True (22 page)

Throughout the last few days he had helped Isabella deal with the police and lawyers, but he had never seen her break down. And although she had accepted his assistance, she hadn't depended on him. When the police had again questioned her to try to ascertain who might have broken into her father's house, she had been calm and helpful. When one of the officers had offered her a tissue, she had said, 'Please don't be kind. I can handle anything but that.'

Max took his cue from her. He became her shadow, but never intruded. He answered her questions and made practical suggestions, but never offered emotional support. After all, what did he know about handling emotion? He might be able to suppress it, but he couldn't harness it as she did.

As the priest concluded the service and the mourners moved to their cars, he sensed Isabella's shoulders stiffen. When Phoebe came up and hugged her, he saw her eyes mist. After his father had escorted Phoebe back to his limousine, a line of well-wishers passed her -- Maria's family, the Trapanis, other relatives and friends. All hugged and kissed Isabella. He understood from the way she bit her lip and didn't speak that this was hard to bear.

When the last mourners had moved to their cars and they were alone by the graves, Isabella glanced at him, lower lip trembling. She looked lost, and closed her eyes, as if to seal in her grief. A single tear escaped. Max stepped closer and instinctively laid a hand on her shoulder. She fell against his chest and held him. He put his arms round her, and felt her body shake.

When he looked towards the cars, he saw his father frowning at him. He didn't know how long they glared at each other, antlers locked, but it was his father who blinked first.

SCHLOSSKAPPEL AND ITS GROUNDS WERE COVERED WITH THICK snow. Helmut's crystal mausoleum pointed up at the sky like an icy thorn. Helmut paced inside the cone, gesturing to the central plinth. 'This is where my body will be displayed, on this revolving plinth, to look down across the lawns.'

Professor Gerhard Heyne removed his fedora, scratched his bald head and stared up at the panes of glass that formed the mausoleum's crystal shell. 'But it's mirrored, photosensitive glass, Herr Kappel. You can't look out.'

Helmut walked over to it and grinned at his reflection. 'I'm not going to need a view when I'm dead. I'm going to be the view. The glass was designed to meet your specifications for protecting my plastinated body from ultraviolet light and extreme temperatures, but it won't stop people seeing into the mausoleum, which is all I care about. Once inside they'll be able to walk round the plinth. And if they want a better view of me, they can walk round the spiral gantry.' He pointed to a metal double spiral staircase that followed the conical glass up fifteen feet then wound down. He imagined a never-ending queue of worshippers waiting to feast their eyes upon him. 'So I'll need to look my best.'

Heyne reached into the large Gladstone bag by his feet and retrieved a disembodied human head. 'When I replace your bodily fluids with my resin compound you will be preserved as you appear in death, but I can match a photographic reference, erase signs of age and disease and make you look younger. How old do you want to appear?' The anatomist raised the head and presented it to him. It belonged to a young male. He was smiling and the eyes radiated life. 'This man was over forty-five when he died, but I smoothed his flesh and reversed the effects of gravity so that he looks in his late twenties. His face is now frozen at that age. For ever.'

'May I touch it?'

'Of course.'

'I thought it would feel waxen, but it doesn't.'

'It's not wax.'

Helmut looked Heyne in the eye. 'However and whenever I die I want to look as I do now. This is important. I don't care if you use artistic licence on other parts of my body, but my face must look exactly as it does now. No cosmetic touches. Nothing.'

'I understand. My laser scanner can measure the contours of your face to within a millionth of a millimetre. What pose do you want your body to adopt?' He reached into his bag again and brought out a digital camera, a laptop and a small pen device on a stand. He powered up the laptop, opened a file and turned the screen to Helmut. It showed a selection of poses: one figure stood erect, arm outstretched, finger pointing purposefully into the distance, as though to the future.

'That one,' he said.

'An excellent choice.' Heyne handed Helmut a sheaf of papers and a pen. 'Before I record your facial measurements, please sign this. It provides authorization and confirms the agreed fee.'

