Heirs Book Two: American Lady (29 page)

“My spies tell me that he’s off to have
lunch with a certain ex-patriot newspaper man which can only mean
the two of them are up to no good.” Miles grimaced and leaned
closer to stage whisper, “A number of very interesting unmarked
packages have found their way to the
Sunday Signal
offices.
My sources in New York have revealed that the boxes come from Atex,
a leading American manufacturer of newspaper computers.”

“Your feminine intuition tells you there’s a
story here?” St John raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Oh, deal lord no! I don’t want to print
anything outrageous like the truth! I’d just like to have something
to hold over our Too-Mean for a raise boss’s head should I need it
in the future.”

“Introducing computer technology to reduce
staff and decrease costs sounds logical,” St John nodded
sagely.

“Well, that’s obvious. After all half the
British printers only work a partial shift and yet get paid a full
week’s wages. Twomey’s always complaining he can’t find any staff
when he walks into the plant. But it’s exactly what Mr two-timing
Twomey plans are that interests me,” Miles retorted waspishly.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” St John said
apologetically, casting another dubious glance at the filing
cabinets.

“Our lovely librarian Ruth has gone to lunch
so you’re all on your little lonesome in the research department.
Unless you want help from me?” Miles smiled coyly. “I think I know
these files inside out and upside down.”

“I should probably wait for Ruth to return,”
St John said, reluctant to reveal any information to Miles.

“Nonsense, old man, I can help you. I know
everything about this morgue. For instance, it contains
articles from various information sources
concerning newsworthy individuals and topics, not just our own
dear
Sunday Signal
, gathered together by subject headings. Some of the subject
files also contain related documents, such as press releases,
journalists’ unedited typescripts, as well as government reports.
Our Ruth is an excellent librarian and has arranged these files
alphabetically and chronologically within three major series:
biographical, by subject such as accidents, and organizational such
as trade unions.
So where do you want to
begin?”
Miles clasped his hands and raised his puppy dog
eyes expectantly towards St John.

“I suppose biographical then,” said St John
uncomfortably.

Miles eyes sparkled with interest as he led
St John towards the north end of the room. “Biographical material
is kept in the green filing cabinets. What letter?”

Did Queen Leigh come under Q or L? St John
wondered. Or was it T for Taylor? And what about Nikki, was that C
for Cassidy or D for Dominique Devereau? He was going to have to
ask and probably excite the curiosity of one of Britain’s biggest
gossips. Miles’ expressively long, inquisitive nose twitched again.
“Queen Leigh and Nikki Cassidy? What juicy tidbit are you
following, St John?” He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers stuffed
into a manila folder.

“Voilà – the enchanting Queen Leigh,” Miles
handed over his booty.

“That’s not as much as I was expecting,” St
John said happily.

“My dear boy, that’s just for this year.” He
pulled the filing drawer out fully and rifled his fingers along the
contents. “There’s a lot more where that came from. How far back do
you want to go?”

Maixent sighed, rubbing his tired eyes and stretching
back in his chair. He had had a long and exhausting week
intervening between Lorenzo and his father as they negotiated the
contract for the documentary. Lorenzo had flown into Altobello on
top of the world after playing in the finals of the Queen’s Cup and
narrowly losing out to the English team. He and King Henri had
spent a stimulating and satisfying week haggling over the details
of the documentary contract, with Maixent arbitrating on some of
the finer clauses.

“Your father is a hard negotiator,” Lorenzo
had said to Maixent at the conclusion of the bargaining session.
Lorenzo was smiling so Maixent knew that he was happy with the
outcome. King Henri had been blustering around the palace during
the week but he was also very pleased with himself, and with
Maixent’s diplomatic intervention both men felt they had got the
best of the bargain.

“Well, that’s another hurdle out of the way
of your forthcoming marriage,” Henri said. “And how is that young
lady of yours?”

“Busy,” had been Maixent’s terse reply.

