True (18 page)

After she had unpacked, Isabella lay on the bed, but she couldn't settle. She got up, went out of her room and began to explore the old house.

A light at the far end of the landing drew her and, walking towards it, she was struck by the silence. Apart from the smell of cooking wafting up from the kitchens and the occasional sounds of servants preparing for the evening ahead, the place seemed deserted. A few paces down the corridor she came to a recess, which featured a small collection of curios. Each item was individually lit and when she read the explanatory cards she discovered they were tools of assassination.

The card next to a needle-thin lance explained how it could impale a target's internal organs and be withdrawn without leaving an external mark. Three beautiful fabrics in a glass box were silk garrottes, designed to strangle a victim with minimal bruising. A refrigerated case displayed needle-sharp ice darts of frozen poison, designed to enter a victim's warm body and dissolve. She could tell from the worn handle on the lance and the soiled garrottes that they had been well used. The macabre exhibits were in keeping with the dark house, and she wondered which member of the Kappel clan had collected them. It did not occur to her that they had once been tools of the family's ancient trade, and mat its past members had designed each one.

She walked on past mullioned windows. Through the gloom she could see a lake and, on a raised plateau above the house, some small domed buildings. Eventually she came to an open door, which led to a spiral staircase. She realized this must be the eastern corner tower.

'Hello?' she called. When there was no answer she stepped through the doorway. This area felt different. The stairs were of light oak, with gleaming brass stair rods and a bright aquamarine carpet. The walls were decorated with brilliant contemporary prints. Her spirits rose. When she looked down the spiral staircase to the ground floor, she saw that it serviced a side entrance. She began to climb the stairs.

At the top she stepped through an open doorway and found herself in a circular loft space with a beamed ceiling and a wooden floor covered with Oriental rugs. Photographs of coastal views and undersea scenes dominated the pale walls. The pictures were beautiful, but strangely desolate and devoid of people. In one section of the room a desk and a dining-table stood alongside a sofa, two chairs and a television. In another area, steps led to a mezzanine level, and through the balcony rail she could see a huge bed.

Then she noticed the driftwood-framed photograph on the sideboard by one of the circular windows. Unlike the pictures on the wall, it featured people: a tanned boy with white hair and the bluest eyes stood on a tropical beach with a tall, beautiful woman holding him close.

'Can I help you?'

Startled, she swivelled round. He stood in a doorway to her left, expertly manipulating a black bow-tie. A dressing room and bathrobe were visible behind him. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I was just looking around and the door was open. I called up to see if anyone was in,' she said lamely.

Max wore an immaculate black dinner suit, which accentuated his broad shoulders and set off his lightly tanned skin. He knotted the bow-tie, checked his collar and smiled. 'Don't worry about it,' he said. 'This is just the apartment I use when I'm working in Zurich. My real home's in the South of France, not far from where we met.'

'It's beautiful. Very different from the rest of the house.' She winced. 'Not that the rest of the house is--'

'Grim?' He laughed. Tf you think it's creepy, imagine spending your childhood here. But it's convenient.'

She indicated the photograph of the boy and the beautiful woman. 'Your mother?' She remembered Max telling her in Antibes that she had died when he was young.

He glanced at it. 'Yes.'

There was a knock on the open door behind her. Another man appeared in a black dinner suit, with a garish bow-tie and matching waistcoat. He looked similar to Max, but was slighter and paler, a younger version of Max's father. Watery blue eyes stared at her through rimless glasses. He didn't step across the threshold.

'Isabella, this is Joachim, my half-brother.'

Joachim was staring at her. 'You're honoured, Isabella.' His eyes moved to Max, and a humourless smile curved his lips. 'Max never lets anyone into his eyrie, not his family or even Delphine, his fiancee.'

Isabella's heart jolted. How could Max be engaged? He'd said he didn't 'do love'. She was surprised by how much the news had shocked her.

'I'll see you downstairs, Joachim.'

After Joachim had left Isabella turned to Max. 'Fiancee?'

'Not yet. My father might want her to be, but she isn't.'