Helmut glanced at the document, checking the text was as his lawyers had agreed, then signed the three copies and handed them back to Heyne.

The anatomist placed his laptop on the plinth and the pen laser next to it. He plugged it into the laptop's firewire slot, and asked Helmut to be still. 'This won't take long.'

He took photographs of Helmut's head from every angle, while the pen laser emitted a harmless blue beam that traced and recorded the contours of his face. The process took less than ten minutes. As Heyne packed up his equipment, the mausoleum door opened. The anatomist did a double-take when he saw Joachim. He wore a heavy overcoat and his shoes were caked with snow.

'My second son,' Helmut said.

'I see the likeness. It's uncanny.'

'Joachim is a true Kappel.'

Joachim beamed with pride as Heyne shook Helmut's hand and left.

'So, Joachim, is everything ready for the wedding?' . Joachim patted the small aluminium case in his right hand. 'With the blood samples Max took from the four clients I've made up all the nature-identical love drugs for the bridesmaids, one temporary and one permanent version for each.'

Helmut's eyes narrowed. 'You've modified the permanent version as we discussed.'

'Yes, Vati.'

'Excellent.' Helmut pulled out his gold cigarette case, flipped it open and offered Joachim a cigarette. He noted with satisfaction that his son's fingers trembled as he took one; he saw it as the rare reward Helmut intended it to be. When he reached across with his lighter and lit his son's cigarette, Joachim's eyes sparkled with almost fanatical adoration. His younger son had always been biddable and hungry for approval, but since Helmut had injected him with the drug, he had been devoted to him, carrying out whatever task he required with unquestioning loyalty and discretion. 'And Venus?' Helmut asked. 'Will you have everything ready for the wedding?' Joachim reached into his aluminium case and brought out a vial of clear liquid. 'It's not powder,' Helmut said.

'No, the vector you requested I use for Venus means it has to be a liquid.' He shook the vial. 'This isn't quite the finished article but it'll be ready for our final review meeting before we fly out.'

'Will it do everything we discussed?'

Joachim nodded. 'I'm combining two tested elements -- a vector I developed at Comvec, and Bacci's NiL Forty-two - so I know Venus will work. The process takes time to perfect but don't worry, Vati, it'll do exactly what you want it to.'

'What we both want it to, Joachim.' Helmut put his hand on his son's cheek and turned his head to the mirrored glass so that both their faces were reflected in it. In the dark glass the subtleties of age were removed and they looked almost identical, like twins. 'Look into the future, Joachim. If you get this right, you could well become my heir. Max might be the older but that doesn't mean he has to take over. And think of what this means for the longer term. You could have the whole world at your feet. Remember, Joachim, you're creating Venus for us, not just for me.'

Joachim was silent for a moment. 'Why did you inject me with NiL Forty-two, Vati?'

Helmut had been wondering when his son would realize. He considered denying it, then shrugged. "Venus is too important. I need your help, Joachim, and I had to be sure of your loyalty.'

Joachim's voice broke, as though he couldn't contain his emotion. 'But you had my loyalty, Vati. You didn't need to inject me. I'm your son. I'd do anything for you.'

'I know.' He patted Joachim's back. 'I'm sorry. I should have trusted you. After all, you were always my favourite.'

'Really?'

'Really. I'm sorry. Are we as one on this?'

Joachim nodded. 'Whatever I prepare for the wedding will meet our objectives.'

'Excellent.' Helmut laid a hand on his shoulder. 'No one must know of Venus. Don't mention it even to Max and Klaus at our review meeting. They might not understand what we're trying to achieve. This is our project.' He paused. Since Bacci's death and the funeral, Max had not only become more distant, he had defied Helmut's orders to stay away from Bacci's daughter. He remembered Isabella watching him having sex with Phoebe. Her shocked face had inflamed him to a level he hadn't known since he was a teenager. 'Speaking of Max, I'm sure your brother knows where his loyalties lie. The Kappel ethos has been ingrained in him. However, he does seem to be spending more time with Isabella Bacci than with Delphine Chevalier.'

'I agree.'

