Love Conquers All Page 8

  Chapter 5

  “Hello, Talia, good of you to come on time. Goldberg is waiting for you.”

  “Dan! What are you doing here?” Talia was flabbergasted. It was Dan Malhi who greeted her at the entrance to the sumptuous suite at the London Ritz Hotel. She did not expect to meet one of her husband’s best friends there, a member of the famous “Jonathan’s Gang.”

  Dan’s customary self-confidence was in evidence here, too. “Don’t you know? I’m his lawyer.”

  Her voice rose. “You are his lawyer, and now you’ve turned against me? How could you do this to Jonathan?”

  He shrugged and began walking. In her high heels, Talia was taller than he. They went through long, dark corridors, stingily illuminated by sconces along the wall.

  Then, fully realizing the injustice and humiliation of her situation, she stopped in her tracks. “Then why didn’t you tell me to bring Jonathan’s own lawyer?”

  “Be quiet, Talia. I am not against you,” he whined in a conciliatory tone. But she stood her ground and refused to budge. “Besides, Goldberg would never have agreed to your bringing a lawyer, so pull yourself together. We’re going in!” He took hold of her arm.

  They arrived outside a broad, closed door. Terror struck her heart. Not a sound could be heard inside, not even a distant murmur. The door looked to her like the portal of some secret cave of horrors that might swallow her whole and leave no trace. If I never leave here, who’s to know what has befallen me? She realized that she had not told anyone the purpose of her trip, not even her mother. “I have a few errands to run in Europe,” she said vaguely, in answer to her questions.

  Dan opened the door, and she followed him, terrified, her long, black dress getting caught in her high heels. What if she were to turn back and flee? She walked on, propelled by some inexplicable force. Was it curiosity, fury, defiance? She hated Dan’s insensitive back, his fine suit, his smooth hair that covered his nape, his feline steps sinking into the thick rug whose pattern was indiscernible in the dim light.

  The room was almost dark. At the far end, in an enormous leather armchair, sat Manfred Goldberg, the famous tycoon. She had met him on many previous occasions, but his presence had always generated a vague sense of fear. She used to attribute it to excitement. After all, Jonathan was this man’s partner and Goldberg was the richest man in the country, not to mention one of the richest businessmen in the world; his ventures spanned the globe, stretching east, west, and north; his assets and wealth were immeasurable. She had always found that he looked like an ancient Mongol emperor come to destroy or annex kingdoms. He was enormous in stature, heavy-set like a sumo wrestler. His bulging frog’s eyes, normally somnolent, became a predator’s when the occasion arose. Despite his advancing age, there was no white in his hair, and, for all his excessive weight, he was noted for his athletic agility and numerous love affairs. Jonathan used to say that Goldberg could turn on the charm when he chose, but Talia had never seen it, although on rare occasions he did smile at her, his bulldog face softening momentarily when asking how she and the children were doing. He even danced wither once at a ball he threw in his fabulous palace in Caesarea, and she remembered the pungent odor that emanated from him, a mixture of cigars, alcohol and expensive leather upholstery.

  Another figure suddenly materialized from the dark. Talia’s eyes, now adapted to the dimness in the room, recognized Manu Ma’or, her husband’s close friend, who now positioned himself next to the aging billionaire. So Manu is here, too, with the other enemies. He and Dan together, she thought a pack of devils. She noticed his shifty eyes and the expression on his face that reflected both embarrassment and craftiness.

  Dan, who now stood on the other side of the armchair looking at her coldly, motioned him to stop.

  What happens now? Talia wondered. The silence was unbearable. Nobody offered her a chair. She was standing precariously in the middle of the dim room, facing the fearsome armchair.

  Goldberg cleared his throat, sending shivers down her spine. Manu and Dan glared at her coldly, like two sentinels at either side of a human sphinx.

  “Everything you have is mine!” a sepulchral voice intoned from the comer. It was a deep, slow, monotonous voice. She had never realized how demonic a human voice could sound. “The shares are mine,” he continued in English, in the same matter-of-fact, insistent tone, with the same hoarse, metallic timbre. “The companies are mine, the secret, numbered accounts, the holdings, all the money and the assets are mine, alone. If you dare stir up any trouble, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  He seemed to have finished saying all he had to say, and through the dimness she could discern his narrowed eyes examining her. He folded his arms on his belly waited.

  “But Mr. Goldberg, if whatever is yours is yours,” she blurted out, “What is it you want from me?”

  “Shut up, idiot,” Manu whispered to her, “you’re better off keeping quiet.”

  “Your husband was my partner, and he betrayed my trust! He deceived me, tricked me, stole from me. Whoever tries to bamboozle me has to pay the penalty; no exception! Do you hear me, Mrs. Schwarz? He paid for it, and so will you. If you dare cross me, that will be your end!”

