Empress Bianca (46 page)

Bianca’s path first crossed that of Agatha’s at a luncheon party given by Walter and Ruth in 1996. She was impressed by how gently the Jamaican woman treated Nicholas Shoucaire but thought no more of her until Odette telephoned her out of the blue in 1998, just as she was about to dismiss Nurse Owens. After exchanging pleasantries Odette said: ‘I’m trying to find a position for Agatha. My children are all at school and, now that my husband is dead, I simply don’t have any work for her to do. I remembered that your husband has MS too and wondered if you’d be interested in employing her. She was truly a godsend with Nicholas.’

‘In principle, I’m very interested,’ Bianca said graciously. ‘We actually need someone right now. My husband says one of his nurses is too rough with him.’

‘Ruth Huron says you’re a superb employer, and all your staff adore you. This is the sort of position I want for Agatha. She really is an exceptional human being, and I hope you won’t misinterpret this when I
say that offering her to you is about the highest praise I can confer upon you. That’s how much she means to us as a family.’

Bianca and Odette arranged to meet with Agatha the following day, and the week after that, the nurse started working for Philippe in Nurse Owens’ place. Agatha and Philippe clicked from the very first. ‘Philippe’s in love with Agatha,’ Bianca frequently joked, and there was an element of truth to the statement. Both nurse and patient had complementary personalities. Each of them was hungry for an emotional attachment, and within weeks of knowing each other, they had established a genuinely companionable and emotionally sustaining relationship that only strengthened with time.

During the first months of their relationship, Philippe beavered away: setting up, with the assistance of John Lowenstein, what was little more than an elaborate scam to ensure that the financial and social columns on both sides of the Atlantic were drip-fed favourable stories about Banco Imperiale’s performance with a view to enticing someone into bidding for it. However, it was a totally isolated occurrence that swung things in Banco Imperiale’s favour and removed any reservations the financial community might normally have entertained about dealing with Philippe Mahfud. In August 1998 Russia defaulted on its debt, and the financial world stood transfixed, as if on the edge of an abyss, for several months.

During that period, investors with funds to invest had to find a safe haven. USNB, the mighty American bank which had the most limited exposure in Russia of all the leading American financial institutions, reasoned that Banco Imperiale was a safe haven at a time when it looked as if the extraordinary buoyancy that the financial markets had enjoyed throughout the latter part of the nineties might be coming to an end. So out of the blue, USNB tendered an offer in mid-September of $6.8 billion for Banco Imperiale. This was just the sort of deal towards which Philippe had been working ever since he had divested himself of his New York operation. Here was the highest amount ever offered for a private investment bank. Philippe, fully aware that the Banco Imperiale was not worth the price, moved to close the deal before USNB discovered how completely they had been duped or before the financial markets recovered from the Russian crisis.

Multiple Sclerosis or no Multiple Sclerosis, Philippe clearly remained as wily and astute as ever. He could see that the Russian crisis was little
more than a storm in a teacup, although he was firmly of the opinion that such an overheated economy would go bust within three or four years. ‘We must strike while the iron’s hot,’ he said to Agatha, who, having no idea what he was talking about, nodded her agreement good-naturedly. Using his health as the excuse to speed up the conclusion to their negotiations, Philippe stipulated that the deal must be signed within six weeks or it was off. Then USNB made its second mistake. It laid down the condition that it should have the right to send its own medical team to Andorra to confirm that his health was as precarious as he claimed it was. Philippe unsuccessfully tried to rub his hands with glee when that term came through. Then he had Agatha telephone Bianca at L’Alexandrine and ask her to come to Andorra as soon as possible. Wondering what the problem was, she came as quickly as she could and was more than a little irritated when she walked through the bedroom door to see her husband propped up in bed, grinning broadly. ‘They’ve fallen for it,’ he rasped throatily. ‘We’ve got them.’

‘Who’s fallen for what, and who have you got?’ Bianca asked, irritation tripping off her tongue with every word.

‘USNB,’ he laughed. ‘They’re suspicious about the state of my health, and they’re sending their own doctors to check me out.’

‘But I thought you didn’t want anyone in the financial community to know your state of health.’

