‘You said she claimed she hadn’t told him anything.’
‘That’s what she said – but who knows? She could be lying.’
‘Well, we’ll deal with that in a minute. But looking at Brougham himself . . . I think you can be sure of him. He’s ambitious – look at the way he’s climbed to the top in a very short time. He came out of nowhere, nobody knows much about him, but one thing is clear – he isn’t too scrupulous. He built his business by some very dodgy methods. It’s never been quite clear where he got his money from; other people, mostly, I suspect. Borrowed from Peter to pay Paul. Juggled balls in the air. I’ve heard whispers that he’s overcommitted, over-stretched.’
Gowrie was startled. ‘You never told me any of this! I thought he was as solid as Fort Knox.’
‘On paper, sure. But I’ve been digging a little deeper while I was over here. His companies all lock into each other, the money moves around from company to company, keep it moving and you never have to prove it’s real money – get the picture?’
Paling, Gowrie breathed, ‘My God! Are you saying he’s broke?’
‘Not necessarily. With these huge conglomerates it’s always impossible to be sure how much of the money is real, and how much is borrowed or just on paper. We’re trying to get into his main computer to find out, but it’s a tough one – he has some genius on the job, locking out everyone who doesn’t have the right password, and that changes all the time, probably. But it can be done, I have computer wizards on my staff too. They’ll get in, if it’s possible.’
Gowrie chewed on his lower lip. ‘The bastard! He pulled the wool over my eyes. Mind you, I suspected he wasn’t totally kosher when I first met him – I had him checked out and his background sounded OK, there was no evidence it wasn’t – no evidence it was, either. But he had plenty of money, and a lot of powerful friends, so I assumed he was OK. I wonder if Cathy knows?’
‘Doubt it. He’s too smart to tell a woman stuff like that. Wise men don’t. Women never can keep secrets, and he’d be afraid she’d tell you.’
Gowrie thought of Emily; she had learnt too much about him, far more than he had ever meant to tell her. She might well have used what she knew, one day, to blackmail him. Beverley was right – you couldn’t trust women.
‘Having his father-in-law become president of the United States would be manna from heaven for him right now,’ Jack Beverley said. ‘So, when the chips are down, he’ll be on your side.’ Beverley gave a dry little smile. ‘But it will cost you, of course – we’ll have to wait to see what his demands are but you can be sure he has his price.’
Looking at him with grim cynicism, Gowrie wondered what his price was; what would Beverley demand in return for all this? Money, power, position? All three, no doubt. Gowrie had been in politics long enough to know that you got nothing for nothing. There was always a price. He had already had to make a string of promises to the men whose money and influence would be backing him for the nomination – they weren’t backing his campaign out of patriotism or party loyalty. They had more selfish motives. Everyone always did.
Gowrie felt them all there, riding on his back, like fleas on a dog: the men he would have to pay back if he ever got to supreme power. They were vampires, they would bleed him white that day; he felt them at his t
hroat, sucking already, and was sickened by it, but he couldn’t pull out of the race, now. He had to win – when he got into the White House it would all be worth it. There was enough gravy in the gravy boat to go round, and with Emily gone that was one less vampire to feed.
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ he agreed flatly. ‘What about Cathy? She ordered your men to stay out, she wouldn’t talk to me on the phone. What if she’s taking the Czech girl seriously? What if she believes that little bitch, and has turned against me?’
Beverley stared into the other man’s eyes, looking for pain or grief, and saw only fear and anger. Had he ever loved the girl the world thought was his daughter? Had she ever mattered to him? Or had she always been just a means to an end? Just the key that opened the door of the Ramsey family bank for Don Gowrie? The thought didn’t bother Beverley, who had served too many political masters to be shocked by anything any one of them did.
He knew the men who clawed their way to top jobs. They were ruthless, amoral, self-centred, hard as nails – but they recognized fact when they saw it, which meant that Don Gowrie would pay up when Beverley put in his bill. That was all that mattered to Beverley.
‘She can’t be stupid enough to chuck away her whole life for some girl she only met today. After all, you’re the only father she’s ever known, and you’ve given her a wonderful life so far – she’s grown up in luxury.’ Beverley would have described himself as a realist; he believed only in what he could see and touch, he did not like or trust human beings. Every man had his price, in Beverley’s view of life. And every woman, too. ‘She’ll play ball once she realizes what she’ll lose if she doesn’t. She’s been brought up as an American, with all the good things of life on tap. Nobody would willingly throw that away just because they discovered they had another family somewhere. People are rational, deep down; they know which side their bread is buttered, you can always count on self-interest as a motive.’ He believed this implicitly.
‘I hope to God you’re right,’ Gowrie said heavily, getting up.
‘I am.’ Beverley had no doubts about his reading of human nature, human motivation. It never entered his head to suggest that Cathy Brougham might love the man she had called Father all her life. Love did not figure in his calculations. ‘Just do as I say and we’ll be OK. The important thing is to isolate the Czech girl. Get your daughter and her husband alone, talk to them, then leave it to us to deal with the Narodni girl. Once you have everyone else squared then we can take her out.’
Sophie woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, trembling. As she sat up, someone came crashing through the door and the light was switched on, blinding her.
She put both hands over her eyes with a cry of shock and fear, disorientated, not knowing where she was or what was happening.
‘What’s wrong? I heard you scream – was someone in here?’ a voice asked, deep and cultured, very English. Anya’s husband, she thought, it must be Anya’s husband. She had seen him last night, but she had been so scared she hadn’t really taken in much about him.
‘No, it wasn’t that, I’m sorry,’ she whispered, still covering her eyes. ‘A bad dream, that’s all, I had a bad dream.’
It had been the usual dream; she had been running through the churchyard, hearing breathing behind her although whenever she looked over her shoulder there was nobody there. Reaching the grave, she knelt down and saw the names on the stone, Pavel and Anya Narodni. Suddenly the earth had bubbled up, its crust breaking, and the child’s hand shot out and grabbed her.
Why did she still keep dreaming that when she knew Anya was alive?
‘I thought someone must have attacked you,’ said the deep voice. ‘That’s a relief, anyway. You’re perfectly safe, don’t worry, no need for bad dreams, no need to be frightened at all.’ He had come over to the bed and bent over her. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about . . . about your mother. But maybe something can be done to save her. Don’t stay awake fretting about it, try to get some sleep.’ He put a hand lightly on her shoulder, pushing her backwards, and she went obediently, lowering her hands and looking up at him.
He was wearing a heavy dark red quilted satin dressing-gown. Under the hem of it she saw matching dark red pyjama-trousers, his feet pushed into red leather slippers. He was a tall man, distinguished, still very handsome, with silvered hair and a strong face. He’s much older than Anya, she thought, old enough to be her father! Why did she choose him instead of Steve? She must be crazy. I know which I would have chosen.
‘Can I get you anything? A glass of warm milk? Some hot chocolate?’
She shook her head, but quiveringly smiled, liking the gentleness in his voice. You wouldn’t expect it, with that tough face.