John knew he was lucky not to be sitting in a prison cell or lying dead. He was alarmed that he had let things slip to the extent that he might have endangered the lives of Michael, Catherine and Mona. Clearly the Company was becoming complacent. The team was out of touch with the times. John did not blame David Kennedy. He blamed himself.
He got David to arrange a team meeting in Paris, everyone travelling separately to evade police surveillance. The meeting itself was held in Le Piano, a restaurant located in the rue Tholoze in Montmartre, at eleven o’clock the next morning. Each member of the team would travel there by taxi after a phone call to their respective hotels.
The owner of the restaurant, who had been recommended by Arthur, closed it to the public after a substantial payment in cash. Outside, Jim and Neil Clark were keeping watch. Nobody could enter the restaurant without being seen by them.
Before he began to speak John studied each member of the team closely. ‘It’s come to my attention that some of you might be under surveillance,’ he began.
‘Are you saying someone has grassed?’ asked William Webster.
‘I have no reason to think so. It’s more likely that the regular pattern of the operation has attracted attention. Ramona was followed the other day. The matter was dealt with. I’m not going into details.’
There was a murmur round the room.
‘Over the last ten years each of you has had more than two hundred and fifty thousand pounds paid to you in bonuses with a similar amount invested with me. You are all wealthy. I regard you as shareholders in the Company. Now, as the Chairman, I want to put an important question to you.’
‘Do we call it a day while we’re still on top?’
The room was completely silent. Then John was bombarded with questions. The team was clearly not ready to retire.
John had come to the meeting without a clear idea of whether to close down the operation or not. He wanted the team to find the solution. Their safety was his main priority, but the huge revenue from the hemp business was a factor he could not ignore. He knew they felt the same.
‘I vote to continue,’ he said after two hours of discussion, ‘but in a different form. We end the Cornish operation as from now, and begin airfreighting both the pressed and processed material as soon as that can be arranged. The existing wholesalers will be informed that we are not in business any more and Ray and Shastri will set up a network of new wholesalers. There will be only twenty‑four deliveries a year.’
He looked round. The proposal would be accepted, he felt.
‘Each of you will have more time on your hands,’ he continued, ‘so I suggest you consider running a shop, restaurant or a pub or whatever you fancy. This will provide an extra source of income, as well as a cover for your income from the Company. Take this suggestion seriously and inform David what you decide and what kind of money you need. It is best the finance is arranged as loans. Any other questions?’
There was silence, and a general nodding of heads. Everyone on the team was relieved the Company was still in existence.
‘As long as the hemp operation continues, no one deals in anything else,’ John said. ‘Especially not hard drugs. These are now becoming more plentiful on the market, but I want a firm promise from each of you not to touch them. If anyone breaks this rule, it will be deemed a breach of our code of discipline and dealt with accordingly and the operation closed down permanently.’
Each member of the team gave their solemn undertaking.
‘Last, but not least,’ John wound up, ‘there is over a million pounds held by the Company on your behalf placed in foreign banks. I want your agreement that this money can be utilised for a long‑term investment which I’d like to put in hand as soon as practically possible.’
No one raised any objection. John Forbes had set up the hemp operation and had done well for them. They trusted him. His proposal was accepted.
* * *
By the end of 1975, John’s decision to change the transportation of hemp from by sea to air had increased their geographical area of operations. A small air transport company had been bought in France. Its official business was the transport of excess cargo for other airlines.
Gradually they found wholesalers abroad and the agreed twenty‑four landings were increased with a similar number abroad.
John was aware that he had to start finding a way to change his life. He wanted to move on to the next phase, – the extending his sphere of influence – using the respectable fronts he had acquired via von Fritzenberg’s bank and Alexander Higginson.
It was a complex task. Maybe it was time he tried to find someone with whom to share the load?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
_________________________
England 1977
After taking over the running of Auto Trade Factors Rose Miller changed from a hard, disappointed woman to a self‑assured, elegant but forceful character. She took all the decisions and rarely involved Arthur. By now there were 150 legitimate car dealer clients on the books, which at any one time had over five million pounds in outstanding loans, secured by unsold vehicle stocks. The company was now an important client of Philip Higginson Investments.
The proceeds from the activities of the criminal clients, to whom Auto‑Trade‑Factors lent money brought in millions of pounds in profit every year. On average, there were two failures for each successful venture, which was what Rose had allowed for. The services of the Clark brothers had been required only occasionally, as Rose’s reputation as charming but ruthless was known to most. Her clients were dangerous men, but they never scared her.
One day, one of her most respected clients asked her for a meeting in the top floor restaurant at the Hilton in Park Lane and introduced her to a thin, stooping Frenchman with a long, narrow face, whose name was Bertrand Boucher. The client excused himself right away and left them together.
Boucher spoke with a French accent and was extremely courteous. He explained that he had been educated as a barrister and had worked as an investigating Magistrate in the St. Germain district of Paris.
