There he was on television, standing before Maxim as he had in reality only six months earlier, his hair ruffled by the light breeze, smiling his curious little smile, looking slightly amused, yet detached in a way, but caring and genuine as well. A man capable of warmth and irony and humour.
Maxim felt the tears prick the back of his eyes at the sight of the fallen President as he had been in life. God damn the sons of bitches who did it, he cursed, and slammed his fist into the back of the chair in his fury and grief.
FORTY-SEVEN
‘The phenomenal success of the Allandale Group has certainly been an extraordinary achievement for Maxim, hasn’t it?’ Margot Derevenko said, putting Time down on the table and looking across at her daughter. ‘This article about him is full of accolades.’
Anastasia was silent.
She sat staring out into the lovely garden which her mother had created so painstakingly over the years, thinking what a haven of beauty and tranquillity it was, and right in the heart of Paris. Peaceful, she thought. So very, very peaceful. Anastasia suppressed a sigh, not wishing her mother to ask if something was wrong. It was. She felt so terribly tired, exhausted really, and drained of all energy. She had been feeling like this for the longest time now.
Margot said, ‘Darling, didn’t you hear me?’
Anastasia roused herself, gave her mother a small reassuring smile, but said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I was daydreaming for a moment.’
‘I said the article on Maxim had wonderful things to say about him, and I simply remarked that the success of the Allandale Group is quite extraordinary.’
‘Yes, he’s turned it into a conglomerate of no mean proportions in the past seven years. But it’s also the cross I have to bear,’ Anastasia replied in a flat, dull voice.
Margot looked at her, frowning. ‘What a peculiar thing to say.’
‘It’s at the root of our problems—’ Anastasia began, and stopped with abruptness, regretting the remark immediately.
‘Problems!’ Margot exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in the garden chair. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Oh Mother, I don’t really want to go into it, not now. Please, forget I said it.’
‘I can’t forget it, Anastasia. You haven’t looked well this past year, and your father and I have been worried about you, if you want to know the truth. I was delighted when you said you were going to come and stay with us for a few weeks.’ She squeezed her daughter’s beautiful tapering fingers, and said, ‘Please, can’t you confide in me? We’ve always been such good friends.’ When Anastasia made no response, Margot added, ‘Your father and I feel you haven’t been yourself for ages, but we didn’t think for one moment that you and Maxim had problems.’
‘Perhaps we don’t, Mother, perhaps the problems are all in me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Margot asked, concerned.
‘I feel so tired all the time. Debilitated, actually, as if I’ve been ill. And I don’t seem to have any spark left.’
‘No spark!’ Margot cried, looking at her askance. ‘But you’re only twenty-nine, for heaven’s sake!’
‘I realise it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth. I have no energy, and I’m always depressed these days.’
Margot Derevenko was horrified by this last statement, and she searched her daughter’s pale face, saw at once that she meant what she said.
Sympathy quickly replaced incredulity. ‘Anastasia… darling… you, of all people, have no reason to be depressed. You are young and very beautiful. You have a handsome and charming husband who adores you, one who is a millionaire, who showers you with every possible thing you could want. You have two lovely and clever children, as well as doting parents. Aside from all this, you have a house in Mayfair that is a showplace, a lovely villa in Beaulieu, and an apartment on Fifth Avenue.’ Margot shook her head. ‘If you feel depressed there is obviously something radically wrong. It must be physical. I think you ought to see a doctor.’
‘I don’t need a doctor, Mummy. Frankly, I don’t know what I need.’ Yes I do, she thought to herself. I need Maxim to be the way he was when we were first married. I can’t reach the man he has become. He’s not the same any more. I don’t know why, but we’ve lost each other.
‘Sometimes depression is caused by a diet deficiency. What about going to a nutritionist?’ Margot suggested.
Anastasia shook her head.
Margot’s expression became thoughtful, and she reflected for a moment, before saying slowly, ‘Now that both of the children are away at boarding school, perhaps you’re feeling a little lonely.’
