Twelve Red Herrings Part 6

Rosemary has also been arrested and charged with perjury.

They didn't grant her bail, and Donald informs me that French prisons, particularly the one in Ma.r.s.eilles, are less comfortable than Armley - one of the few disadvantages of living in the south of France.

She's fighting the extradition order, of course, but I'm a.s.sured by Matthew that she has absolutely no chance of succeeding, now we've signed the Maastricht Treaty. I knew something good must come out of that.

As for Mrs. Balcescu - I'm sure you worked out where I'd seen her long before I did.

In the case of Regina v. Alexander and Kershaw, I'm told, she will be giving evidence on behalf of the Crown. Jeremy made such a simple mistake for a normally calculating and shrewd man.In order to protect himself from being identified, he put all his worldly goods in his wife's name. So the striking blonde ended up with everything, and I have a feeling that when it comes to her cross-examination, Rosemary won't turn out to be all that helpful to Jeremy, because it slipped his mind to let her know that in between those weekly .phone calls he was living with another woman.

It's been difficult to find out much more about the real Professor Balcescu, because since Ceausescu's downfall no one is quite sure what really happened to the distinguished academic.

Even the Romanians believed he had escaped to Britain and begun a new life.

Bradford City have been relegated, so Donald has bought a cottage in the West Country and settled down to watch Bath play rugby. Jenny has joined a private detective agency in London, but is already complaining about her salary and conditions. Williams has returned to Bradford and decided on an early retirement. It was he who pointed out the painfully obvious fact that when it's twelve o'clock in France, it's only eleven o'clock in Britain.

By the way, I've decided to go back to Leeds after all.

Cooper's went into liquidation as I suspected they would, the new management team not proving all that effective when it came to riding out a recession. The official receiver was only too delighted toaccept my offer of 250,000 for what remained of the company, because no one else was showing the slightest interest in it. Poor Jeremy will get almost nothing for his shares. Still, you should look up the new stock in the F.T. around the middle of next year, and buy yourself a few, because they'll be what my father would have called 'a risk worth taking'.

By the way, Matthew advises me that I've just given you what's termed as 'inside information', so please don't pa.s.s it on, as I have no desire to go back to jail for a third time.

CHEAP AT HALF THE PRICE.

WOMEN ARE NATURALLY SUPERIOR TO MEN, and Mrs.

Consuela Rosenhelm was no exception.

Victor Rosenhelm, an American banker, was Consuela's third husband, and the gossip columns on both sides of the Atlantic were suggesting that, like a chain smoker, the former Colombian model was already searching for her next spouse before she had extracted the last gasp from the old one. Her first two husbands - one an Arab, the other a Jew (Consuela showed no racial prejudice when it came to signing marriage contracts) - had not quite left her in a position that would guarantee her financial security once her natural beauty had faded.

But two more ciivorce settlements would sort that out.

With this in mind, Consuela estimated that she only had another five years before the final vow must be taken.The Rosenheims flew into London from their home in New York - or, to be more accurate, from their homes in New York.

Consuela had travelled to the airport by chauffeur-driven car from their mansion in the Hamptons, while her husband had been taken from his Wall Street office in a second chauffeur-driven car.

They met up in the Concorde lounge at JFK. When they had landed at Heathrow another limousine transported them to the Ritz, where they were escorted to their usual suite without any suggestion of having to sign forms or book in.

The purpose of their trip was twofold. Mr. Rosenheim was TWELVE RED HERRINGS hoping to take over a small merchant bank that had not benefited from the recession, while Mrs. Rosenheim intended to occupy her time looking for a suitable birthday present - for herself.

Despite considerable research I have been unable to discover exactly which birthday Consuela would officially be celebrating.

After a sleepless night induced by jetlag, Victor Rosenhelm was whisked away to an early-morning meeting in the City, while Consuela remained in bed toying with her breakfast. She managed one piece of thin unb.u.t.tered toast and a stab at a boiled egg.

Once the breakfast tray had been removed, Consuela made a couple of phone calls to confirm luncheon dates for the two days she would be in London. She then disappeared into the bathroom.Fifty minutes later she emerged from her suite dressed in a pink Olaganie suit with a dark blue collar, her fair hair bouncing on her shoulders. Few of the men she pa.s.sed between the elevator and the revolving doors failed to turn their heads, so Consuela judged that the previous fifty minutes had not been wasted. She stepped out of the hotel and into the morning sun to begin her search for the birthday present.

