Paper Money (25 page)

"Can you tell me when the Secretary of State is going to make the

announcement about the or----"

"The Secretary of State has been delayed," the woman interrupted. "Your

news desk has been told, and there is a full explanation on the PA

wire." She hung up.

Laski sat back in his chair. He was running scared, and he did not like

it. It was his role to dominate situations such as this: he liked to be

the only one in the know, the manipulator who had everyone else running

around trying to figure out what was going on. Going cap in hand to

moneylenders was not his style.

The phone rang again. Carol said: "A Mr. Hart on the line."

"Am I supposed to know him?" "No, but he says it's in connection with

the money the Cotton Bank needs."

"Put him on. Hello, Laski here."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Laski." It was the voice of a young man. "I'm Kevin

Hart of the Evening Post."

Laski was startled. "I thought she said-Never mind."

"The money the Cotton Bank needs. Yes, well, a bank in trouble needs

money, doesn't it?" Laski said: "I don't think I want to talk to you,

young man." Before Laski could hang up, Hart said: "Tim Fitzpeterson."

Laski paled. "What?"

"Do the Cotton Bank's troubles have anything to do with the attempted

suicide of Tim Fitzpeterson?"

How the hell did they know? Laski's mind raced.

Maybe they didn't know. They might be guessing--flying a kite, they

called it; pretending to know something in order to see whether people

would deny it. Laski said: "Does your editor know you're making this

call?"

"Of course not."

Something in the reporter's voice told Laski he had struck a chord of

fear. He pressed the point home. "I don't know what kind of game you're

playing, young man, but if I hear any more about all this nonsense, I'll

know from where the rumors originated." Hart said: "What is your

relationship with Tony Cox?"

"Who? Good-bye, young man." Laski put the phone down.

He looked at his wristwatch: it was a quarter past three. There was no

way he could raise a million pounds in fifteen minutes. It looked as if

it was all over.

The bank was going to go under; Laski's reputation was to be destroyed;

and he would probably be involved in criminal proceedings. He

contemplated leaving the country, this afternoon. He would be able to

take nothing with him. Start all over again, in New York or Beirut? He

was too old. If he stayed, he would be able to salvage enough from his

empire to live on for the rest of his life. But what the hell kind of a

life would it be?

He swiveled around in his chair and looked out of the window. The day

was cooling; after all, it was not summer. The high buildings of the

city were casting long shadows, and both sides of the street below were

shaded. Laski watched the traffic and thought about Ellen Hamilton.

Today, of all days, he had decided to marry her. It was a painful irony.

For twenty years he could have had his pick of women: models, actresses,

debs, even princesses. And when at last he chose one, he went broke. A

superstitious man would take that as a sign that he should not marry.

The option might no longer be open to him.

Felix Laski, millionaire playboy, was one thing; Felix Laski, bankrupt

ex-convict, was quite another. He was sure his relationship with Ellen

was not the kind of love that could survive that level of disaster.

Their love was a sensual, self-indulgent, hedonistic thing, quite

different from the eternal devotion of the Book of Common Prayer.

At least, that was how it always had been.

Laski had theorized that the permanent affection might come, later, from

simply living together and sharing things; after all, the

near-hysterical lust that had brought them together was sure to fade, in

time.

I shouldn't be theorizing, he thought: at my age I should know.

This morning, the decision to marry her had seemed like a choice he

could make coolly; lightly, even cynically, figuring what he would get

out of it as if it were just another stock market coup. But now that he

was no longer in command of the situation, he realized--and the thought

hit him like a physical blow--that he needed her quite desperately. He

wanted eternal devotion: he wanted someone to care about him, and to

like his company, and to touch his shoulder with affection as she passed

his chair; someone who would always be there, someone who would say "I

love you," someone who would share his old age. He had been alone all

his life: it was quite long enough.

Having admitted that much to himself, he went farther. If he could have

her, he would cheerfully see his empire crumble, the Hamilton Holdings

deal collapse, his reputation destroyed. He would even go to jail with

Tony Cox if he thought she would be waiting when he got out.

He wished he had never met Tony Cox.

Laski had imagined it would be easy to control a two-bit hoodlum like

Cox. The man might be enormously powerful inside his own little world,

but he surely could not touch a respectable businessman. Maybe not: but

when that businessman went into partnership-however informal-with the

hoodlum, he ceased to be respectable. It was Laski, not Cox, who was

compromised by the association.

Laski heard the office door open, and swung around in his chair to see

Tony Cox walk in.

Laski stared openmouthed. It was like seeing a ghost.

Carol scuttled in behind Cox, worrying him like a terrier. She said to

Laski: "I asked him to wait, but he wouldn' the just walked in!"

"All right, Carol, I'll deal with it," Laski said.

The girl went out and shut the door.

Laski exploded. "What the devil are you doing here? Nothing could be

more dangerous! I've already had the newspapers on, asking me about you

and about Fitzpeterson--did you know he tried to kill himself?"

"Calm down. Keep your hair on," Cox told him.

"Calm down? The whole thing is a disaster! I've lost everything, and if

I'm seen with you I'll end up in jail."