'But she is your girlfriend?'

He shrugged. 'I suppose so.'

She headed for the door. 'I'm sorry I intruded.'

'You didn't,' Max said softly. 'I'll see you at seven thirty.'

In the doorway she turned back to him. She had to ask. 'How long has she been your girlfriend?'

He looked directly at her, blue eyesclear and cool. 'Before Antibes.'

AT LEAST NOW SHE UNDERSTOOD. OR THOUGHT SHE DID. TO MAX SHE had been no more than a passionate holiday fling, the other woman, a break from his girlfriend, a moment of madness. As Isabella showered, it felt like she was washing away any vestigial feelings for him, and by the time she had changed into her gown and left the room she felt herself wishing Delphine luck, convinced she would need it. When she met Kathryn and Gisele on the stairs she focused her thoughts on Phoebe.

Kathryn kissed her cheek. 'Do you have any idea what tonight's about, Izzy?'

Isabella brandished the gift-wrapped Swarovski crystal penguin she was carrying. 'I thought it must be a surprise birthday party.'

'Same here,' said Gisele, as they reached the hall.

Kathryn frowned. 'But it's not like she's twenty-one or anything,' she said, and pointed at two women ahead of them. 'So why has her mother flown all the way from the States? She hates flying.'

Phoebe's mother stood outside the library with her younger daughter, Claire, who waved at them. Isabella had last seen Phoebe's sister in Antibes but she hadn't seen their mother since she had left the States over a year ago, and she shared Kathryn's surprise that she had flown over for Phoebe's birthday. Mrs Davenport looked pale and appeared distant as she kissed Isabella and the others before accompanying them into the library.

The library was a grand room with crystal chandeliers and a shoulder-high mantelpiece. Servants in white jackets carried silver trays of canapes and champagne, while the four Kappel men and their partners stood in a line to greet their guests. The overall effect was striking. Not only did all the men look similar but so did their partners. All the women were different shades of blonde. Phoebe was easily the most beautiful, but the others were of a similar type. Delphine was fair and willowy, and even the older woman with the bearded Kappel was attractive. Isabella shuddered to think of her friend becoming one of them.

'Where are all the guests?' Gisele hissed under her breath.

'I think we're it,' Kathryn whispered.

Isabella took a glass of champagne and smiled politely as Max introduced her to Delphine. The way Delphine scrutinized her and gripped his arm possessively made her feel uncomfortable. She moved on to Joachim, then to the bearded man who introduced himself as Klaus, and their wives. The introductions had been formal and vaguely surreal, but not as surreal as the sight of Phoebe standing with Helmut Kappel by the fireplace. He looked different from how she remembered him, younger and more flamboyant. His white hair was cut shorter in a fashionable, spiky style, and he wore a red cravat and cummerbund. Phoebe was rubbing her wrists and Isabella could see faint marks on her skin. As the couple greeted Kathryn and Gisele, Phoebe glanced anxiously at Helmut, as though to check he was still there. She seemed excited but not surprised by the gathering, except when Isabella presented her birthday gift.

'Oh, you remembered, Izzy. Thanks.'

'Of course I remembered. It's your birthday party.' She paused, 'Isn't it?'

Phoebe flashed a knowing smile and Isabella suddenly realized that it was the guests who were in for the surprise.

'What's going on, Phoebe?' Isabella whispered.

Phoebe squeezed her hand. 'You'll see, Izzy. You'll see.'

Isabella wanted to shake her and insist she told her what was going on, but before she could think of acting on that impulse, they were summoned into a cavernous dining room where she found herself sitting between Max and Klaus at a long table laden with crystal glasses, silver cutlery and gilt-edged china. Khaus was polite but cold. He hardly spoke or drank, and kept looking around the table as if he were watching over the proceedings.

As the first course of scallops were served, Helmut rose from his seat at the head of the table. 'Thank you all for coming tonight. I'm sorry for keeping you in the dark about the reason for the party, but because of the media we had to be discreet.' He looked down at Phoebe, on his right. She gazed up at him adoringly. Then he turned to Phoebe's mother, on his left. She looked down at her plate, pale and unsmiling. 'I have an announcement to make. It may come as a shock to some of you, but at my time of life I need to act fast. I've asked Phoebe to marry me and I'm honoured and delighted to say that she has accepted.'