Consuela began her quest in New Bond Street. As in the past, she had no intention of straying more than a few blocks north, south, east or west from that comforting landmark, while a chauffeur-driven car hovered a few yards behind her.

She spent some time in Asprey's considering the latest slimline watches, a gold statue of a tiger with jade eyes, and a Faberg egg, before moving on to Cartier, where she dismissed a crested silver salver, a platinum watch and a Louis XIV long-case clock.

From there she walked another few yards to Tiffany's, which, despite a determined salesman who showed her almost everything the shop had to offer, she still left empty-handed.

Consuela stood on the pavement and checked her watch. It was 12.52, and she had to accept that it had been a fruitless morning.

She instructed her chauffeur to drive her to Harry's Bar, where she found Mrs. Stavros Kleanthis waiting for herat their usual table. Consuela greeted her friend with a kiss on both cheeks, and took the seat opposite her.

Mrs. Kleanthis, the wife of a not unknown s.h.i.+powner - the Greeks preferring one wife and several liaisons - had for the last few minutes been concentrating her attention on the menu to be sure that the restaurant served the few dishes that her latest diet would permit.

Between them, the two women had read every book that had reached number one on the New York Times bestseller list which included the words ^"youth', 'o.r.g.a.s.m', 'slimming', 'fitness' or 'immortality'

in its t.i.tle.

"How's Victor?" asked Maria, once she and Consuela had ordered their meals.

Consuela paused to consider her response, and decided on the truth.

"Fast reaching his sell-by date," she replied. "And Stavros?'

"Well past his, I'm afraid," said Maria. "But as I have neither your looks nor your figure, not to mention the fact that I have three teenage children, I don't suppose I'll be returning to the market to select the latest brand." Consuela smiled as a salade nioise was placed in front of her.

"So, what brings you to London - other than to have lunch with an old friend?" asked Maria.

"Victor has his eye on another bank," replied Consuela, asif she were discussing a child who collected stamps. "And I'm in search of a suitable birthday present."

"And what are you expecting Victor to come up with this time ?" asked Maria. "A house in the country ? A thoroughbred racehorse ?

Or perhaps your own Lear jet?"

"None of the above," said Consuela, placing her fork by the half-finished salad. "I need something that can't be bargained over at a future date, so my gift must be one that any court, in any state, will acknowledge is unquestionably mine.'

"Have you found anything appropriate yet?" asked Maria.

"Not yet," admitted Consuela. "Asprey's yielded nothing of interest, Cartier's cupboard was almost bare, and the only attractive thing in Tiffany's was the salesman, who was undoubtedly penniless. I shall have to continue my search this afternoon." The salad plates were deftly removed by a waiter whom Maria considered far too young and far too thin. Another waiter with the same problem poured them both a cup of fresh decaffeinated coffee. Consuela refused the proffered cream and sugar, though her companion was not quite so disciplined.

The two ladies grumbled on about the sacrifices they were having to make because of the recession until they were the only diners left in the room. At this point a fatter waiter presented them with the bill - an extraordinarily long ledger considering thatneither of them had ordered a second course, or had requested more than Evian from the wine waiter.

On the pavement of South Audley Street they kissed again on both cheeks before going their separate ways, one to the east and the other to the west.

Consuela climbed into the back of her chauffeur-driven car in order to be returned to New Bond Street, a distance of no more than half a mile.

Once she was back on familiar territory, she began to work her way steadily down the other side of the street, stopping at Bentley's, where it appeared that they hadn't sold anything since last year, and moving rapidly on to Adler, who seemed to be suffering from much the same problem. She cursed the recession once again, and blamed it all on Bill Clinton, who Victor had a.s.sured her was the cause of most of the world's current problems.

Consuela was beginning to despair of finding anything worthwhile in Bond Street, and reluctantly began her journey back towards the Ritz, feeling she might even have to consider an expedition to Knightsbridge the following day, when she came to a sudden halt outside the House of Graff. Consuela could not recall the shop from her last visit to London some six months before, and as she knew Bond Street better than she had ever known any of her threehusbands, she concluded that it must be a new establishment.