‘I don’t think it’s that.’
‘A moment ago, when we were talking about the Allandale Group, you said it was at the root of your problems. Please tell me what you meant, it’s the only way I’ll be able to help you.’
Anastasia turned to face her mother, and when she saw the love and concern and understanding reflected on Margot’s still pretty face, her eyes welled with tears. ‘I am lonely, Mummy,’ she admitted. ‘But not so much for Alix and Michael. It’s Maxim I miss. He’s away so much. Constantly flying to New York and back, it’s been like that since he bought Allandale. And then he’s always rushing to Hong Kong or Australia or Los Angeles. Or somewhere. It seems to me that in the past six years he’s never been off a plane, and all because of Allandale. Oh it’s the basis of his empire, and he’s turned it into a huge success. But at what price?’ She sighed, and finished in a low voice, ‘The price of our marriage, in my opinion.’
‘Anastasia… I just didn’t realise…’
‘His work comes first. It always has and it always will. It consumes him entirely. I know that now. He’s not normal, you know, not when it comes to work. Maxim is beyond a workaholic, Mother. They haven’t invented a name for a person who works the way he does. Around the clock. He has the stamina of a bull, and the most extraordinary concentration.’
‘I don’t suppose one can fault him for working hard. However, it does strike me that he may be neglecting you.’
‘I suppose he is. Even when he’s with me he is preoccupied, lost in his business deals. Oddly enough, he’s grown more withdrawn in certain ways, and less communicative,’ Anastasia confided.
‘But you’ve always said he was intensely private, a complicated man.’
‘That’s true.’ Anastasia laughed hollowly and shook her head. ‘Believe it or not, after ten years of marriage I still don’t know what makes Maximilian West tick.’
‘Anastasia dear, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but perhaps you should travel with Maxim more than you have been doing. Go to New York more frequently, especially now that both children are away at school.’
‘My going to New York doesn’t change very much, Mummy. Maxim leaves for the office very early, and stays there until all hours at night, and our social life is non-existent. I’m bored when I’m in New York. I don’t have that many friends there. And anyway, Maxim’s liable to fly off to Los Angeles for a day or two, and then I’m left to fend for myself.’
Margot gave Anastasia a pointed look, and said quietly, ‘Are things… are things all right between you? I mean in the bedroom… sexually?’
‘If you’re asking me if we still sleep together, the answer is yes, we do. Maxim is a very physical man, and passionate, and we do make love. Not as frequently as we once did though, even when he is at home.’
‘I see,’ Margot muttered, sounding and looking suddenly worried. ‘You don’t think there could possibly be another woman, do you?’ she finally ventured.
Anastasia shook her head vehemently.
‘Are you sure he doesn’t have a mistress in New York?’
‘I doubt it. Oh look, Mummy, maybe he’s had one-night stands, after all he’s away from me a great deal, more than half the year these days. But I don’t think he’s emotionally devious—’ She stopped, bit her lip, glanced away.
Margot exclaimed, ‘What is it? You’ve thought of something, haven’t y
ou? Or, more correctly perhaps, someone.’
‘Not really. It’s just that a few weeks ago, when Maxim was in London, I saw him going into Claridge’s with a woman. I was passing the hotel in a cab at the time. I suppose he was taking her to lunch.’
‘Who was it, do you know?’
Anastasia hesitated then blurted out, ‘Camilla Galland.’
‘Camilla! But she just remarried recently!’
‘Don’t be naive, Mother. The marriage vows don’t preclude adultery.’
‘So you are suspicious?’
‘I don’t know. No, that’s not true. I do know, and I absolutely give Maxim the benefit of the doubt. I don’t think there’s anything between him and Camilla Galland. It’s just that… well, to be honest, I’ve never really liked her, perhaps because I’ve never trusted her.’
