She was clasping her glass in both mittens, only half listening as he made some joke about blood not being as thick as oil. ‘Who is Harvey Wallbanger, anyway?’ she asked suddenly. D’Arcy-James, who had come up to their table just as she spoke, answered, ‘Probably some dirty old Yank who likes tossing himself off against walls!’ and laughed uproariously. Sarah did not even look at him. Shiva Steiner smiled with oriental blandness.
D’Arcy-James pulled up a chair. ‘Is old Shiva giving you the lowdown on the oil business, darling? Well, I warn you, don’t believe a quarter of what he says. If even that much was true, we’d have the whole Western world declaring a state of emergency. I’ve told Shiva —’ he winked knowingly across the table — ‘that the best thing the West can do is team up with the Russians and take over every oilfield in the Middle East.’
‘You would find nothing to take over but sand,’ Shiva Steiner replied. ‘There are contingency plans to destroy every well and pipeline within twenty-four hours of such an event.’
‘Twenty-four hours, my foot! The wogs take longer to tie their shoelaces — those that wear shoes, that is!’
There was an awkward silence. The waiter returned with Sarah’s fresh drink. Steiner, with a veneer of discreet insult, neglected to ask D’Arcy-James what he was drinking. They were joined by Jocelyn Knox-Partington. ‘Hello, Sarah! Shiva! Wonderful air for blowing away the night before!’ He turned to D’Arcy-James. ‘Feel like being a hero, DJ? Simon and I are doing the Alpspitz after lunch. You on?’
D’Arcy-James’s tough baby face looked up at him. ‘You know Roddy Sampson broke both legs on that run last week?’
‘Yes, but think of all the girls he can get to sign his plasters!’ He raised his hand. ‘Farewell, gang! I must get that damned wife of mine out of the hairdresser’s.’
D’Arcy-James took his leave and followed. When he had gone, Steiner said, ‘Has that man been a friend of yours for long?’
‘Oh, I’ve known him on and off for years,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s a bit of a fool, I’m afraid.’
‘Not a fool. He is merely typical of the society which invades St Moritz for the season. Unfortunately, they do not realize that this is one of the most vulgar places in the world.’
Sarah smiled. ‘That’s not very flattering to us, is it?’ She glanced round the terrace, where most of the tables were now empty except for a few elderly couples swaddled in blankets, and a solitary man in a raincoat and dark glasses who looked as though he had damaged his face skiing.
Shiva Steiner was saying, ‘Last night I saw at once, my dear Sarah, that you have rather more grace than the rest of your friends. I find your company most refreshing.’
‘Thank you, Shiva. But you know D’Arcy-James too?’
‘Yes. Occasionally my work has involved me with him. As you probably know, he is a public relations consultant, and in the oil industry — as in most industries — one is obliged to use such people.’
Sarah sipped her second Harvey Wallbanger, then tilted her head to one side. ‘You don’t mind me being direct, do you, Shiva?’
‘I should be delighted — providing you do not expect me necessarily to give you a direct answer.’
‘I’m not going to sleep with you, Shiva.’
His bland expression did not change; she would have been less disconcerted if it had. ‘My dear young Sarah, I do not wish to sound conceited, but I must inform you that if I want a pretty woman I have only to crook my little finger. It is perhaps a sad reflection on humanity — at least, on the female of the species — but the two greatest aphrodisiacs are wealth and power. When I say wealth, I do not mean the common millionaire with a yacht and a fast car — I mean wealth that can make and break the economies of nations. And I talk of power that is absolute. Power such as that held by Robespierre, of whom it was once said, “He woke in the morning with a whim, and by afternoon it was law”. In the case of a certain individual, that law would have been passed by lunchtime.’
‘Are you referring to yourself, Shiva?’ Sarah asked, with uneasy sarcasm.
‘My dear, I am not a modest man, but you claim too much for me.’
Sarah finished her drink. At the table across the way the man in dark glasses was paying for his coffee. She noticed again his bruised cheek and cut lips; then looked back at Shiva Steiner. ‘You are talking about the Ruler, aren’t you? Why?’
‘Why?’ Shiva Steiner’s thick brown fingers with their winking jewels built tents on the tablecloth. ‘I must make a confession to you, Sarah. I am a man of very humble origins, but everything I have tried my hand at has been a success. And not only in affairs of business. I also have a talent for weighing the value of people — particularly those of the female sex. I have weighed you, Sarah, and I have calculated that you are at least twenty-four carats’ worth.’
The man with the damaged face passed their table, but Steiner did not appear to have noticed him. He was now leaning forward with the air of a player who already has the winning move in sight. ‘You must not misunderstand me, Sarah. If you did, it would be a sad loss — not only for both of us, but for each other. Do I make myself clear, or am I talking in riddles?’
‘Perfectly clear,’ Sarah said calmly. ‘You’re pimping for the Ruler.’
Shiva Steiner