She gazed at the stunning gems in their magnificent settings, heavily protected behind the bulletproof windows. When she reached the third window her mouth opened wide, like a newborn chick demanding to be fed. From that moment she knew that no further excursions would be necessary, for there, hanging round a slender marble neck, was a peerless diamond and ruby necklace.

She felt that she had seen the magnificent piece of jewellery somewhere before, but she quickly dismissed the thought from her mind, and continued to study the exquisitely set rubies surrounded by perfectly cut diamonds, making up a necklace of unparalleled beauty.

Without giving a moment's thought to how much the object might cost, Consuela walked slowly towards the thick gla.s.s door at the entrance to the shop, and pressed a discreet ivory b.u.t.ton on the wall.

The House of Graff obviously had no interest in pa.s.sing trade.

The door was unlocked by a security officer who needed no more than a glance at Mrs. Rosenheim to know that he should usher her quickly through to the inner portals, where a second door was opened and Consuela came face to face with a tall, imposing man in a long black coat and pinstriped trousers.

"Good morning, madam," he said, bowing slightly. Consuela noticed that he surrept.i.tiously admired her rings as he did so."Can I be of a.s.sistance?" Although the room was full of treasures that might in normal circ.u.mstances have deserved hours of her attention, Consuela's mind was focused on only one object.

"Yes. I would like to study more closely the diamond and ruby necklace on display in the third window."

"Certainly, madam," the manager replied, pulling back a chair for his customer. He nodded almost imperceptibly to an a.s.sistant, who silently walked over to the window, unlocked a little door and extracted the necklace. The manager slipped behind the counter and pressed a concealed b.u.t.ton. Four floors above, a slight burr sounded in the private office of Mr. Laurence Graff, warning the proprietor that a customer had enquired after a particularly expensive item, and that he might wish to deal with them personally.

Laurence Graff glanced up at the television screen on the wall to his left, which showed him what was taking place on the ground "Ah," he said, once he saw the lady in the pink suit seated at the Louis XIV table. "Mrs. Consuela Rosenheim, if I'm not mistaken."

Just as the Speaker of the House of Commons can identify every one of its 650 members, so Laurence Graff recognised the 650 customers who might be able to afford the most extravagant of his treasures. He quickly stepped from behind his desk, walked out of his office and took thewaiting lift to the ground floor.

Meanwhile, the manager had laid out a black velvet cloth on the table in front of Mrs. Rosenheim, and the a.s.sistant placed the necklace delicately on top of it. Consuela stared down at the object of her desire, mesmerised.

"Good morning, Mrs. Rosenheim," said Laurence Graff as he stepped out of the lift and walked across the thick pile carpet towards his would-be customer. "How nice to see you again." He had in truth only seen her once before - at a shoulder-toshoulder c.o.c.ktail party in Manhattan. But after that, he could have spotted her at a hundred paces on a moving escalator.

"Good morning, Mr. ... ' Consuela hesitated, feeling unsure of herself for the first time that day.

"Laurence Graff," he said, offering his hand. "We met at Sotheby Parke Benett last year - a charity function in aid of the Red Cross, if I remember correctly."

"Of course," said Mrs. Rosenheim, unable to recall him, or the occasion.

Mr. Graff bowed reverently towards the diamond and ruby necklace.

"The Kanemarra heirloom," he purred, then paused, before taking the manager's place at the table. "Fas.h.i.+oned in 936 by Silvio di Larchi," he continued. "All the rubies were extracted from a singlemine in Burma, over a period of twenty years. The diamonds were purchased from De Beers by an Egyptian merchant who, after the necklace had been made up for him, offered the unique piece to King Farouk - for services rendered. When the monarch married Princess Farida he presented it to her on their wedding day, and she in return bore him four heirs, none of whom, alas, was destined to succeed to the throne.'

Graff looked up from one object of beauty, and gazed on another.

"Since then it has pa.s.sed through several hands before arriving at the House of Graff," continued the proprietor. "Its most recent owner was an actress, whose husband's oil wells unfortunately dried up." The flicker of a smile crossed the face of Consuela Rosenheim as she finally recalled where she had previously seen the necklace.

