The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor Bradford

drop the documents off at my house tonight, as you suggested, I’ll study them later.’

      Vale also rose, nodded. ‘Yes, I will. And thank you very much for your courtesy and for listening.’ He extended his hand, added, ‘I’m most appreciative, Sir Maximilian.’

      Maxim took Vale’s hand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I really must leave.’ He glanced conspiratorially at Alan, winked, said as an afterthought, ‘I have a dinner engagement and I would hate to keep the lady waiting.’

      ‘I’ll walk you to the lift, Duke,’ Alan said, taking hold of Maxim’s arm in a proprietary fashion, ushering him out. He wanted to get Maxim alone, to ask him what was the matter, what he could do to help.

      

      When Alan Trenton returned to his office a few seconds later, John Vale peered at him myopically. Anxiety underlined his voice, as he asked with some urgency, ‘Well, what did he say?’

      ‘Nothing. At least not about Lister Newspapers and his intentions. He wouldn’t, you know, not even to me. He’s very secretive about his business, always has been. I can tell you for a fact that he shreds every document that passes through his hands. Afraid of leaks, I suppose.’

      ‘Nobody knows him better than you, Alan. What is your assessment? What do you think our chances are?’

      Trenton pursed his lips, pondered briefly. ‘I honestly don’t know.’ He sat down heavily and looked off into the distance, a reflective expression invading his face.

      John Vale followed suit, sat across from Alan Trenton, waiting patiently.

      At length Trenton said, ‘If it feels right to him, he’ll go with it.’

      ‘What do you mean exactly?’

      ‘That’s what Maxim has always said to me … that a deal’s got to feel right. He goes on instinct. Gut instinct. He ignores analysts, reports, valuations, advisers. Gut instinct, that’s what guides him.’

      ‘Do you really believe that?’ Vale sounded doubtful.

      ‘Oh yes, I do! More importantly, Maxim believes it. But what he really means, of course, is that he relies on his experience, his expertise, his great knowledge. Plus his instinctive feel for the particular deal, the particular situation.’

      Trenton picked up his silver tankard, swigged the last of his champagne, looked as if he was mulling something over.

      ‘You asked me what my assessment is, John,’ he went on at last, ‘and it’s this. If Maximilian West feels right about making an offer for Lister Newspapers he will do so. And if he feels wrong, or if he has no feeling about it whatsoever, then he’ll pass. That’s the way he is. Very cut and dried. Precise. It’s his nature. Certainly he won’t keep you dangling. You’ll get a decision, and an answer, very quickly.’

      ‘That’s good to know at least. And by the by, Alan, whatever the outcome is, I’m indebted to you. I don’t know how to thank you for arranging this meeting.’

      ‘Very easily, old boy. Take me to dinner as you promised. Now. I’m starving.’

      John laughed. ‘That makes two of us. I booked a table at Mark’s Club. Let’s stroll over there, and after we’ve dined I’ll leave the papers at Maxim’s house in Chesterfield Hill. He said you’d give me the exact address.’

      ‘Of course.’ Alan pushed himself up. ‘I’ll clear my desk, then we can be off.’

      Vale followed him across the room, hovered about.

      At one moment, he remarked, ‘I hadn’t expected him to be such a handsome man. I’ve seen photographs of him in newspapers and magazines and none of them do him justice.’

      ‘No, they don’t. But then a lot of Duke’s appeal lies in his personal charisma. I don’t suppose you can take a photograph of that.’

      ‘Why do you call him Duke?’ Vale asked curiously.

      ‘After Archduke Maximilian of Austria who became Emperor of Mexico in 1864,’ Alan explained. ‘Maxim was being a bit imperious with me one day at prep school, and I dubbed him that. He thought it was hilarious … anyway, the name stuck.’

      ‘I see. Is it true what they say about him?’

      ‘They say a lot of things … what in particular are you referring to?’

      ‘That Maximilian West cares about only four things. The Prime Minister. The United States. Making money. And screwing.’

      Alan glanced up, started to laugh. Recovering himself after a brief moment, he said, ‘I know he holds Mrs Thatcher in the highest regard, is a great admirer of her policies, especially when it comes to business. And let’s face it, old chap, he’s flourishing under her regime. She’s just had him knighted. Most certainly he loves the United States, he’s been straddling the Atlantic for a decade or so. He spends as much time there as he does here, you know.’

      A mischievous gleam entered Alan’s eyes. ‘And for as long as I can remember, Maxim’s been very intense about making money, and making love to the ladies. Oh yes, he’s a bit of a lady-killer, our Maxim is. As for the ladies, they, of course, find him quite devastating. Drop like ninepins at his feet.’

      ‘All those wives, all those mistresses,’ Vale murmured, a hint of awe echoing. ‘How on earth has he managed to juggle them, and apparently with such adroitness?’

      ‘I wouldn’t know.’

      ‘Haven’t you ever asked him?’

      ‘Good Lord, of course I haven’t! I’ve never had the nerve,’ Alan lied. He had no wish to discuss Maxim’s unorthodox personal life any further with John Vale. He had said enough as it was. Certain things must always remain private. There had been a great deal of gossip about Maxim over the years and he was hardly going to add to it. That would be the worst kind of betrayal.

      I know far too much, Alan thought, dropping his eyes, locking the top drawer of his desk. All those confidences Maxim has shared over the years. And continues to share. But his secrets are safe with me. And he knows that, knows I will take them with me to the grave.

       Chapter Two

      For the second time that evening Maximilian West found himself shaking off a feeling of heaviness as he traversed Berkeley Square, heading back in the direction he had walked earlier.

      Directly opposite Alan Trenton’s office building, on the other side of the plane trees in the park in the middle of the square, was number forty-four. This was his destination. Here, in the basement of the beautiful old house, was one of the most exclusive nightclubs in Europe – the famous Annabel’s.

      Founded in the summer of 1963 by Mark Birley, and named after his wife Lady Annabel, from whom he was now divorced, it was the chicest of watering holes for the rich and famous, where the international jet set rubbed shoulders with movie stars and magnates and members of the British royal family. For the past twenty-six years it had remained very much the in spot, yet it had now gone beyond being merely fashionable. It had become legendary. And it was Maxim’s favourite place to dine in London.

      Within minutes of leaving Alan’s office, Maxim was nodding to the uniformed doorman who hovered outside, ducking under the green awning and hurrying down the flight of steps into the club.

      A bevy of familiar, smiling faces greeted him as he entered, and after shedding his trenchcoat he went over to the reception desk where Ted was waiting to welcome guests, as he was most nights of the week.

      Maxim accepted Ted’s quietly-spoken congratulations, exchanged pleasantries with him, signed the book, sauntered through into the bar-sitting room. Glancing quickly about, he saw that it was still relatively empty, and he took a small table in the corner, to one side of the brightly-burning log fire.

      A