‘Don’t start building a case against Maxim, just because you saw him entering Claridge’s with her. Nobody knows men and their curious—for want of a better word—ways than I do. But ever since you married Maxim I’ve felt he was true blue.’
‘Before we married you thought he was a womaniser.’
‘That was then. This is now.’ Margot leaned forward and squeezed her daughter’s arm. ‘I’m going to help you to organise your life with Maxim better, and when he comes to the south of France next month, you must tell him you plan to travel with him more often.’
‘Oh I don’t know…’ Anastasia’s voice trailed off.
‘Are you suggesting he will object?’
‘No, but—’
‘No buts with me, Anastasia. The matter is settled.’
***
It was a hot hazy day, and earlier Maxim had thought the mistral might be blowing up, but now the light wind had dropped and the air was balmy, the sea as calm as a pond.
He stood on the terrace of La Serenissima, their villa in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, between Nice and Monte Carlo, looking out across the long stretch of green lawn, past the swimming pool to the Mediterranean beyond.
The month he had spent here with his family had done him good, he knew that. He felt renewed and relaxed, full of vigour and vitality. It had given him enormous pleasure to spend time with Anastasia and the children. After a whole week of doing nothing but lazing around, he had made several quick trips to London to deal with business, but had returned almost immediately. From that point on, he had stayed put, had worked from his office here at the villa. It had just recently been completed for him, and it contained all the latest equipment, and was a communications centre as well, which enabled him to stay in touch with his offices in London, New York, Paris and Hong Kong.
‘Daddy! Daddy!’
He turned his head, looking to his right, saw Alix coming up the steps from the beach, swinging a towel and waving to him. Her brother Michael, carrying a bucket and a fishing net, followed closely on her heels.
How beautiful his children were.
At nine Alix was a young replica of Anastasia, blonde and fair of complexion, with the same delicate bone structure as her mother. But her eyes were a smoky grey-green, and she was going to be much taller than Anastasia. She was long and lean and coltish, and something of a tomboy at this age. Eight-year-old Michael was his boy, so like him in appearance with the same dark hair and eyes, his build, and Michael would probably be as tall as he was when he grew up. Both children were bursting with health, energy and high spirits; to Maxim they seemed more beautiful than ever with their young limbs tinted golden-brown by the summer sun.
They ran across the lawn, came to a stop at the terrace and stood looking up at him.
Michael said, ‘Are we going to have the bonfire, Dad?’
‘Of course,’ Maxim responded, suddenly remembering the papers he had to destroy. At breakfast he had told Michael he was going to have a fire, since the shredding machine in the office was broken.
‘Can I help too, Daddy?’ Alix asked, gazing at him appealingly, her head on one side, wrinkling her nose prettily.
‘Why not? And I think we’d better get to it well before lunch. I don’t think your mother will appreciate a smoky atmosphere when we’re eating, especially since guests are coming. Why not go and find Marcel, tell him to start the fire, and I’ll go and get the papers. I’ll meet you at the back near the little wood in a few minutes.’
‘Come on!’ Michael said to his sister, and the two of them sped across the lawn at breakneck speed, heading for the back of the villa.
Maxim pivoted and walked inside, crossing the main salon, thinking how cool and restful it was, with its mixtures of pale colours—creams and whites and cafe-au-lait, with a hint of peach here and there, and touches of lime green. Anastasia had inherited her mother’s flair for decorating, and the entire villa was a tribute to her immense taste and talent.
He ran into her in the marble hall, and caught his breath, thinking how lovely she was this morning.
She wore a pale-green cotton sundress with a niched strapless bodice, a large cream-coloured straw hat with poppies and cornflowers clustered on the band, and carried a basket of flowers. Her golden hair, lighter than ever from the sun and sea, hung down her back almost to her waist. Her arms and shoulders were tanned golden, as were her legs, her feet in sandals.
She smiled at him.
He smiled back. And then he reached for her, brought his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, held her very tightly. Nuzzling his face against her neck, he mumbled, ‘You’re very Peach Melba-ish this morning, honeybunch.’