‘I want to establish a business relation ship with Auto Trade Factors and you personally, so in stead of just being polite I think I should be quite open about my background,’ he said. Without waiting for an answer he continued, ‘when my wife and my small daughter were killed by some drunken wealthy yappies in Paris two years ago, who just left my family to die in the street, I took the law into my own hands.’
‘Go on,’ Rose said when he hesitated slightly.
‘I made my own investigation and created a contact. When they openly admitted it and brushed off my sadness, I shot them.’
Rose looked at the man, who seemed to have said all he was going to. ‘I’m sure that was a wise decision,’ she finally said.
‘To cut a long story short, the authorities had no proof, but to put a stop to the investigations I agreed not to work in the legal profession ever again.’
Rose studied the man’s narrow features and penetrating eyes. She knew he was far more intelligent than he had led her to believe.
‘I was introduced shortly afterwards to some friends of my brother who desperately needed legal help,’ Boucher went on. ‘As they were in hiding from the law and had no money, and they were looking at fifteen years or more, our arrangement was that if I could keep them out of prison and get them settled with new identities in another country, I would take over their various criminal enterprises.’
Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘Did they go to prison?’
Boucher laughed. ‘No, they work for me now, which perhaps for them is not much better. I am telling you these black events, only because I am trying to make a good impression and because I know you will check everything out.’
By the time he had paid for the lunch, Boucher had not asked any favours or mentioned any business. He had not even said he would contact her. Watching him walk out of the restaurant, Rose was reminded of a schoolteacher out of touch with
reality. His suit, though expensive, was far too large and his shoes were the wrong colour. However, she was impressed by Bertrand Boucher as well as curious.
When he phoned her two weeks later, she flew to Paris and met him and his brother, with whom he shared an expensive apartment. Although Rose was attracted to Bertrand, he never took the initiative. Instead, a friendship was forged between them and Boucher became Rose’s only close ally as well as being the agent for Auto‑Trade‑Factors in Europe.
Because of his calm way of handling inquiries, and her complete trust in him, Rose took on more foreign projects.
* * *
John and Mona met once or twice weekly, without fail. Their relationship had grown to be of immense importance to them. After five years it was still full of love, surprise and sex, and had deepened with time.
Despite this, John was torn by guilt. He felt it was unfair to Michael to put his marriage at risk. He did not want to hurt Catherine, whom he knew suspected him of many things but not infidelity. His mistress had become another reason why he had to change his organisation.
Mona gave an exhibition of her paintings once a year. She now earned enough to make painting her full‑time occupation and had stopped working for Sotheby’s. She anticipated her first New York exhibition within a year. John had taken a growing interest in her work and was impressed with her determination and diligence. He was as pleased and excited as she was when she received good reviews.
Mona resolutely refused to become part of the art scene in London. She never attended the openings of new exhibitions and did not give interviews, guarding her private life jealously. Photographs of her work even had to be taken outside her own studio. This involved moving the large canvasses to the photographer’s.
‘But why not go to this opening?’ John asked her just before an exhibition of her work at a gallery in Vine Street. ‘It would give you valuable publicity. More people would buy and your prices would go through the roof’
‘I just can’t,’ she sighed. ‘My work is too important. One bad review would ruin my confidence and affect my painting.’
John himself attended the exhibition alone, as usual, listening to the admiring comments made by visitors. Nobody knew about his connection with the artist.
* * *
‘I’ve something to say to you,’ he told Mona one evening before leaving the flat. ‘Something important. And please don’t make a big song and dance about it.’
She jerked her head in his direction, but did not flinch. ‘Is this the end of a beautiful relationship?’
‘Of course not.’
Relief flooded her face. ‘Tell me then. I promise to go along with whatever you want. You know that.’
‘This flat....’
‘You want me to move? It’s far too expensive! You shouldn’t pay the rent anyway, now that I’m making good money. I’ve told you so many times...’
‘Stop, stop!’ he silenced her with a kiss. ‘I’ve bought the flat. It’s in your name. You own it. That’s all I wanted to say.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re mad!’
‘It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Now nobody can kick you out. When you’re fed up with me, you can just tell me to get lost. The flat’s still yours.’
‘John, how can you say something like that?’ Mona pulled away from him, shaking her head. ‘How can you afford to give away a flat just like that?’
‘This is the transfer deed,’ he said, carefully not answering and handing her an envelope. ‘Keep it safe.’
‘I can’t believe this.’ Mona drew out the document and stared at it. ‘Why, John?’
‘Just my clumsy way of saying that I love you.’
She gasped and fell into his arms. ‘And I love you for saying that after all these years. I just love you. I do, I do!’
* * *
Catherine never mentioned the possibility of John’s changing career, as she had no idea what he actually did. She did not want to know, dreaded any incursion on her safe, well‑ordered world. By keeping herself and Michael separate from that part of his life, she felt she was safeguarding them from harm.
