeared at smart public functions together and Julius gave a dinner for them, inviting the top management of Diamond Enterprises SA and their wives. His wife Sylvia had been very gracious, taking trouble to show Laura the sights while the men talked business and made a show of friendship. All the fences were mended, Ivan was back in the family fold, and the misunderstandings of the past months were never mentioned.

‘I don't like that city,' Ivan remarked. ‘I was glad to get down here to the Cape. I feel like my mouth's been stitched up smiling … You were great, Laura. It was a good visit. We don't have to come again.' He hadn't enjoyed it. He had been defeated and humiliated and it would always rankle. Laura understood that. He was a proud man and a bad enemy.

‘No,' she agreed coolly, ‘we don't. But we were right to come here. Just remember he needed you, lover, or he wouldn't have moved his ass to invite you and make a big PR exercise out of it. You got the full treatment.' He stared at the shimmering blue pool. It was lunchtime and a lone girl was swimming up and down in a lazy crawl.

‘It hasn't bought me,' he said.

‘I know that,' his wife answered. ‘And I'll bet he does too.' She wanted to reassure him and she flattered shamelessly to do it. ‘You're Karakov,' she reminded him. ‘You shook the hell out of Heyderman and he hasn't forgotten it. You want to order lunch out here?'

He grunted, his mind wasn't on eating. ‘You order. Something light. That bastard Hastings, that's what sticks in my gut. Managing Director at his age. There was some dumb ass at dinner asking me about him and his “lovely wife” … After what he did to me. I get a pain just thinking about him.'

Laura said coldly, ‘So do I. It looks like he's got it all. So forget about him. You've said it so often: business is business. Life has to go on.'

Ivan Karakov shifted so he could turn and look at her. He didn't often better her these days; he felt she was treating him too gently, as if he'd lost his edge.

‘That's what it looks like,' he agreed. His eyes were bright with malice. ‘But in Johannesburg I noticed a little something. I guess you must have missed it.'

She said sharply, ‘Missed what? I didn't miss anything.'

‘This time you did,' he said. ‘Julius and his PA, Ruth.'

Laura had seen Ruth Fraser at all the official parties and she'd been a dinner guest at the Heyderman's. Laura had been polite but chilling, remembering she had been James Hastings' secretary in Paris. A sharp little operator, oozing sex. If Hastings had hit the heights, so had she. ‘You think they're screwing?' she demanded.

‘I'd say so,' he said. ‘I noticed little things. The way he looks at her. There's a communication there. Not just sex, sweetheart, something more. He's found a soul mate in the business. And she has ambitions, that girl. Big ambitions. I could smell it off her. She kicked Dick Kruger in the balls, remember? If she's humping Julius it's for promotion.'

He pulled himself up, let his legs swing over the side of the lounger. The swimmer had climbed out and was towelling herself in the brilliant sunshine. He noticed briefly that she had a good body.

He looked at his wife and he smiled. He reminded her of an old, sly crocodile. He said, ‘There'll be a seat on the London Board when Kruger goes. And he's going, Julius told me. My guess is, she'll get it. If I was that bastard Hastings, I wouldn't sleep easy when she does …'

Laura closed her eyes, considering. Ivan was never wrong about people. He had an instinct. Over the years she had learned to trust it without question. She remembered a quotation she'd read somewhere, an old Chinese proverb. It had stuck in her mind because it appealed to her. Revenge is a dish best eaten cold. If Karakov was right, they'd feast on it together. She opened her eyes and touched him lightly on the arm.

‘I'll go order us some lunch,' she said.

About the Author

Evelyn Anthony is the pen name of Evelyn Ward-Thomas, a female British author who began writing in 1949. She gained considerable success with her historical novels—two of which were selected for the American Literary Guild—before winning huge acclaim for her espionage thrillers. Her book,
The Occupying Power
, won the Yorkshire Post Fiction Prize, and her 1971 novel,
The Tamarind Seed
, was made into a film starring Julie Andrews and Omar Sharif. Anthony's books have been translated into nineteen languages. She lives in Essex, England.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1994 by Anthony Enterprises, Ltd.

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-5040-2431-0

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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