"Is it just Italy?" Elizabeth asked.
"Italy and Spain are the worst. France and West Germany aren't bad. England and the United States are clean."
Elizabeth looked around at all these indignant, moral men and wondered if any of them was involved in the thefts of the patents of Roffe and Sons.
It seemed to Elizabeth that she spent most of her time in airplanes. She kept her passport in the top drawer of her desk. At least once a week there was a frantic call from Cairo or Guatemala or Tokyo, and within a few hours Elizabeth would find herself in a plane with half a dozen members of her staff, to cope with some emergency.
She met factory managers and their families in large cities like Bombay, and at remote outposts like Puerto Vallarta, and gradually Roffe and Sons began to take on a new perspective. It was no longer an impersonal mass of reports and statistics. A report headed "Guatemala" now meant Emil Nunoz and his fat, happy wife and their twelve children; "Copenhagen" was Nils Bjorn and the crippled mother with whom he lived; "Rio de Janeiro" was an evening spent with Alessandro Duval and his exquisite mistress.
Elizabeth kept in regular touch with Emil Joeppli. She always telephoned him on her private line, calling him at his little flat in Aussersihl in the evenings.
She was cautious even over the telephone.
"How are things going?"
"A little slower than I hoped, Miss Roffe."
"Do you need anything?"
"No. Just time. I ran into a little problem but I think it's solved now."
"Good. Call me if you need anything - anything at all."
"I will. Thank you, Miss Roffe."
Elizabeth hung up. She had an urge to push him, to tell him to hurry, for she knew that her time with the banks was running out. She desperately needed what Emil Joeppli was working on, but pressing him was not the answer, and so she kept her impatience to herself. Elizabeth knew that the experiments could not possibly be completed by the time the bank notes were due. But she had a plan. She intended to let Julius Badrutt into the secret, take him into the laboratory and let him see for himself what was happening. The banks would give them all the time they needed.
Elizabeth found herself working with Rhys Williams more and more closely, sometimes late into the night. They often worked alone, just the two of them, having dinner in her private dining room at the office, or at the elegant apartment she had taken. It was a modern condominium in Zurichberg, overlooking the Lake of Zurich, and it was large and airy and bright. Elizabeth was mere aware than ever of the strong animal magnetism of Rhys, but if he felt an attraction for her, he was careful not to show it. He was always polite and friendly. Avuncular was the word that came into Elizabeth's mind, and somehow it had a pejorative sound. She wanted to lean on him, confide in him, and yet she knew she had to be careful. More than once she had found herself on the verge of telling Rhys about the efforts to sabotage the company, but something held her back. She was not ready to discuss it with anyone yet. Not until she knew more.
Elizabeth was gaining more confidence in herself. At a sales meeting they were discussing a new hair conditioner that was selling badly. Elizabeth had tried it, and she knew that it was superior to similar products on the market
"We're getting heavy returns from drugstores," one of the sales executives complained. "It's just not catching on. We need more advertising."
"We're already over our advertising budget," Rhys objected. "We'll have to find a different approach."
Elizabeth said, "Take it out of the drugstores."
They all looked at her. "What?"
"It's too available." She turned to Rhys. "I think we should continue the advertising campaign, but sell it only at beauty salons. Make it exclusive, hard to get. That's the image it should have."
Rhys thought for a moment, then nodded and said, "I like it. Let's try it."
It became a big seller overnight.
Afterward. Rhys had complimented her. "You're not just another pretty face," he had said, grinning.
So he was beginning to notice!
Chapter 26
London.
Friday, November 2.
Five p.m.
Alec Nichols was alone in the club sauna when the door opened and a man walked into the steam-filled room, wearing a towel around his waist. He sat down on the wooden bench, next to Alec. "Hot as a witch's tit in here, ain't it, Sir Alec?"
Alec turned. It was Jon Swinton. "How did you get in here?"
Swinton winked. "I said you was expectin' me. He looked into Alec's eyes and asked, "You was expectin' me, wasn't you, Sir Alec?"
"No," Alec replied. "I told you I need more time."
"You also told us your little cousin was going to sell the stock, and you'd give us our money."
"She - she changed her mind."
"Ah, then you'd better change it back for her, hadn't you?"
"I'm trying. It's a question of - "
"It's a question of how much more horseshit we're going to take from you." Jon Swinton was moving closer, forcing Alec to slide along the bench. "We don't want to get rough with you 'cause it's nice to have a good friend like you in Parliament. You know what I mean? But there's a limit." He was leaning against Alec now, and Alec slid farther away from him. "We did you a favor. Now it's time to pay us back. You're gonna get hold of a shipment of drugs for us."
"No! That's impossible," Alec said. "I can't. There's no way - "
Alec suddenly found that he had been crowded to the end of the bench, next to the large metal container filled with hot rocks. "Be careful," Alec said.