“Ulster! My God!”
“If you die right now of heart failure, you’ll make fools out of several highly paid assassins.”
The old woman tried to think, tried with all her strength to resist panic. She gripped the back of a chair until the veins in her aged hands seemed to burst from the skin.
“If you’ve come to kill me, there’s little I can do now.”
“You’ll be interested to know that the man who ordered you killed will soon be dead himself. He was stupid.”
Her son wandered toward the french window and checked the latch. He cautiously peered through the glass and was satisfied. His mother noticed that the grace with which he had always carried himself remained but there was no softness now, no gentle relaxation, which had taken the form of a slight aristocratic slouch. Now there was a taut, hard quality in his movement, accentuated by his hands—which were encased in skintight black gloves, fingers extended and rigidly curved.
Elizabeth slowly found the words. “Why have you come here?”
“Because of your obstinate curiosity.” He walked rapidly to the hotel phone on the table with the lighted lamp, touching the cradle as if making sure it was secure. He returned to within a few feet of his mother and the sight of his face, now seen clearly, caused her to shut her eyes. When she reopened them, he was rubbing his right eyebrow, which was partially inflamed. He watched her pained look.
“The scars aren’t quite healed. Occasionally they itch. Are you maternally solicitous?”
“What have you done to yourself?”
“A new life. A new world for me. A world which has nothing to do with yours. Not yet!”
“I asked you what you’ve done.”
“You know what I’ve done, otherwise you wouldn’t be here in London. What you must understand, now, is that Ulster Scarlett no longer exists.”
“If that’s what you want the world to believe, why come to me of all people?”
“Because you rightly assumed it wasn’t true and your meddling could prove irksome to me.”
The old woman steeled herself before speaking. “It’s quite possible then that the instructions for my death were not stupid.”
“That’s very brave. I wonder, though, if you’ve thought about the others?”
“What others?”
Scarlett sat on the couch and spoke in a biting Italian dialect. “La Famiglia Scarlatti! That’s the proper phrase, isn’t it?… Eleven members to be exact. Two parents, a grandmother, a drunken bitch wife, and seven children. The end of the tribe! The Scarlatti line abruptly stops in one bloody massacre!”
“You’re mad! I’d stop you! Don’t pit your piddling theft against what I have, my boy!”
“You’re a foolish old woman! We’re beyond sums. It’s only how they’re applied now. You taught me that!”
“I’d put them out or your reach! I’d have you hunted down and destroyed!”
The man effortlessly sprang up from the couch.
“We’re wasting time. You’re concerning yourself with mechanics. That’s pedestrian. Let’s be clear. I make one phone call and the order is sent to New York. Within forty-eight hours the Scarlattis are snuffed out! Extinguished! It will be an expensive funeral. The foundation will provide nothing but the best.”
“Your own child as well?”
“He’d be the first. All dead. No apparent reason. The mystery of the lunatic Scarlattis.”
“You are mad.” She was hardly audible.
“Speak up, Mother! Or are you thinking about those curly headed moppets romping on the beach at Newport, laughing in their little boats on the sound. Tragic, isn’t it? Just one of them! Just one out of the whole lot might make it for you, and the Scarlatti tribe continues in glory! Shall I make my call? It’s a matter of indifference to me.”
The old woman, who had not moved, walked slowly toward one of the armchairs. “Is what you want from me so valuable that the lives of my family depend upon it?”
“Not to you. Only to me. It could be worse, you know. I could demand an additional one hundred million.”
“Why don’t you? Under the circumstances you know I’d pay it.”
The man laughed. “Certainly you’d pay it. You’d pay it from a source that’d cause a panic in the ticker rooms. No, thank you. I don’t need it. Remember, we’re beyond sums.”
“What is it you want?” She sat in the chair, crossing her thin arms on her lap.
“The bank letters for one. They’re no good to you anyway, so there should be no struggle with your conscience.”