In fact, he had no idea what was going on in
Charley’s life. Apart from a brief phone call when she first landed
in New York and which she had cut short, claiming jet lag had hit
her hard, he had not spoken to her. Ruefully, he felt he was
growing a close relationship with the Cassidy’s housekeeper, Poppy,
who kept him informed in great detail about Oscar’s temperament and
habits until he couldn’t wait to get off the phone. But despite
dozens of messages and a brief, very stilted conversation with
Declan, he was no wiser about Charley’s silence.

Once more he combed through the details of
their last day together in Altobello. She had met him at his office
and they had dined in his small boardroom because he couldn’t spare
the time to leave the palace. Of course, he had realized at the
time that she was unusually quiet, but he was also feeling under
pressure and depressed about their parting. Had he missed some
vital hint? Damn it, he was going crazy trying to decipher clues in
her behavior. Why wouldn’t she talk to him? After all it wasn’t as
if he could jump into the Audi and drive over to her house.

Concerned and frustrated with the situation,
he had buried himself in Operation Aut vincere aut moeurs,
frenziedly picking over the SBT’s monthly reports going back to
January. He had obtained a copy of the March quarterly financial
report and scrutinized it thoroughly, but it had revealed no
further information than what Beaucopas had relayed. The June
quarter would cover the time since Cesare Cabrini arrived in
Altobello, but the financial figures wouldn’t be tabulated and
released until early August.

Maixent was exasperated at being unable to
do more to investigate the SBT but couldn’t afford to alert their
suspicions. For the same reason he couldn’t risk talking with
either Thiérry or his father about the SBT’s business connection
with Cabrini.

Today he had appointments scheduled with
Alain Verhave and straight after with Gilles Beaucopas. It was
going to be another long, hard day. Anouk brought him a sandwich
from the kitchen as he didn’t plan to leave his office.

“Could you try Miss Cassidy’s number again
and put it through if she answers,” Maixent directed Anouk. She
gave him a pitying glance before returning to her desk. It seemed
obvious that Charley had given her boss the flick.

He was perturbed and discouraged at not
being able to crack the laundering operation. Beaucopas had
reported that more money was flowing in and out of the accounts,
while Cesare Cabrini had spent his last week in Altobello touring
around commercial waterfront properties for sale before hopping on
a plane back to Chicago. There was more activity in his Credit and
Commerce International account and the amounts of the deposits and
withdrawals were substantial – the deposits came from various
American and Panama sources but the withdrawals were always in
cash. What was the man doing with his money?

Maixent was convinced Cabrini was part of
the Mafia operation but they needed evidence to support his hunch.
Once he had that he would allow Beaucopas to call in Interpol. With
Maixent’s blessing Beaucopas had flown surreptitiously out of
Altobello to Chicago to continue the investigation on Cabrini’s
home turf. This afternoon he would report on his findings.

At two thirty Anouk announced Alain
Verhave.

“Any word from New York?” Maixent asked
before Anouk could usher the Minister of State into his office. She
shook her head.

The mettlesome Frenchman swaggered into
Maixent’s office wearing his Giorgio Armani charcoal pin-stripe
suit, a freshly laundered pale gray shirt and a conservative navy
silk tie. His smooth, well-shaven face was as bland as ever. He
looked the epitome of a prime minister.

Maixent remained behind his desk, keeping a
discreet distance between himself and the Minister’s notoriously
bad breath. He had obviously just finished a cigarette because he
reeked of tobacco smoke.

“Good to see you, Monsieur Verhave. Please
take a seat.”

Verhave seated himself neatly on the chair
opposite Maixent’s desk, precisely pulling up his trousers as he
crossed his knees so the material wouldn’t bag.

“I understand you have some news for me?”
Maixent was in no mood for pleasantries, his mind still occupied by
the conundrum of why Charley wasn’t returning his calls.

Verhave frowned at the rudeness. “Indeed,
your Highness,” he began gravely. “Given the task of scrutinizing
Mademoiselle Cassidy’s affairs, I commenced with the various
members of her family. The Cassidys have been subject to a number
of rumors and innuendos over the years. Her own father, President
Alexander Cassidy, was a well-known ladies man and both before and
after his marriage he has been photographed with a number of women,
some of them well-known, but none of them more compromising than
dinner at restaurants. Since his death there have been no kiss and
tell biographies. Luckily the 50s and 60s were a more discreet era
where the press were concerned, so there are no outright
scandals.