‘I didn’t before this, but now I do. Don’t you see, Bianca? Their doctors will confirm that my health is so precarious that my demand to conclude the sale within an unnaturally short space of time is reasonable, based as it must be upon my fear that I might die before the deal is done,’

Philippe chuckled then started to cough, the spittle running down the side of his face, as he struggled to continue talking. ‘Once the markets regularize, USNB isn’t going to be quite so keen on acquiring Banco Imperiale as it now is. So we’ve got to move fast.’

All trace of annoyance deserting her, Bianca sat down on the bed beside him and stroked his arm tenderly. ‘You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever known,’ she said, ‘and so lovable too. What would I do without you?’

‘I knew you’d be proud of your old Philippe.’

‘I am, darling, I am. No one else could’ve done this but you. Now, I must be off. Tonight I’m having dinner with the Oldenburgs, and I don’t
want to be late. They’re having one of the Spanish Infantas, and you know how crazy everyone goes whenever any member of any reigning royal family comes to dinner.’ Bianca pecked her husband on the cheek, turned to Agatha and said:

‘Take good care of Monsieur as you always do.’ She was out the door by the end of the sentence, having been there for less than ten minutes.

As Philippe had envisaged, USNB’s doctors verified the state of his health, and it was agreed between the two sides that the purchase of Banco Imperiale would be concluded on Wednesday, October 28 1998.

On the day of conclusion, the ailing man awoke bright and early. Agatha and Eli, his favourite male assistant, helped him dress before he sat down to a breakfast of fresh mango juice, scrambled eggs, Matzos soaked in milk and butter, and coffee. The announcement of the sale was due to take place at nine o’clock New York time, which would be three in the afternoon his time.

Bianca had promised to come and share the moment of victory with him, and Philippe allowed himself to savour a delicious sense of anticipation as he shuffled towards the living room to watch his moment of glory on television from the comfort of the overstuffed sofa that Valerian Rybar had made for his stylish wife and himself.

Agatha turned on the television. Philippe used the remote control of get CNN. He squirmed from side to side in an attempt to get comfortable, before settling down to watch the financial news. So far, so good.

At eleven o’clock Agatha and Eli helped him back into bed. He rested until one in the afternoon, getting up in time to have a light lunch of mashed potatoes and smoked haddock, which the Jamaican nurse fed him, as usual, from the hospital tray beside the bed. When he had finished, he looked at the clock and registered that the time was coming up for two-twenty.

‘Ring L’Alexandrine and find out what time Madame left. She’s late,’ he said to Eli as Agatha wiped the corners of his mouth with a Handy-Wipe before completing the job with a fine Irish linen napkin that was heavily embroidered with Banco Imperiale’s emblem of the doubleheaded eagle which the Mahfuds had adopted as their own.

Eli left the room to make the call.

‘Help me up, sweetie,’ Philippe said to Agatha. ‘Let’s see if we can’t Zimmer me into the living room without Eli’s help.’

His nurse pulled him up by gripping him beneath his arms. He leaned into her. ‘You smell so lovely,’ he said lustily.

‘You’re a naughty boy, flirting with me like that,’ she joked.

‘I wish I could do more than flirt with you.’

Agatha laughed good-naturedly. ‘Naughty.’

‘I used to be in my youth. I was a man of strong passions. Still am. Only thing is, the old pecker hasn’t worked for years.’

‘You’re making me blush.’

‘I love it when you blush. Come on, give me a little kiss. Just one kiss.’

Agatha smiled. What harm was there in humouring a dying old man? She pecked him on the cheek.

‘No. I want a proper kiss.’

‘Now, Monsieur, you don’t want me to have to tell you off again, do you?’ she scolded gently.

‘I like it when you tell me off.’

Philippe stopped to catch his breath. They were in the passage leading from the bedroom to the living room. It was appreciably darker there than in any of the rooms because it had no windows; the security system required the doors leading off it to be kept shut at all times.

The cloakroom door suddenly burst open, and in the half light Philippe could make out a tall figure with what looked like a gun. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he croaked, a look of absolute terror on his face, as if the bowels of hell had opened up and he had seen the fate that awaited him. ‘Don’t shoot. I’ll give you $10,000,000 not to shoot me.’

‘It’s only me, Monsieur,’ Eli said.

‘You gave me the most dreadful fright, Eli. I thought you were a hitman,’ Philippe said, shaking from terror before vomiting on the floor.

