She hung up slowly, and found that Rhys was watching her.
"The sharks smell blood," Rhys said.
The afternoon was filled with phone calls. Alec telephoned. "Elizabeth, did you see the story in the newspaper this morning?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "The Wall Street Journal was exaggerating."
There was a pause, and then Alec said, "I'm not talking about The Wall Street Journal. The Financial Times has a headline story on Roffe and Sons. It's not good. My phones haven't stopped ringing. We're getting heavy cancellations. What are we going to do?"
"I'll get back to you, Alec," Elizabeth promised.
Ivo called. "Carissima, I think you'd better prepare yourself for a shock."
I'm prepared, Elizabeth thought wryly. "What is it?"
Ivo said, "An Italian minister was arrested a few hours ago for accepting bribes."
Elizabeth had a sudden feeling of what was coming. "Go on."
There was a note of apology in Ivo's voice. "It wasn't our fault," Ivo said. "He got greedy and he was careless. They caught him at the airport, trying to smuggle money out of Italy. They've traced the money to us."
Even though Elizabeth was prepared for it, she still felt a shock of disbelief. "Why were we bribing him?"
Ivo said matter-of-factly, "So that we could do business in Italy. It's a way of life here. Our crime was not in bribing the minister, cara - it was in getting caught."
She sat back in her chair, her head beginning to pound.
"What happens now?"
"I would suggest that we meet with the company attorneys as quickly as possible," Ivo said. "Don't worry. Only the poor go to jail in Italy."
Charles called from Paris, his voice frantic with worry. The French press was full of Roffe & Sons. Charles urged Elizabeth to sell the company while it still had a reputation.
"Our customers are losing faith," Charles said. "Without that, there is no company."
Elizabeth thought about the phone calls, the bankers, her cousins, the press. Too much was happening too quickly. Someone was making it happen. She had to find out who.
The name was still in Elizabeth's private telephone book. Maria Martinelli. It brought back long-ago memories of the tall, leggy Italian girl who had been a classmate of Elizabeth's in Switzerland. They had corresponded from time to time. Maria had become a model and she had written to Elizabeth that she was engaged to marry an Italian newspaper publisher in Milan. It took Elizabeth fifteen minutes to reach Maria. When the social amenities had been disposed of, Elizabeth said into the phone, "Are you still engaged to that newspaper publisher?"
"Of course. The minute Tony gets his divorce, we're going to be married."
"I want you to do me a favor, Maria."
"Name it."
Less than one hour later Maria Martinelli called back. "I got that information you wanted. The banker who was caught trying to smuggle money out of Italy was set up. Tony says a man tipped off the border police."
"Was he able to find out the name of the man?"
"IvoPalazzi."
Detective Max Hornung had made an interesting discovery. He had learned that not only was the explosion at the Roffe and Sons laboratory set deliberately, but that it had been caused by an explosive called Rylar X, made exclusively for the military, and not available to anyone else. What intrigued Max was that Rylar X was manufactured at one of the factories of Roffe and Sons. It took Max only one telephone call to learn which one.
The factory outside Paris.
At exactly 4 P.M. Herr Julius Badrutt lowered his angular figure into a chair and said without preamble, "As much as we would like to accommodate you, Miss Roffe, I am afraid our responsibility toward our stockholders must take precedence."
It was the kind of statement, Elizabeth thought, that bankers made to widows and orphans before they foreclosed their mortgages. But this time she was ready for Herr Badrutt.
"...My board of directors has therefore instructed me to inform you that our bank is calling in the notes on Roffe and Sons immediately."
"I was told I had ninety days," Elizabeth said.
"Unfortunately, we feel that the circumstances have changed for the worse. I should also inform you that the other banks you are dealing with have reached the same decision."
With the banks refusing to help her, there would be no way to keep the company private.
"I'm sorry to bring you such bad news, Miss Roffe, but I felt that I should tell you personally."
"You know, of course, that Roffe and Sons is still a very strong and healthy company."
Herr Julius Badrutt nodded his head, once. "Of course. It's a great company."
"Yet you won't give us more time."
Herr Badrutt looked at her for a moment, then said, "The bank thinks your problems are manageable, Miss Roffe. But..." He hesitated.
"But you don't think there's anyone to manage them?"
"I'm afraid that is correct." He started to rise.
"What if someone else were president of Roffe and Sons?" Elizabeth asked.
He shook his head. "We have discussed that possibility. We don't feel that any of the present members of the board have the overall ability to cope with - "
She said, "I was thinking of Rhys Williams."
Chapter 38
Constable Thomas Hiller of the Thames Marine Police Division was in terrible shape. He was sleepy, hungry, horny and wet; and he could not decide which was the greatest of his miseries.
He was sleepy because his fiancee, Flo, had kept him awake all night, fighting; he was hungry because by the time she was through screaming at him, he was late for duty, and he had had no time to pick up a bite; he was horny because she had refused to let him touch her; and he was wet because the thirty-foot police boat on which he was traveling had been built for service, not comfort, and a rising wind was driving the rain into the small wheelhouse where he stood. On days like this there was bloody little to see and even bloody less to do. The Thames Division covered fifty-four miles of river from Dartford Creek to Staines Bridge, and ordinarily Constable Hiller enjoyed patrol duty. But not when he was in this shape. Damn all women! He thought about Flo in bed, naked as a pouter pigeon, her large tits waving up and down as she yelled at him. He glanced at his watch. Another half hour and this miserable tour would be finished. The boat had turned and was headed back toward Waterloo Pier. His only problem now was deciding what to do first: sleep, eat, or jump in the kip with Flo. Maybe all three at once, he thought. He rubbed his eyes to force the sleep out of them, and turned to look at the muddy, swollen river pimpled by the rain.