“There were some rather nasty and
unfavorable stories circulating from the 1970s when Connor Cassidy
was angling for the presidency, but that seems to have blown over
and had no direct impact on Miss Cassidy in any event. With
Congressman Rory Cassidy working towards a seat in the American
Senate in the 1988 election, I anticipate that the family will do
everything it can to keep any scandals at bay.” Verhave paused but
Maixent made no attempt to comment.

“There is the unfortunate living arrangement
of Mademoiselle Cassidy’s mother with the well-known producer
Lorenzo De Angelis, but my enquiries have lead me to believe that
these living arrangements may well be legitimized in the next few
months. Monsieur De Angelis’ marriage to Miss Rhodes-Ross was
recently annulled, leaving both himself and Madam Cassidy free
agents, soon to announce their own engagement.

“On the maternal side, the Armand Devereaux
family appear to have lead squeaky clean lives. Of course, Armand
and his wife Constance are now both dead and Madam Cassidy has no
living siblings which takes care of that branch of the family.

“Mademoiselle Cassidy’s own affairs appear
to have been remarkably low-key over the years. I investigated a
number of avenues including her friends, employers and ex-lovers,
going thoroughly over the list you gave me last month.

“My only reservations are about the partner
she was living with from 1983 to the end of 1984, one Daniel
Whittaker Tonkin. Apparently he has contacted a couple of daily
tabloids and a well-known celebrity magazine offering to give
interviews about his life with a ‘daughter from the Whitehouse.’ My
sources reveal that there are no takers for the money he is
requesting. That, however, may change when news of your engagement
to Miss Cassidy is announced since news of that magnitude is bound
to stimulate more interest.

“However, as both Miss Cassidy and Mr Tonkin
were single during their liaison and Mr Tonkin appears to be unable
to offer any salacious photos of Miss Cassidy, I think any future
‘kiss and tell’ story from that source can be downplayed. It may
even be possible to pay off Mr Tonkin to prevent him talking to the
press if your Highness wishes to proceed down that path.

“All in all, I believe we have done our best
to anticipate every contingency, and I think we can rest easy that
the reputation of the future Princess of Altobello will remain
untarnished,” he finished.

“So I take it that’s a stamp of approval?”
Maixent asked sardonically.

“Of course there are still the medical tests
which Mademoiselle Cassidy will have to undergo, but if they
proceed smoothly I see no reason not to recommend to the Council
that they approve of your choice of wife,” Verhave inclined his
head graciously so the bright Mediterranean sunshine flooding the
office windows reflected on his balding pate.

“Thank you, Monsieur Verhave. I appreciate
your expediency in this matter,” Maixent brought the interview to a
close. Another hurdle out of the way of his proposed marriage. He
dearly wanted to phone Charley and explain how well everything was
going, but it was getting late in New York. Given his recent track
record, she wasn’t going to answer anyway. He damped down his
unease. Was she really so tied up with work, as Poppy kept
reiterating, that she couldn’t spare five minute for a phone
call?

When Gilles Beaucopas arrived for his
appointment Anouk discreetly brought two demi-tasses of strong
black coffee and placed them on the low table by the window.

“Ah, Gilles, what a week, what a week it has
been,” Maixent sighed, sinking into the comfortable chair. His blue
eyes were uncharacteristically blood-shot from long hours pouring
over reports and sleepless nights trying to figure out what the
best course of action was. He really wanted this matter cleared
away before his engagement to Charley was announced. He had
promised that the crisis would be over and he was determined that
would be true.

“Indeed, your Highness. The job of
information gathering is a slow and laborious one, akin to
assembling a jigsaw puzzle.” Beaucopas lowered himself heavily into
the chair opposite his prince.

“What news from America, Gilles?” Maixent
asked, on tenterhooks.