'I'll talk to him, but we should have an insurance policy. For his own good. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

The skin above Joachim's upper lip glistened with perspiration. 'You want me to help Max regain his focus?'

'Yes. We need to show him, once and for all, how fickle and worthless love is.' Helmut pulled his son closer to him. 'Let me explain how I want to do this.'

CHRISTMAS EVE

DR ROBERTO ZUCCATTO, HEAD OF NEUROLOGY AT MILANUNIVERSITY Hospital, was a tall Roman in his fifties with a long nose, pince-nez and doleful eyes. He stopped Isabella in the corridor outside her office. 'I've got good news. The ethics committee have given full approval for the use of Amigo extract in your prosopagnosia trials. As long as your volunteers are fully briefed on the drug's effects, you can start recruiting in the New Year. You should receive the committee's written authorization in the next few days.' He removed his glasses and smiled at her. 'Now, why don't you go home? It's Christmas, and after all you've been through you need rest. You're no use to us exhausted.'

'I'm just going to finish off a few things and then I'll go.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

'Good. Happy Christmas.'

After her father's funeral, the hospital had told Isabella to take some time off and come back when she was ready. She had needed the distraction of work, though, and since she had returned she had thrown herself into it. Concentrating on her research and focusing on her patients' problems took her mind off her own. She was pleased about the ethics committee. She had already received new stocks of the Amigo extract tablets, and begun approaching volunteers, including Sofia's father, for trials in the new year.

However, she couldn't hide in activity for ever. It was Christmas Eve and she would eventually have to go home and be alone with her thoughts. She dreaded Christmas: it was an occasion when families got together and everyone was supposed to be happy. Kathryn and others had invited her for the holiday but she couldn't bear to be in the midst of someone else's family. She would never forget that first Christmas alone with her father after her mother had died. At least this Christmas she had to contend only with her own grief. Phoebe had begged her to stay with her and Helmut, but the bleak Schloss Kappel hadn't appealed, and Phoebe was so preoccupied with her wedding in just over a week's time that Isabella didn't want to impose. In the end she had accepted a Christmas-lunch invitation from Maria's brother and his family. At least she would be with people who understood how she was feeling.

On her final rounds, she looked in on the children's wards, which were decorated with balloons and baubles. As she turned out the lights and said goodnight to the excited children, she told herself it would be good to have Phoebe's apartment to herself. She needed time alone. She had to decide what to do with her father's house.

Eventually Isabella put on her coat and walked to the reception area. There, doctors and nurses wished her a Merry Christmas, and some hugged her. The night looked cold through the glass doors, but Phoebe's apartment would be warm and she had stocked up the fridge. She pulled her coat tight and stepped outside.

She felt fine until she saw her car: the little Fiat was surrounded by empty spaces. Tears welled in her eyes and she realized how lonely she was. She took a deep breath and told herself the moment would pass.

As she resumed walking, a sleek Aston Martin stopped in front of her. She began to move round it but the driver's door opened and Max Kappel jumped out. 'Leave your car,' he said. 'I'm giving you a lift home.'

'But I've--'

He opened the passenger door. There was a coolbox and a hamper on the seat. 'It's Christmas Eve, Isabella. Get in.'

'Thank you, Max, but this isn't necessary. You've been very kind since my father's death and I appreciate all your help, but I'm fine. Anyway, surely you've got your own plans tonight -- with Delphine?'

'I'm not seeing her any more and my plans are to have dinner with you at your apartment. Don't misunderstand me, Isabella, this isn't kindness. It's the act of a selfish man.'

'So I've no say in the matter?'

'Finally the good doctor's getting the idea.' He grinned. 'Now, get into the car.'

When they reached Phoebe's apartment he unpacked the hamper and laid out the contents in the kitchen. They started with caviar and ice-cold Stolichnaya vodka, then moved on to steamed lobster and asparagus tips with a chilled white Meursault, and ended with the most delicious chocolate torte Isabella had ever tasted. Max prepared and served each course with such self-deprecating humour that she caught herself laughing for the first time in weeks.