Eli and Agatha took him back into the bedroom to clean him up and change him, while the housekeeper mopped up the mess.

It was at this point that Bianca arrived. ‘You’d better hurry or we’re going to miss the report of your crowning glory, you fabulous emperor of finance, you,’ she said coquettishly, standing well away from him for she could not abide the stench of vomit.

‘I just had the most awful fright,’ Philippe mumbled and explained what had happened. ‘I really thought the end had come,’ he said, still
clearly rattled by the incident.

‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ Bianca said briskly, her voice displaying not an ounce of sympathy. ‘So let’s hurry before we miss everything.’

With that, she led the way into the living room, where the television set had remained tuned to CNN. Philippe shuffled in between his nurse and her male assistant, and they all sat down to look at the USNB-Banco Imperiale announcement, Philippe proudly taking Bianca’s right hand in his left. The merest flicker of distaste passed over her elegant features, but no one caught it.

Promptly, at three o’clock in the afternoon French time, CNN ran the item along with a photograph of Philippe and Bianca taken outside L’Alexandrine ten years before. In many ways, it was the ideal photograph to use for such a story. Bianca was a study in glamour, her hair piled high on her head, her neck and earlobes ablaze with the most amazing diamond and emerald jewels. Philippe, standing slightly behind her, appeared as a short, squat, powerful man beaming with pride at the beautiful creature he called his own.

No sooner was the broadcast finished than Bianca withdrew her hand from Philippe’s and started clapping. ‘You make me feel so proud,’ she said. ‘My husband: the emperor of the financial world. This moment must make you very, very proud.’

‘It does,’ he said, the spittle oozing down one side of his mouth.

‘You know,’ she continued in sentimental vein, ‘when I stop to think of the first time we met…and of all the things we’ve accomplished since then. We really have been an exceptional team, haven’t we, my darling?’

‘Yes, we have,’ Philippe agreed. ‘I could never have done it without you.’

‘Nor me, my darling. You’ve been my inspiration and so much more besides.’

Philippe smiled and motioned Agatha to bring him the telephone.

‘Who are you going to call now?’ Bianca asked, annoyed that he was diverting his attention elsewhere.

‘Raymond and Hepsibah and Rebecca, to see what they thought of our performance.’

Bianca’s expression hardened. ‘If you’re going to do that, I’m off. No point sitting here looking at four walls while you talk to those sisters and that brother of yours.’ She was about to give Philippe a goodbye kiss on
the forehead when the latest item on the newscast caught their attention.

‘Congress has just announced the formation of a fact-finding committee to investigate allegations of money laundering involving the Russian Mafia and banks in Europe, the Caribbean and the Americas. All the offshore banks will be targeted, and among the onshore banks whose finances are to be examined is the Swiss-based Banco Imperiale Geneva, the subject of our lead story today.’

Philippe started to gag, panic-stricken by this new development. Agatha rushed to get him some oxygen, while Bianca sympathetically stroked his hand. ‘Take it easy, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘Otherwise you’ll kill yourself.’

The nurse quickly returned with the oxygen and clamped the mask over his face. He breathed in slowly, and gradually his respiration returned to normal.

‘They’re going to kill me,’ he said to Bianca. ‘I know it.’

‘Who’s going to kill you?’ she said, knowing very well Philippe meant the Russians. ‘No one wants to kill you.’

‘You don’t know what they’re like. Anyone who crosses them is wiped out. They’re constantly gunning down businessmen in the street. They’ll be sure to kill me once those fucking Americans spill the beans about my cooperation. Christ, why did I ever cooperate with them? Fucking naïve fools!’

‘But you’re safe and sound in here,’ Bianca observed, ‘surrounded by a team of the finest bodyguards Mossad has ever trained, in an impregnable fortress.’

‘They’ll find a way,’ Philippe said gloomily.

‘I’d better call the doctor and get him to give you something.’

‘I can’t take tranquillizers with MS, Bianca,’ Philippe replied. ‘My breathing is already depressed enough without drugs, which would slow it down even further.’

‘Then you’ll just have to get a grip on your emotions, darling,’ she said gently, kissing him once more on the top of his head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. And do try to lighten up. You don’t want to spoil your big day with negative thoughts.’