She laughed and pushed him away gently. ‘I have flowers to arrange.’
‘And I have papers to burn.’
‘See you at the pool for a swim before lunch?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, winking at her.
They went in different directions. Anastasia walked along the corridor to the kitchen,—Maxim veered to his left and hurried into his office. He had been placing the papers in two huge shopping bags for days, and he picked these up and took them out to the back of the house.
Alix and Michael were waiting for him, and Marcel, the gardener, had already started the fire. The four of them stood around it, and Michael and Alix fed the papers into the flames.
‘Why are you burning them, Daddy?’ Alix suddenly asked.
‘Because they’re confidential,’ Michael answered before Maxim had a chance to respond.
‘Yes, I know. But why not simply lock them up in the safe, Daddy?’ she asked, addressing her father.
‘There are too many, to begin with, Schatzi. And secondly, I don’t need them any more. Rather than having them floating around, it’s better to destroy them like this, or in the shredder.’
‘I see,’ Alix said, and added, ‘Because you don’t want anybody else to see them or get them, isn’t that right?’
‘Smart girl,’ Maxim said, squeezing her bare shoulder.
‘She’s the smartest girl I know,’ Michael announced, sounding proud. ‘In fact, she’s so smart, Dad, we might even take her into the business with us.’
‘It’s certainly worth considering,’ Maxim said, his mouth twitching with a hidden smile, realising his son meant this seriously. ‘If Alix wants to come into the business with us, of course she can.’
‘I might,’ Alix said, beaming at them both, rather flattered by her brother’s unexpected compliments. ‘I’ll have to think about it. I haven’t really made up my mind about a career yet.’
Maxim and Michael exchanged knowing masculine glances, and went on burning the papers.
***
Later that morning, after he had made his business calls to London, Maxim went swimming with the children in the pool. He adored them, enjoyed being with them, and they reciprocated his feelings; there was a bonding between the three of them which was very special.
When Anastasia came down to the pool an hour before lunch, she stood at the edge, watching them cavorting in the water, smiling indulgently.
‘Aren’t you coming in, Mummy?’ Alix cried, bobbing up and down next to
Michael, holding a large rubber ball in her hands.
‘Yes, Mums, come on in!’ Michael yelled, beckoning.
‘I don’t think I will, not at the moment, angels,’ Anastasia said, and walked over to one of the poolside lounging beds. Taking off her towelling robe, she threw it over the back of the chaise, sat down and picked up Nice-Matin, began to read it.
‘Do you feel all right, Stassy darling?’ Maxim asked a few minutes later, standing in front of her, looking down with a worried frown.
‘I’m wonderful, but not up to pool antics, suddenly.’
He flopped down onto the chaise next to hers, and stretched out his long legs, put his hands underneath his head, stared up at the clear blue sky. ‘Isn’t this weather glorious? And hasn’t our holiday been simply marvellous this year?’
‘Yes, it has,’ she answered, turning to him, giving him a wide and loving smile. She thought: Thanks to you. The holiday has been perfect because you have been with us most of the time, and not so preoccupied as in the past few years. The whole of July had been exceptional in every way, as far as Anastasia was concerned. She had not been as happy as this in the longest time, not since before Maxim had purchased the Allandale Group.
Lifting her newspaper, she began to read it again, her heart light, her mind at peace.
Maxim closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his body. The sun was like a tonic to him; he could not get enough of it, and the one regrettable thing about England was the poor weather.
His mind turned to the new company he was about to form. He was going to call it West International. It was to be a holding company for future takeovers and acquisitions, and there were quite a few of those on the horizon. One company in particular. One he really wanted, planned to go after.
He was about to make the big leap into the truly big time.
The mere idea of it excited him in a way that nothing else did. In a sense, business was his aphrodisiac. He knew that only too well, and it was something he could not change in himself. If only Anastasia could understand this.