Empress Bianca (55 page)

When the food arrived they thought it advisable to eat first, lest the subject they were about to discuss ruin what was left of their appetites.

Raymond, Begonia, Hepsibah and Rebecca were therefore on their
coffee, with the afternoon’s happenings still not touched upon, when the phone rang.

Being the nearest, Begonia answered it. She was monosyllabic throughout the call, which did not last long. ‘That was Conchita Perez de Guellar,’ Begonia announced after she had hung up. ‘She’s at Claridge’s, and she says the party is in full swing. The only alcoholic beverage being served is vintage champagne. There’s an array of fruit juices and a lavish buffet, with several two-kilo silver bowls full of Iranian gold caviar doing the rounds in the hands of liveried footmen. She says there’s a real air of celebration and that Bianca hasn’t stopped laughing since she arrived to hold court.’

‘It’s an outrage the way she’s behaved,’ Hepsibah commented to Raymond.

‘I always said she was no good,’ said Rebecca.

‘There is nothing that woman does that surprises me,’ Rebecca said bitterly. ‘She is a monster. A pretty, sugar-coated monster. But a monster nevertheless.’

‘It hurts me to think that we never got to see Philippe before his coffin was sealed,’ Raymond remarked.

‘She did that deliberately,’ Rebecca said, ‘to prevent us from seeing him.’

‘I had a right, as his brother, to see him before he was buried. I had a right to say goodbye to him. To see him in death, as I had seen him in life.’

‘We all did,’ said Hepsibah.

‘And how dare she bury him in North London, when he has an Israeli burial plot on Mount Herzl and always said he wanted to be returned to the land of our forefathers? What sort of person doesn’t ask her own husband’s family to his funeral but invites 830 guests to that same celebration…I mean funeral…’

‘How do you know how many people she asked?’

‘Gisele told me. There were only twenty-seven refusals.’

‘You’re right to confuse it with a celebration. The arrangements were more appropriate to a wedding than a funeral. Guards standing outside the synagogue with guest lists, checking off names. Ushers in morning coats walking everyone to their seats, all of which had been allotted as if it were a theatre or some other sort of public function instead of a funeral,’ said Begonia.

‘That woman is such a rampant social climber,’ observed Rebecca.

‘The whole event was more about her showing off to her smart social friends than saying goodbye to our brother in a seemly and dignified manner…an appropriate Jewish manner. By God, she’s behaving like a shiksa, and one without any religion either.’

‘Do you realize, if it hadn’t been for the television and press coverage of his death, we might never have known about it until after his funeral? I mean, finding out from the television that your own brother has died as a result of a fire: is that any way to learn of your brother’s death?’ said Raymond. ‘I don’t know why she hates us so much.’

‘It’s because she’s afraid that we can see through her,’ observed Hepsibah shrewdly.

‘She never used to hate us when she lived in Mexico,’ Begonia said. ‘On the contrary, she was all over me like a rash in those days.’

‘Those days, dear wife, are long gone. Nowadays, we’re small fry to her.’

‘Is it true, what Juan told you?’ asked Hepsibah. ‘About the will?’

‘Yes,’ Raymond said. ‘Philippe changed his will less than two weeks ago in favour of Bianca. She inherits everything except for small bequests to the two of you and to a university in Israel for a Chair for Jewish Studies.’

‘Doesn’t it seem suspicious to you, that Philippe would sell the bank and change his will then die in a tragic accident, all in such a short space of time? I detect the hand of Bianca behind all of this. I bet she engineered his death,’ Hepsibah said.

‘Never say that,’ Raymond said sternly. ‘Never. Not even to yourself.’

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t,’ Hepsibah retorted, ‘when everyone in Mexico has been saying for years that she killed Ferdie Piedraplata.’

‘That is precisely why none of us must ever say that we suspect her of killing Philippe.’

‘Raymond, what you’re saying doesn’t make sense,’ Rebecca said. ‘If Bianca has killed our brother…and killed another husband before him… what possible reason would we have for not going public with our suspicions? Don’t you want to see your brother’s murderess brought to justice? If Bianca really is behind Philippe’s death, then she is his murderess whether she actually did the deed herself or not.’

‘I don’t want her being exposed…not when it will mean destroying Philippe’s reputation and our family name.’

