Despite what Turner had said, Helene Pierce equated wealth with intelligence. Smart people made big money; that was a given. Now, seated in the colorless living room of Ramon Schnabl's minimalist apartment, she stared at his dark glasses and wondered what secrets those cheaters concealed. This little man in his tight, shiny white suit could pass as a Palermo pimp, but he was, she knew, a Croesus who would never be listed in the Forbes 400.
"What a pleasure to see you again, dear," he said in his bloodless voice. "I was surprised-delighted but surprised to hear from you. Does Turner know you're here?"
The question was so sudden and sharp that Helene was startled. "No," she said, "he doesn't. I thought it best not to tell him."
Schnabl nodded. "I certainly shan't," he said, no hint of humor in his tone. "You wish to discuss something concerning Turner?"
"And you," Helene said.
He waited, patient and silent, sipping his chilled Evian water.
"You know, of course," she said, wishing desperately for a cigarette, "that Turner is involved with Felicia Starrett." "I am aware of their relationship." "I'm afraid it may be a problem," Helene said. "A problem? Felicia or Turner?"
"Both. She is totally hooked, and trying to control her is beginning to affect Turner's judgment. And not only his judgment but his personality, even his physical appearance. To put it bluntly, Ramon, the man is falling apart." "I am extremely sorry to hear that, dear. I wish only the best for Turner, just as I do for you. Are you suggesting that his behavior is becoming somewhat, ah, erratic?"
"It's come to that," Helene said, lifting her chin but never taking her stare away from those tinted glasses. "But I think Felicia is the more immediate danger. She's irrational. She trashed Turner's apartment. And when she crashes, she's completely psychotic."
"What a shame," the little man said, sighing. "The price we pay for our pleasures. Well, this is disquieting news, dear. Have you any suggestions as to how this distressing situation may be remedied?"
Helene took a deep breath. "Did you know Clayton Starrett is getting a divorce?"
"I have heard something to that effect." "He wants to marry me when his divorce is final." Schnabl showed no surprise. "I see. And do you wish to marry him?"
"Yes. I mention this personal matter only to convince you that if you should decide to eliminate Turner… from your plans," she added quickly. "If you should decide to eliminate Turner from your plans, I wanted you to know that it need not affect the Starrett deal. I can control Clayton."
"And why should I want to, as you say, eliminate Turner?"
"Because he is going through a very bad time with Felicia. It has changed him. He is not the man he was six months ago, or even six weeks ago. He is no longer dependable. And, of course, Felicia represents an even greater threat. There is simply no telling what that insane woman might do. Another factor you may wish to consider: If Turner was out of the picture, you would save his share of the Starrett take. I assure you I have no desire to inherit it. Clayton is making quite enough for the two of us."
"You are not only a lovely woman, dear, but you are wonderfully shrewd. I like that."
Helene started to speak, but Schnabl held up a hand to silence her. He turned his blank stare toward the bleached oryx skull hanging above the cold fireplace. They sat without speaking for a few moments.
"I think not," Ramon said finally, turning his head toward Helene again. "The timing is not right. As you may or may not know, Turner is presently engaged in setting up an operation in New Orleans similar to the Starrett arrangement. It is important to me that this project be completed and brought on-line. Then we have discussed a third organization headquartered in Tucson, Arizona, which is rapidly becoming an important distribution center. No, my dear, I'm afraid I cannot grant your request."
"It wasn't a request," Helene said stonily. "It was merely a suggestion I thought would be to your benefit."
"And yours, too, of course," Schnabl said. "I do appreciate your concern, and I shall certainly keep a close watch on Turner's behavior. If, as you say, he has become unde-pendable, then I may be forced to revise my decision. But for the time being, I intend to take no action. Sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry about," Helene said. She stood and gathered up hat, gloves, purse, coat. "I just thought you should be aware of the true situation so you might act in your own best interest."
Finally, finally, he smiled: a horrible grimace, a death's-head grin. "We all act in our own best interest, dear. It's the mark of a civilized man. And woman," he added, staring at her.
