Errors of Judgment(108)

‘I thought the police were coming? In which case, we’ll all have to stay.’

‘Something tells me not. I think that was just Caspar putting the wind up our Saudi friends. I suspect a deal is presently being brokered, whereby the fat, would-be rapist gets flown home pronto to the House of Saud by his minders, and Caspar is the recipient of a healthy amount of hush money, as is young Svetlana, or whatever her name is.’

‘She’s been attacked and raped, for God’s sake!’ said Julia angrily.

‘Oh, indeed. She may well want to press charges. Then again, once the bruising has died down, by which time Mr Al-Rahman will probably be well out of the jurisdiction and beyond extradition, she may decide that a few hundred thousand is a price she’s prepared to pay for her – let’s face it – dubious virtue.’ He turned to Julia. ‘Come on – no point in hanging round here.’

After they had gone, Anthony trawled the rooms of the suite – Hakim remained pinned down in the living room, where tidying up operations were in progress, the bedroom was still a scene of weeping and agitation – but Gabrielle was nowhere to be seen. Anthony assumed she must have left, but he couldn’t understand why she had left without telling him.

‘Have the police been called?’ he asked Edward.

‘No idea. Only a matter of time, I imagine. Hey, is there anything left in that bottle of champagne over there? Pass it over, there’s a good chap.’

Anthony retrieved his overcoat and slipped out of the building, keying in Gabrielle’s number. If the police were eventually called and decided they needed to talk to everyone, they could always get hold of him. But there was no reply from her phone. It was half one, but he managed to find a cab without difficulty, and headed to Holland Park.

When he reached her flat, he could see no light on. He left the cab waiting at the kerb, and buzzed the bell. But there was no reply. He stepped back out onto the rainy pavement and looked up again at the dark windows. Then he took his mobile from his pocket and keyed in her number again. Still nothing but voicemail. Whatever had happened at the poker game had left her in a state, he now realised, and he probably should have stayed with her. He guessed she had probably gone to her parents, as she occasionally did, and it wouldn’t do to call there at this hour. He would speak to her in the morning.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO




Anthony tried Gabrielle’s mobile several times the next morning, but each time it went straight to voicemail. He assumed she must be at her parents’ house – she’d certainly seemed badly upset by the events of last night, for reasons that weren’t wholly clear – and that she would answer his calls when she felt like it. He had learnt to deal with her occasional bouts of moodiness, and periods of radio silence.

Around half eleven Edward dropped by the flat, a bundle of Sunday newspapers under his arm.

‘God, what a night! I’ve only had four hours’ sleep. Thought you might fancy a spot of brunch to discuss it all. There’s a good place I know in Chelsea. Come on, grab your coat!’

They drove to Chelsea in Edward’s Alpha Romeo convertible. It was a chilly ride, because the soft top was jammed in the down position. Edward explained he kept meaning to get it fixed, but just hadn’t got round to it.

‘So, were the police called?’ asked Anthony, keen to know how matters had developed after he’d left. Above all, he wanted to know if he could expect any fallout from the final, disastrous round of poker.

Edward shook his head. ‘So far as I know, the Saudis are buying their way out of it. Some Arab chaps came and picked up the fat, drunk one, and Caspar brokered a deal between the Saudis and the Russian girls. That may not be the end of it, of course. Turns out he didn’t actually rape her – not that that’s the point, trying to is just as bad – but he did assault her. Keeping it all quiet is going to cost them quite a packet. Is that a parking place up the end there?’

They continued the discussion over bacon, eggs, grilled tomatoes and hash browns, plus champagne cocktails which Edward insisted were necessary to bring about his full recovery. He drank one off straight away, and handed the empty glass to the waitress. ‘Two more of those please, and a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice. So – shame about your poker game. Piers said it was just getting interesting when everything kicked off.’

‘You could say that. I think it was probably just as well for both of us that it ended the way it did.’

‘Rubbish hand?’

‘Actually,’ said Anthony, ‘I was on my way to an ace-high flush. But you know how it is – it’s always possible someone’s holding a better hand. I think last night made me realise I’m not a very good gambler. I reckon I’ll give it a rest. It’s put quite a dent in my finances.’