‘I don’t see how accusing Bianca of causing Philippe’s death will destroy his reputation and our family name, if that’s what she’s done,’ Hepsibah said. ‘And, knowing her the way I do, I wouldn’t put it past her.’

Raymond shook his head. ‘Trust me on this one,’ he said sadly. ‘Let’s just leave it alone.’

‘No,’ Rebecca said fiercely. ‘Why should we? He was our brother too. She damaged our relationship with him during his lifetime. Now that he’s dead, and she may have had a hand in his death, you want us to let her get away with it? No, I say. A thousand times no.’

‘Then you leave me no alternative,’ said Raymond quietly. From the expression on his face, they knew something momentous was coming.

‘The reason why we have to let her get away with it is that Philippe is rumoured to have been the one who arranged Ferdie’s death for her. Now that you’re forced this out of me, do you see why we have to let this rest?’

‘That’s not possible,’ Hepsibah said.

‘It’s not true,’ Rebecca echoed.

‘I’m afraid it is possible and, if the original investigation in Mexico is accurate, it’s also true. I made it my business to get hold of the findings years ago.’

‘Philippe would never have done something like that,’ both sisters said in unison.

‘Maybe he wouldn’t have…maybe he would…I don’t know. All I know is, Ferdie Piedraplata did not commit suicide and Bianca did not act alone.’

‘Sweet Jahwe,’ Hepsibah said as she absorbed the enormity of it all.

‘That isn’t to say that we have to let her get away scot-free,’ Rebecca said. ‘Let’s wait awhile and see how much more press interest there is in Philippe’s death. When things quieten down a bit, we’ll sue her.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Hepsibah said. ‘Remember how frantic she was when Clara sued her after Ferdie’s death? I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown.’

‘Well, she’ll be even more nervous this time. The last time there was no press interest. This time, what with the international attention Philippe’s death has been getting, she’ll be terrified that a skeleton will fall out of her closet. We might rethink things before the day, but for the moment I’d recommend that we get ready to dispute the will when the right time comes,’ Rebecca said, looking directly at her brother. ‘That will
give her sleepless nights…and we can drag the process out for years. Yes,’ she went on gleefully, ‘years of sleepless nights, wondering which skeleton will topple out of her crowded closet next.’

While the Mahfud family were having that conversation at the Carlton Towers Hotel in Chelsea, a block away in Cadogan Place, Clara d’Offolo was sitting in Amanda’s drawing room, talking about Philippe’s death with Amanda and Magdalena.

‘I’ve got the inside track on what’s been happening in Andorra,’ she announced. ‘The story is that the manservant has confessed to having set the curtains alight to bring fire hazards caused by the security system to Philippe’s attention.’

‘Who told you that?’ asked Amanda.

‘Etienne Reynaud, the local chief of police and his wife Elise are good friends of my niece Delia’s husband Charles Candower’s brother and his wife, who are tax exiles in Andorra and live right next door to him,’ she said. ‘Either Etienne Reynaud’s reckless - which I doubt - or he’s spreading stories deliberately…which I wouldn’t put past him, knowing how the Andorran authorities function. Whatever the reason, he hasn’t been able to resist the temptation to show his friends that he’s a central figure in the biggest news story to come out of the principality since its inception. They’ve passed on everything to Charles, and either he or Delia have been keeping Magdalena and me abreast of developments.’

‘Philippe’s death certainly smells fishy,’ Amanda remarked.

‘You can say that again. Knowing the way Bianca functions, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t deliberately entice that male helper into setting the curtains on fire. I wonder if he knew that his actions would result in Philippe’s death? Not, it has to be said, that I care much one way or the other how Philippe died. Over the years, I’ve come to recognize the part he played in Ferdie’s death, so his end has a certain symmetry to it,’ Clara said.

‘I gather that crook Juan Gilberto Macias is here,’ Amanda said sarcastically, ‘holding that most fortunate widow’s hand.’

