The Account. Roderick Mann

asking all these questions: What had di Marco’s mood been when he left the bank that night? Was he depressed? How long was it before he was due to retire? Had anything happened at the bank to upset him?

      Eberhardt felt he had answered the questions well, but he could tell Cristiani was not satisfied. He had brought up the question of di Marco’s overcoat and the fact that he had left his apartment unlocked.

      Eberhardt had confessed himself baffled.

      What had surprised him was to learn that di Marco had invited Cristiani to dinner in Lausanne – far enough away to ensure privacy. So di Marco was going to tell his story just as he had threatened. And to an investigator of the Federal Banking Commission. Thank God he had acted in time to stop that.

      He reached for his coffee. It had grown cold. He rang for Marte to bring him a fresh cup. He was safe. He was convinced of that. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Chapter 9

      Michael Chadwick had booked a table at the Connaught Grill, a place he often entertained clients and where, Julia knew, he would charge their dinner to expenses. He was in a buoyant mood.

      ‘So how’s the new manager?’ he asked after they had ordered.

      ‘I’ve hardly seen him,’ Julia said. ‘He’s been locked away in his office.’ When the news of Moscato’s appointment to the Burlington had first broken she had considered telling Michael about what had happened in Italy. In the end she had said nothing.

      ‘It won’t affect you, will it?’

      ‘I hope not.’

      He turned to her, a smile on his face.

      ‘If it does I’ve got the solution.’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘Come with me to Australia. We’ll get married there.’

       ‘What?’

      ‘I’ve been offered a job with Myers-Barswell.’

      Julia took his hand. ‘Michael, that’s wonderful.’ Myers-Barswell, she knew, was one of the top advertising agencies in Australia. It was the kind of firm Michael had dreamed of joining. ‘When did all this happen?’

      ‘Yesterday. I had a long talk with them. They know my work well. And it’s big money. So this is a celebration.’

      Julia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m thrilled for you,’ she said. She felt like a hypocrite as she said it. Their relationship had dragged on because she had not had the heart to end it. Now, out of nowhere, the opportunity had presented itself.

      ‘So what do you think?’

      ‘It’s wonderful news …’

      ‘I mean, shall we do it?’

      ‘Michael.’ She laughed nervously. ‘I can’t just walk out on my contract.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘They’d sue me.’

      ‘Come on, Julia. The Sultan adores you. Tell him what’s happened. He’ll understand.’

      ‘You know how I feel about you,’ she said. It sounded weak and she knew it. ‘It’s just –’

      ‘You don’t want to marry me,’ he said flatly.

      ‘It’s not that. It’s just – well, marriage scares me. Not marriage to you; marriage to anyone.’

      ‘So how long are you going to wait?’ he demanded. ‘You’re thirty-three years old. You say you’d like a child. You can’t put it off forever.’

      ‘Please, Michael, let’s not argue.’ She tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice. ‘Everyone says Sydney is terrific. You’ll have a wonderful time …’

      ‘Don’t push so hard,’ Michael said. ‘I get the message.’ He looked up sharply as the wine waiter came over with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. ‘That’s not for us.’

      ‘Compliments of the gentleman over there.’ The wine waiter inclined his head and proceeded to uncork the bottle. Both of them looked across the crowded Grill. In the far window alcove Robert Brand was sitting with a handsome, well-dressed woman who looked to be in her early forties. Brand raised his glass to them.

      ‘Who’s that?’ Michael demanded stiffly.

      Julia felt her face flush. She felt suddenly embarrassed. Why? She had nothing to feel guilty about.

      ‘Robert Brand,’ she said. As the waiter poured the champagne she raised her glass. ‘Go on,’ she muttered. Michael raised his glass with a bleak smile.

      ‘How do you know him?’ he asked.

      ‘He’s at the hotel. I met him at the cocktail party the other night.’

      ‘Who’s the woman with him?’

      ‘No idea.’

      ‘You must have made quite an impression,’ Michael said. ‘This is good champagne.’ He picked up the bottle from the ice bucket and inspected it.

      ‘For God’s sake,’ Julia said.

      ‘Cristal. You did make an impression.’ He let the bottle slide noisily back into the ice bucket.

      Julia realized Brand must have been sitting there for some time. She felt oddly discomfited. They ate their food in silence. Every time she looked up she was conscious of Brand’s eyes.

      ‘Look,’ she said finally, ‘I have a bit of a headache. Do you mind if we have an early evening? I’ve got a heavy day tomorrow.’

      ‘Fine with me,’ Michael said grimly. He raised his hand for the bill.

      On the way out they stopped by Brand’s table to thank him.

      ‘This is Jill Bannister, my personal assistant,’ he said. ‘I believe you’ve talked.’ The good-looking woman nodded. Brand looked at Julia. ‘Should you be here at the Connaught? Won’t that be construed as consorting with the enemy?’

      ‘I didn’t expect to be spotted,’ Julia said. ‘Anyway, it’s a good idea to check out the opposition.’ She smiled faintly, aware of Michael sulking by her side. She tried to bring him into the conversation. ‘This is a favourite place of Michael’s.’

      ‘Well, I trust your dinner was as good as ours,’ Brand said.

      ‘It was.’ Michael’s tone was stony.

      They talked for a moment longer and then went out into Carlos Place. In silence Michael drove Julia back to her flat. At the door he turned to her. ‘You met him just once?’

      ‘I told you. At the hotel.’

      ‘He’s interested in you,’ Michael said. ‘Doesn’t try to hide it, either.’

      He gave her a brief peck on the cheek before driving off.

      When she stepped out of the lift she saw the white box propped against her front door. Inside were two dozen long-stemmed red roses. The card read: Long-stemmed roses for a long-legged lady. R. B.

      Julia took them into the kitchen, put them in a vase and placed them on the hall table. If Michael had come up with me he’d have seen the box, she thought. That’s all the evening needed.

      But how had Robert Brand found out her address? Careful, Julia, she told herself. Careful …

      Two days later Emma walked into Julia’s office with an early edition of the Evening Standard.

      ‘There’ll be hell to pay over this,’ she said.