  Her fear turned to acrid nausea that stated in her stomach and threatened to burst out. I’m trapped in a mob movie, she thought, curbing an urge to turn around and flee. The huge man in the armchair looked like a carbon copy of the Godfather from the movie. That had always been his image in her eyes. When she had confided that to Jonathan, he had laughed. Dan and Manu flanked the man on either side like watchdogs, ready and eager to do his bidding.

  But I haven’t done anything. I have no idea what you are referring to, Mr. Goldberg!” she stammered, her legs threatening to give way under her.

  “Sit down!” he commanded, pointing to a low chair next to him. She approached him and sat down with trembling legs. “Listen, you’re to make a declaration, here and now, that everything is mine. This is what I demand of you.”

  “But, Mr. Goldberg,” she pleaded, “You can’t take everything away from me. I have small children. I promised Jonathan I’d take care of them!”

  The man in the armchair pounded the table ion his side. “Don’t you dare talk to me about your children! He should have thought of them before! And don’t mention your husband’s name to me, do you hear me?” The enormous mound of flesh sank back in the armchair. Manu approached her with resolute steps, as if about to throw her out of the room.

  “You stupid woman, don’t you realize where you are?” Man’s eyes glared at her mercilessly. “Just tell him he’s right, that you’re giving up everything, everything! It’s for your own good, don’t you get it?!” His voice sounded like the hissing of a serpent.

  The hugeness and silence of the room seemed to close in on her. Goldberg looked as if he had fallen asleep. Talia wanted to get up and flee, but something stronger than her, outside her, seemed to motivate her. She stood up, walked to the nearest wall and flicked on the light switch. The room flooded with bright light. Goldberg roused himself and shifted uneasily in his chair. He was losing his edge.

  “Get out of here, you scavenging vulture!” Talia bellowed into Manu’s face. “You were Jonathan’s best friend! He gave you everything, everything! He made you, built you up, cultivated you, and this is how you repay him?” She approached him slowly, her nose almost touching his, until she could smell his aftershave, cloyingly heavy. Stunned, Manu recoiled from her. “And you, too, you disgusting hypocrite!” She turned to Dan, “What were you before Jonathan brought you into the group? Who had ever heard of you? You’ll get your come-uppance for this treachery and charlatanism! Yes, you will go to jail, and your children will read in the papers what kind of a man their father really is!”

  She was breathing heavily, surprised at herself. Dan took advantage of the brief pause. “You can call me a traitor, charlatan, and crook all you want, but you’re not going to bring Jonathan back to life, and without him you’re nothi
ng, zero, zilch.” He spoke quietly, all the while throwing nervous glances at Goldberg.

  Talia could feel the anger coursing through her veins and prompting her to continue. She was losing her cool but also her fear. “You villains, get the hell out of here! I have something to say to your boss,” she roared in a voice she hardly recognized. She stood in the middle of the lighted room like a goddess of vengeance, firm and unswerving in her high heels, her long black dress draping around her like a halo.

  The billionaire now sat up erect in his armchair, bulldog face contorted with fury. To her surprise she realized that his anger was not directed at her. Manu and Dan, trained to recognize the slightest change in their master’s mood, exchanged embarrassed looks and hastened to leave the room, like two chastised dogs, with their tails between their legs. Their hurried steps were muffled by the shaggy rug, and the door closed behind them almost soundlessly.

  She should have savored her triumph, but instead she felt dejection and misery invading her heart like two enemy spies. Jonathan had never prepared her to be a widow, she thought wearily. But he had been right; she was no longer the goody-two-shoes from Haifa. She looked at Goldberg, who eyed her curiously and waited. In the harsh glare, he suddenly looked ancient and tired, his hangdog features almost pathetic. Talia straightened up, regaining her self-confidence. It dawned on her that throughout the entire session, she had not been asked to sign a single document. The suite must be bugged from wall to wall with listening and recording devices. It was only a hypothesis, of course, but she felt quite sure of it. Nonetheless, she did not feel it was right moment to confront Goldberg about it.

  Talia smiled to herself; there was, after all, some benefit to all those detective novels Jonathan had left behind, that she had devoured out of longing for him. She approached the desk, picked up a writing pad and pen, bent to the old man and whispered, “Mr. Goldberg, what do you say to our continuing our conversation by correspondence?”

  After what seemed like an eternity, but perhaps was no longer than half an hour, she came out of the suite clutching the writing pad that contained a document signed by Goldberg and herself. Her hands were still trembling a little. Several robust young men, perhaps guards, perhaps the old man’s henchmen—some of whom she recognized from visits to Jonathan’s office—waited for her in the hotel lobby, their faces boding ill. Samuel, the billionaire’s son and heir, was sitting by himself, sipping coffee. He shot a malicious look in her direction, but did not utter a word. Manu and Dan approached her. “You may think you tricked Goldberg and pulled a fast one on us! But you’ve got another thing coming!” Manu barked at her. “This is only the first act, and you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” Dan followed suit: “You should know that Samuel does not forgive and forget.”