Immediately he was stopped by Reception.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I have an appointment with Ms Feldenchrist,’ he replied, his expression unperturbed.

‘Your name, sir?’

‘She’s expecting me. I’m her seven o’clock appointment.’

The porter hesitated, noting the man’s expensive suit and watch, then asked again. ‘Your name, sir?’

‘Please call the penthouse and tell Ms Feldenchrist her guest is here,’ he replied, holding the man’s stare. ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’

Moments later Emile Dwappa, with his expensive watch and $200 haircut, arrived at the penthouse, ringing the buzzer to be admitted from the escalator reception area into the apartment proper. Above his head a security camera trained its beady eye on him, the blinking of an alarm sensor flickering in a corner. He knew then that his image had been taken and that he would probably also be monitored inside the apartment. Obviously security for Ms Feldenchrist should anything go wrong. But then again, he reasoned, perhaps it would be turned off. After all, she wouldn’t want their meeting to become common knowledge.

Suddenly the door buzzed and he walked in.

‘You’re very punctual,’ a voice said behind him, and he turned to see Bobbie Feldenchrist walking towards him. She had that look only rich women have – an expression of languid arrogance. ‘Please, sit down.’

He did so, facing the windows and looking at the lights on the Chrysler building, thinking about how the remake of King Kong wasn’t as good as the original.

‘I suppose you don’t use your curtains?’ he said, disarming her with a smile.

‘No,’ Bobbie agreed, surprised at his elegant English accent and his expensive clothes. This was no thug off the streets. ‘It’s very good of you to come and talk to me, Mr …’

He had expected her to try and get his name and ignored the hint, moving on to the business in hand. ‘I believe I can help you. I hear you want to adopt a baby.’

She took a long breath, as though putting the reality into words was somehow intensely exhausting.

‘I do.’

‘I can make that happen for you, Ms Feldenchrist.’

Her hands wound around themselves tightly. ‘You know of a child?’

‘A baby boy, yes.’

A cry sounded in her throat and Bobbie glanced away for an instant. ‘Can you bring this child to me?’

‘Of course. In two days.’

Again she made a low sound in her throat, as though she could hardly hold on to her emotions. ‘Where is the child coming from?’

‘Africa.’

‘Where in Africa?’

‘That’s not important.’

She turned back to him to pursue the matter, then winced. His expression had closed off, his charm suspended. In his coldness he was warning her, more effectively than words, that he was in charge.

‘I would like to know something about the baby.’

‘I don’t think,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘that we can do business after all.’

Gasping, she stood up, following him. He was making for the door and then paused, knowing her hopes would be raised when he didn’t leave at once. Slowly he began to walk around the room. One by one he stopped in front of the paintings, his face unreadable, his eyes curious. These were some of the famous Feldenchrist paintings. His research had told him about the Spanish masters in the Feldenchrist Collection and he remembered reading about the painting he was now looking at.

‘Is this a Goya?’

She nodded stiffly.

‘Creepy.’

‘My father liked it.’

‘Do you?’ he asked, smiling.

‘Yes, I do. I like most of the Spanish masters.’

‘Expensive taste,’ he replied, charming her again. ‘I didn’t think there were many of the Old Masters in private collections any more.’

‘Some.’

‘Like in the Feldenchrist Collection?’

She was trying to cover her impatience. After all, he wasn’t here to talk about art. ‘We have a good selection of works. My father collected all his life, and I carried on where he left off.’

‘You enjoy it?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘But it’s not the same as being a mother?’ He paused, staring at a Murillo drawing. ‘How much is this worth?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business—’ At once Bobbie checked her temper, horrified to see that he had taken offence and had moved to the door. ‘Please don’t leave! I’m sorry if I asked too many questions.’

‘You shouldn’t ask any,’ he replied, turning to her and noticing the fine lines around her eyes and the first slackening around the jaw. Time, he thought suddenly, was not on her side. ‘If we do business together, we have to trust each other. I have to trust you and you have to trust me.’

She nodded eagerly. She would have agreed to anything just to prevent him from walking out.

‘Yes, yes.’

‘I can have the baby here on Saturday.’

‘Saturday …’ she repeated, frowning as he handed her a piece of paper.

‘That’s a precaution. Just in case you’re recording my visit …’ Dwappa explained, pointing to one of the cameras. ‘… I thought you might prefer to have the finances remain a private matter.’

She read the amount of money written and laughed. ‘This is absurd!’

‘How much is a baby worth? You have to ask yourself that question, Ms Feldenchrist. Ask yourself how much you want a baby for your “baby shower”. How much you want a little Feldenchrist heir. You don’t want to look like a failure, do you? I mean, you can’t have children naturally, can you? So how embarrassing would it be if you failed to adopt one?’

She took a step back. ‘How dare you!’

‘Dare what?’ he responded. ‘You wanted to meet me. You wanted me to get you a child. I’m offering you that – for a fee.’

‘It’s a massive sum!’

‘Like you haven’t got it.’

Her composure was disintegrating fast. Threatened, she knew she had no choice but to agree. She would pay up and then she would have her child. After that, she could forgot the whole sordid affair. Uncharacteristically, she ducked the reality of her situation. That this man would have something on her for life. That he would have control and the means to exploit her if he chose.

She knew, but she still agreed. ‘All right.’

‘I want the money in cash.’

‘Of course,’ Bobbie replied, hardly able to keep the bitterness out of her tone. ‘Is the baby a healthy boy?’

‘One hundred per cent. I’d like the money when I bring the child here on Saturday.’

She nodded, her voice low. ‘What time?’

‘I’ll call and tell you exactly,’ he replied, ‘and when we’ve concluded our business deal, Ms Feldenchrist, I want you to promise that you won’t say anything to anyone about me. Instead you’ll say that your original adoption went through. It was postponed, that was all. You let everyone think this was the only baby you were ever going to adopt.’ He turned to go, then turned back. ‘It’s very aware of you to adopt a coloured baby. I’m sure you’ll be admired by all of your friends. The Third World needs more people like you.’

She caught the sarcasm in his tone and flushed. ‘I just want a child—’

‘And I just want to fulfil your wish. But remember, never mention me. If you do, neither your name nor your money will save you.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, taking one last look at the paintings which surrounded him. ‘You have a good life. You don’t want to risk that, Ms Feldenchrist …’

She was rigid with shock, all colour going from her lips.

‘So remember this. If you mention me to anyone – if you even drop a hint that I exist – I’ll personally make you sorry you were ever born.’

Frightened, she stepped back, bumping into the settee behind her. In that instant she realised exactly what she had done – that the pact she had made was for life. And she also knew that if she broke it, he would kill her.

30

London

‘I got a call from Ben Golding,’ Duncan said, glancing over at Roma. ‘He’s viewed the remains of the Little Venice murder victim and faxed his report through to your office. Professional, huh?’