A gasp echoed round the table. Isabella couldn't believe Phoebe hadn't told her what she was planning. She and Helmut Kappel had met only a month ago -- if that. And she couldn't believe Phoebe was being so quiet now. It wasn't like her to defer so completely to someone else. Kathryn had almost spilt her wine and Gisele looked equally stunned. Phoebe's sister was frowning in evident disbelief. The only people to look on impassively were the Kappels and Phoebe's mother. No wonder she had been so tense: she must have known.

Apparently oblivious to the reaction, Helmut continued, "We plan to get married on New Year's Day and we'd like you all to be there. Naturally Phoebe's mother will be the guest of honour. My best man will be my elder son, Max.' Isabella turned to Max, but he was looking straight ahead. How long had he known? Then Helmut looked in turn at Gisele, Kathryn, Claire and Isabella. 'You four are Phoebe's dearest friends, and she'd like you to be her bridesmaids.'

Isabella checked the others' reaction before she could trust herself to look at Phoebe. She knew their thoughts were the same as hers. On the one hand she wanted to shout at Phoebe to come to her senses -- why, when she could have had any man in die world, was she marrying Helmut Kappel? On the other she wanted desperately to support her friend. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her. When she caught Phoebe looking at her, eyes bright and pleading, she smiled and nodded.

She saw Gisele and Kadiryn do the same. Phoebe's sister was still frowning, but eventually even she put on a brave smile. There was a pause, which went on for some seconds, then Isabella stood and did the only thing she could think of doing in the circumstances. She raised her glass, graciously accepted the honour, and toasted the happy couple.

LATERTHAT NIGHT, AFTER THE OTHERS HAD RETIRED TO THEIR rooms, Isabella, Kathryn and Gisele huddled by the fire in the drawing room, trying in vain to work out why Phoebe was marrying Helmut Kappel. Eventually they agreed that although they couldn't fathom their friend's reasons they would stop questioning her motives and give her their full, unconditional support.

Nevertheless, after Kathryn and Gisele had retired to their rooms, and Isabella to hers, Isabella couldn't stop worrying about her friend. She was thinking of Phoebe as she reached the top of the stairs, stepped on to the landing and turned left towards her room. She found herself tiptoeing, lest she disturb anyone asleep behind the doors that flanked the long corridor. She had taken four steps when a sound behind her made her stop.

Someone was groaning in pain.

It sounded like Phoebe.

Goosebumps prickled on her forearms. She turned and looked past the stairs to the centre of the house. A door was ajar, spilling a triangle of light on to the faded red and black runner that ran down the landing. She froze. Then she heard the sound again: a low, rasping whisper, followed by a breathless, pleading 'No. No.'

Isabella's mouth was dry. It was Phoebe. She looked around her at the silent shadows. A clock ticked somewhere downstairs. This is none of jour business, said a small voice in her head. Go to bed. Forget about it.

Then she heard the whimper again and found herself walking towards the triangle of light. As she got closer she recognized the rasping whisper as Helmut Kappel's voice. 'Go on,' he was urging. 'Cry out if you want to.'

'No.' The other voice was muffled but it was definitely Phoebe's.

Isabella's heart was thumping and her palms felt damp. When she reached the door a full-length mirror was visible through the angled opening. The room was obviously a bedroom but at first she didn't grasp what she was seeing reflected in the mirror. Then her jaw dropped.

Phoebe was kneeling face down on the bed, wrists handcuffed to the headboard, evening dress bunched up around her lower back. She was naked below the waist and Helmut Kappel, still in his dinner jacket, was mounting her from behind. With each thrust, he gripped her hair and pushed her head harder into the pillows. His usually pale face was red with exertion and excitement. He stared down at Phoebe with the glassy, intense gaze of an owner savouring a beautiful possession.