Cox took a long stride forward, grabbed Laski by the throat, and shook

him. "Shut your mouth," he growled. He threw him backward in his chair.

"Now, listen. I want your help."

"No way," Laski muttered.

"Shut up! I want your help, and you're going to give it, or I'll make

bloody sure you do go to jail.

Now you know I done this job this morning-currency van."

"I know no such thing."

Cox ignored that. "Well, I've got nowhere to hide the money, so I'm

going to put it in your bank."

"Don't be ridiculous," Laski said lightly. Then he frowned. "How much is

it?"

"Just over a million."

"Where?"

"Outside in the van."

Laski jumped to his feet. "You've got a million pounds in stolen money,

outside here in a fucking van?"

"Yes." "You are insane." Laski's thoughts were racing.

"What form is the money in?"

"Assorted used notes."

"Are they in the original containers?"

"I'm not that daft. They've been transferred to packing cases."

"Serial numbers out of sequence?"

"You're getting the idea slowly. If you don't get a move on they'll tow

the van away for parking on a yellow line."

Laski scratched his head. "How will you carry it into the vault?"

"I got six of the boys out there."

"I can't let six of your roughnecks carry all that money into my vault!

The staff will suspect--"

"They're in uniform--Navy surplus jackets, trousers, shirts and ties.

They look like security guards, Felix. If you want to play twenty

questions, leave it till afterward eh?"

Laski decided. "All right, get moving." He ushered Cox out and followed

him as far as Carol's desk. "Ring down to the vault," he told the girl.

"Tell them to prepare to take in a consignment of cash immediately. I

will be dealing with the paperwork personally. And give me an outside

line on my phone."

He strode back into his office, picked up the phone, and dialed the Bank

of England. He looked at his watch. It was three twenty-five. He got

through to Mr. Ley.

"It's Laski here," he said.

"Ah, yes?" The banker was cautious.

Laski forced himself to sound calm. "I've sorted out this little

problem, Ley. The necessary cash is in my vault. Now I can arrange

delivery immediately, as you suggested earlier; or you can inspect today

and take delivery tomorrow." "Um." Ley thought for a moment. "I don't

think either will be necessary, Laski. It would rather throw us to have

to count so much money this late in the afternoon. If you can deliver

first thing in the morning, we'll clear the check tomorrow."

"Thank you." Laski decided to rub salt in the wound. "I'm sorry to have

irritated you so much, earlier today."

"Perhaps I was a little brusque. Good-bye, Laski."

Laski hung up. He was still thinking fast. He reckoned he could drum up

about a hundred thousand in cash overnight. Cox could probably equal

that from his clubs. They could swap that cash for two hundred thousand

of the stolen notes. It was just another precaution: if all the notes he

delivered tomorrow were too worn to be reissued someone might wonder at

the coincidence of a theft one day and a deposit the next. A leavening

of good condition currency would allay that suspicion.

He seemed to have covered everything. He allowed himself to relax for a

moment. I've done it again, he thought: I've won. A laugh of sheer

triumph escaped from his throat.

Now to supervise the details. He had better go down to the vault to

provide reassurance to his no-doubt-bemused staff. And he wanted to see

Cox and his crew off the premises fast.

Then he would phone Ellen.

ELLEN HAMILTON had been at home almost all day.

The shopping trip she had told Felix about was invented. she just needed

an excuse for going to see him. She was a very bored woman. The trip to

London had not taken long: on her return she had changed her clothes,

redone her hair, and taken much longer than necessary to prepare a lunch

of cottage cheese, salad, fruit, and black coffee without sugar. She had

washed her dishes, scorning the dishwasher for so few items and sending

Mrs. Tremlett upstairs to vacuum-clean. She watched the news and a soap

opera on television; began to read an historical novel, and put it down

after five pages; went from room to room in the house tidying things

that did not need to be tidied; and went down to the pool for a swim,

changing her mind at the last minute.

Now she stood naked on the tiled floor of the cool summerhouse, her

swimsuit in one hand and her dress in the other, thinking: If I can't

make up my mind whether or not to go swimming, how will I ever summon

the willpower to leave my husband?

She dropped the clothes and let her shoulders sag. There was a

full-length mirror on the wall, but she did not look in it. She took

care of her appearance out of scruple, not vanity: she found mirrors

quite resistible.

She wondered what it would be like to swim in the nude. Such things had

been unheard-of when she was young: besides, she had always been

inhibited. She knew this, and did not fight it, for she actually liked

her inhibitions--they gave to her lifestyle a shape and constancy which

she needed.

The floor was deliciously cool. She was tempted to lie down and roll

over, enjoying the feel of the cold tiles on her hot skin. She

calculated the risk of Pritchard or Mrs. Tremlett walking in on her, and

decided it was too great.

She got dressed again.

The summerhouse was quite high up. From its door one could see most of

the grounds--there were nine acres. It was a delightful garden, created

at the beginning of the last century; eccentrically landscaped and

planted with dozens of different species of trees. It had given her much

pleasure, but lately it had palled, like everything else.

The place was at its best in the cool of the afternoon. A light breeze

set Ellen's printed cotton dress flapping like a flag. She walked past

the pool into a copse, where the leaves filtered the sunlight and made