‘And acting on her behalf very openly, I might tell you. I spoke to him yesterday, just before lunch,’ Clara said. ‘He telephoned me, doubtless to pick my brain at Bianca’s behest to see what I had to say for myself. He went on and on about what a terrible trauma this has been for Bianca:
how she had to be ushered out of the apartment by the police while pleading to be allowed to stay until she could see for herself that Philippe was safe. He said she broke down in front of the officers when they refused her request to stay in his bedroom. He said that they gave smoke and fumes as the reason for her to leave. Then he said…with a certain amount of disapproval, it has to be said to his credit…that Bianca had arranged for Maximilien to open up their shop especially for her yesterday, so that she could choose a new coat to wear to the funeral in case the weather turned. He said she bought a sable and - if you can believe it in this day and age - a new leopard-skin coat, muff and hat.’

‘I didn’t know you could still buy leopard,’ Amanda said.

‘It’s now an endangered species. Furriers are not allowed by law to sell new coats. You and I can’t buy a new leopard-skin coat, but Bianca can,’ said Clara. ‘I suppose the coat must have been made before the ban was imposed.’

‘She did the same thing when Uncle Ferdie died, didn’t she, Mummy?’ said Magdalena.

‘So Juan said at the time,’ Clara said. ‘I’ve always been able to see right through Bianca. My view is that she got Frank Alderman to set those curtains on fire by promising him a reward if he did so. She’ll have also sent a message through the legal team that he’ll be handsomely rewarded if he takes a dive. Delia says Etienne Reynaud told her that the Court’s appointed two members of the Andorran legal establishment to act as his defence team, so we can safely assume there will be no surprises emanating from that quarter.’

‘We all know the way those independent principalities function,’ Amanda said. ‘I can just imagine an edict being issued to the effect that this case must be cleared up with the minimum of damage being done to the principality’s reputation as a haven for the rich and shady.’

‘I think the Andorran government is also concerned about its reputation for probity, now that the French have accused them of being complicit in the money-laundering that takes place there,’ Magdalena said.

‘Uncle Piers says that they’re among the biggest money-launderers on earth, ‘Amanda said. ‘He says they even pushed through Philippe and Bianca’s citizenship in record time as an inducement for him to move his headquarters from Geneva, along with all the drug-money Philippe laundered for the Colombians and for Manuel Noriega when he was still
president of Panama - that’s aside from all the tainted Russian money he brought with him. Piers says the authorities were up to their necks in it with him.’

‘Which is all the more reason why we’re going to see a similar farce akin to the one we witnessed when Ferdie died,’ Clara said. ‘Just you wait and see. Now that Philippe’s dead, Bianca will steer as wide a berth of Andorra as she has of Mexico. Frank Alderman will be let off with a light sentence. The authorities are already setting up the justification by letting out the story that he set the fire for the noblest of motives and didn’t intend to harm Philippe in any way. He will be released from prison in the near future to be greeted by the dollars that Bianca has assuredly got Juan to pay into some bank account somewhere to keep him quiet. And Bianca will trip off merrily to make herself known in every gossip column and social magazine as the richest widow in the world. In a year or two, Philippe’s death will be marked down as a tragic accident and remembered by no one except his family, his friends and many enemies, and us. The whole thing is too sickening for words but, when you have as much money as Bianca has managed to get her hands on, the authorities bend over backwards to absolve you of suspicion, especially if they have things to hide themselves.’

‘I don’t see why we should let her get away with it,’ Magdalena said.

‘There must be something we can do.’

‘There is,’ Amanda said. ‘We can give her the Ann Woodward brand of punishment.’

‘What on earth’s that?’ asked Magdalena.

‘Ann Woodward shot her husband like a dog when he threatened divorce, leaving their two children without a father’ Amanda said. ‘Their grandmother Elsie, who in her day was known as the Dowager Empress of New York Society, decided that it would be too traumatic for the children if their mother were charged with murder and possibly executed. She joined forces instead with her murderous daughter-in-law, taking her side when the Grand Jury investigated and passing the murder off as an accident, then unmasked Ann as a murderess before the only court that really mattered to either of them, the Social World: the court of smart restaurants and couture houses, the major jewellers, the houses in the country and houses in town, the social columns and the fashion pages, Vogue magazine and Cholly Knickerbocker. Thereafter, every time Ann
Woodward entered a drawing room or a restaurant or merely walked down the street, there was a buzz of whispers. In the end, she couldn’t take the ignominy any more than Bianca could when all Mexico was whispering about her. It was the most exquisite form of justice: punishment by social torture. Ann Woodward finally committed suicide. You could almost say she had been administered the death sentence when she realized she’d been given a life sentence from which there was no escape.’