"Quite magnificent," she said, giving it one final look.

"I will be back," she added as she rose from her chair. Graff accompanied her to the door. Nine out of ten customers who make such a claim have no intention of returning, but he could always sense the tenth.

"May I ask the price?" Consuela asked indifferently as he held the door open for her.

"One million pounds, madam," Graff replied, as casually as if she had enquired about the cost of a plastic keyring at a seaside gift shop.Once she had reached the pavement, Consuela dismissed her chauffeur. Her mind was now working at a speed that would have impressed her husband. She slipped across the roan, calling first at The White House, then Yves Saint Laurent, and finally at Chanel, emerging some two hours later with all the weapons she required for the battle that .lay ahead. She did not arrive back at her suite at the Ritz until a few minutes before six.

Consuela was relieved to find that her husband had not yet returned from the bank. She used the time to take a long bath, and to contemplate how the trap should be set. Once she was dry and powdered, she dabbed a suggestion of a new scent on her neck, then slipped into some of her newly acquired clothes.

She was checking herself once again in the full-length mirror when Victor entered the room. He stopped on the spot, dropping his briefcase on the carpet. Consuela turned to face him.

"You look stunning," he declared, with the same look of desire she had lavished on the Kanemarra heirloom a few hours before.

"Thank you, darling," she replied. "And how did your day go?"

"A triumph. The takeover has been agreed, and at half the price it would have cost me only a year ago." Consuela smiled. An unexpected bonus.

"Those of us who are still in possession of cash need have no fear of the recession," Victor added with satisfaction.Over a quiet supper in the Ritz's dining room, Victor described to his wife in great detail what had taken place at the bank that day.

During the occasional break in this monologue Consuela indulged her husband by remarking "How clever of you, Victor,"

"How amazing,"

"How you managed it I will never understand." When he finally ordered a large brandy, lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair, she began to run her elegantly stockinged right foot gently along the inside of his thigh. For the first time that evening, Victor stopped thinking about the takeover.

As they left the dining room and strolled towards the lift, Victor placed an arm around his wife's slim waist. By the time the lift had reached the sixth floor he had already taken off his jacket, and his hand had slipped a few inches further down.

Consuela giggled. Long before they had reached the door of their suite he had begun tugging off his tie.

When they entered the room, Consuela placed the "Do Not CHEAP AT HALF THE PRICE Disturb' sign on the outside doork.n.o.b. For the next few minutes Victor was transfixed to the spot as he watched his slim wife slowly remove each garment she had purchased that afternoon.He quickly pulled off his own clothes, and wished once again that he had carried out his New Year's resolution.

Forty minutes later, Victor lay exhausted on the bed.

After a few moments of sighing, he began to snore. Consuela pulled the sheet over their naked bodies, but her eyes remained wide open.

She was already going over the next step in her plan.

Victor awoke the following morning to discover his wife's hand gently stroking the inside of his leg. He rolled over to face her, the memory of the previous night still vivid in his mind. They made love a second time, something they had not done for as long as he could recall.

It was not until he stepped out of the shower that Victor remembered it was his wife's birthday, and that he had promised to spend the morning with her selecting a gift. He only hoped that her eye had already settled on something she wanted, as he needed to spend most of the day closeted in the City with his lawyers, going over the offer doc.u.ment line by line.

"Happy birthday, darling," he said as he padded back into the bedroom. "By the way, did you have any luck finding a present?" he added as he scanned the front page of the Financial Times.

The City Editor was already speculating on the possible takeover, describing it as a coup. A smile of satisfaction appeared on Victor's face for the second time that morning."Yes, my darling," Consuela replied. "I did come across one little bauble that I rather liked. I just hope it isn't too expensive."

"And how much is this "little bauble" ?" Victor asked.

Consuela turned to face him. She was wearing only two garments, both of them black, and both of them remarkably skimpy.

Victor started to wonder if he still had the time, but then he remembered the lawyers, who had been up all night and would be waiting patiently for him at the bank.

"I didn't ask the price," Consuela replied. "You're so much cleverer than I am at that sort of thing," she added, as she slipped into a navy silk blouse.