The Estate’s racing stables were now her full‑time interest and occupation. John had bought four racehorses and she was in charge of them. Together with her trainer and the estate manager she was also responsible for the training of thirty other horses placed with the yard by other owners.
Michael, a cheerful freckled‑faced boy who was eleven, attended the local primary school, though his name was down for Eton if he could be steered through the Common Entrance. His mother privately hoped he would not get in so that he would go instead to Sherborne as a weekly boarder and she would see more of him.
He was taken to school and picked up by his father’s chauffeur in the Estate’s Land Rover. John insisted on it unless he himself was able to be there waiting a little distance away from the many well dressed mothers picking up their children daily. Otherwise Michael was an average pupil, not outstanding in any way. He was good at music, but when Catherine tried to arrange private piano lessons for him, he flatly refused.
John made a point of spending several hours a day with his son. Once a week John had watched him play football in his school team, but Michael had recently lost his place because he was short of breath and found running difficult. The football coach suggested he be checked by their doctor, but nothing was found to be obviously wrong.
After losing interest in football, the boy discovered an interest in fishing. John took him to London and bought all the best rods, lines and flies at Farlow’s, the finest fishing equipment shop, and they regularly went to the river at Black Moor Vale only twenty minutes from the Estate where John had arranged fishing permits. Some Sundays they went to North Point in Weymouth and sat with their rods on the pier, eating sandwiches, crisps and sweets packed by Catherine. John found fishing a very calming occupation and spent the time thinking about his various enterprises. He and Michael rarely spoke to each other on these outings but they knew the time they spent together meant a great deal to each of them.
* * *
On Monday, 6th June 1977, at nearly midnight, after Michael had been allowed to build and set fire to a spectacular bonfire in honour of the Queen’s Jubilee, John was sitting alone on the terrace, a rug tucked about him. Both Catherine and Michael had gone to bed an hour ago. There was complete silence except for the crackle of the dying fire.
He was thinking about a report he had read less than half an hour ago, now lying beneath his hand. A neatly‑bound, forty‑page document, it had been delivered by motorbike courier from Higginson Investments. On its blue cover were the words ‘Mirage Consulting (UK) Ltd’.
He was intrigued. The report was a very encouraging presentation of the company, including bank references, its credit rating from Dunn & Bradstreet and details of its permanent staff, including Roger Doubtree, Managing Director UK, and Erick Elgberg, the Danish owner of the company.
The detailed account it gave of Elgberg’s past was the most interesting part to John. It was surprising that after such a big scandal in a small country, there could be anything good to say about the man, but he was described by words like ‘talented’ and ‘a man of vision’.
John himself had married into the aristocracy and now owned the Cerne Estate. At thirty‑eight years old he had achieved what he’d set out to do: he had become wealthy, had more power than he’d ever expected to wield, but still felt he was living on a knife edge. One wrong step would take him straight on to the front pages, bring the whole of his carefully constructed empire crashing down around his ears with years of prison ahead of him. Then Michael, Catherine and Mona would suffer as much as he would.
This way of life could not continue. It was too hazardous.
John now craved normality yet years ago he had chosen a different path. A change of direction, though.... that was something he felt he could learn to live with.
He now knew what he
wanted: a transformation, a gradual closing down of all his criminal enterprises so that the money could be rechannelled into legitimate business. His personal funds amounted to £26 million and John wanted to put them to constructive use thereby securing personal respectability and above illegitimate power.
To achieve this he needed help. Someone he could trust.
Someone to share the responsibility. Someone highly motivated.
Someone with a special knowledge of business he himself did not possess.
He drummed his fingers on the report.
Maybe – just maybe – the name he needed was right here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
_________________________
San Lorenzo, Knightsbridge, Monday, 27th June 1977.
Over the last week, Erick Elgberg had wondered what the representative of a Zurich bank, which apparently owned Higginson Investments, wanted to talk to him about over lunch at San Lorenzo.
When he arrived at the bustling restaurant in Beauchamp Place, at the heart of the chic shopping district where Andrea loved to flourish her credit cards, his host was already waiting.
Erick knew Philip Higginson well after having been a client of the investment house for nearly a year, but this man was a stranger to him. He had his back to Erick as he approached the table, but even so his first impression was of someone who exuded quiet authority. As Erick’s shadow fell over the table, the man rose and turned to offer his hand. He was a good six inches shorter than Erick yet commanding for all that.
‘Delighted to meet you at last, Mr Elgberg. I’m John Forbes.’
Erick found himself held by the man’s dark eyes as they shook hands. There was something almost hypnotic about them, he thought.
‘Good of you to come,’ his host went on, gesturing to him to sit down. ‘I wanted to meet you as your company has become a major client of Higginson’s.’
Erick nodded, taking a seat. He had decided to say nothing until he knew what this meeting was all about.
‘Shall we order?’ John Forbes passed him the handwritten menu. ‘If you like Italian food, this is the place. The chicken béarnaise is simple but excellent, the wines the best from Italy.’