She cabbed home to her apartment, furious but controlling it because she had already prepared a fallback scenario in case Schnabl couldn't be manipulated. He couldn't, and now she would have to do it herself. She was not daunted by that prospect.
Her spirits rose when the concierge handed her a package that had just been delivered by a messenger from Starrett Fine Jewelry. Helene hugged it to her breast in the elevator; she knew what it contained.
That night she and Clayton were going to attend a charity dinner-dance at the Waldorf, the first time they would be out in public together. Helene had bought a new evening gown: a strapless sheath of lapis-hued sequins. And Clayton had promised to lend her a necklace from Star-rett's estate jewelry department.
"Remember, it's only a loan," he had said, "for one night. It has to be returned to the store-unless some woman at the party will kill for it and can come up with the two million five it costs. In which case you get a commission."
"I understand," Helene said.
She tore open the package with trembling hands, lifted the lid of the velvet case, caught her breath. It was a magnificent strand of ten splendid sapphires, each gem set in a pyramid of diamonds, the pyramids linked with 18K gold. Helene guessed the total sapphire weight at about 75 cts. and the diamonds at 50 cts.
She took off jacket and blouse and clasped the necklace about her throat. It was beautifully designed, and lay flat and balanced on her bare skin. She stood before the mirror, turned this way and that, admired the sparkle of the gems, the glow of the gold. This was the kind of adornment for which she was destined. She had always known it. All she had ever needed was a break-and Clayton Starrett was it.
She spent a long time bathing, doing her hair, applying makeup, stepping carefully into the sequined sheath, donning the satin evening pumps. Then she locked that wondrous necklace about her throat and saw in the mirror the woman she had always wanted to be.
She went downstairs carrying a silk trench coat. The stretch limousine was waiting. Clayton was standing alongside on the sidewalk, smoking a cigar. When he saw her, he tried to speak but something caught in his throat. She recognized the longing in his eyes.
"I feel like Cinderella," she said, laughing, "on her way to the ball."
"But midnight will never come," he proclaimed. "Never!"
At the Waldorf, they sat at a table for ten. All the other men seemed to be suppliers to Starrett Fine Jewelry, and they and their wives treated Clayton with the deference a good customer deserved. They were no less ingratiating toward Helene, admiring the necklace, her gown, even the shade of her fingernail polish. She basked.
It was a black-tie affair and, looking about the big dining room, Helene saw nothing but wealth and finery. Flash of jewels. Scent of expensive perfumes. It seemed to be a room without worries, without grief or regrets. This was, she decided, what life should be.
Later, during the dancing, she was introduced to many people: admiring men and sharp-eyed women. She conducted herself demurely, murmured her thanks for compliments, held Clayton's hand and let him exhibit her proudly: his newest and most valuable possession.
The band played "After the Ball" at 2:00 A.M., but it was almost another hour before they had a final glass of champagne, reclaimed their coats, and waited for their limo to be brought around. They returned to Helene's apartment through a soft snowfall that haloed the streetlamps and added the final touch to a fairy-tale evening.
"I'd love to come up," Clayton said huskily, "but I can't. Heavy schedule tomorrow, and besides, I had too much to drink. I better get some sleep."
"Oh Clayton," she said sorrowfully, immensely relieved and gripping his hand tightly, "the first disappointment of a really fabulous night."
"It was super, wasn't it? Darling, you were the belle of the ball. I've never heard such praise. All the guys wanted your phone number, of course, but I told them you were taken."
"I am-with you," she said and kissed him fiercely.
"Oh God," he said, almost moaning, "what a life we're going to have!"
"Do you want the necklace now?" she asked.
"No, you keep it till tomorrow. I'll send a messenger around in the morning. Helene, I love you. You know that, don't you?"
She kissed him again as an answer, then went up to her apartment alone, the collar of her trench coat raised to hide the necklace. She undressed swiftly, realizing she would have to shampoo before sleeping to rid her hair of the smell of Clayton's cigars.
She stroked the necklace softly as it lay on her suede skin. It was an enchantment, an amulet that would protect her from failure and bring her nothing but good fortune.
So bewitched was she by this extraordinary treasure that never once did she remember that it would be taken away by a messenger in the morning.