‘Is he really related to Alice?’ Bonatti asked.
‘No, that’s another thing. He said he was my first wife’s nephew, but I certainly don’t remember him. You don’t think he could have just made that up to get on board, do you?’
Bonatti’s face darkened, the laughing bonhomie of the genial host replaced by a murderous hardness. ‘I’ll get him checked out,’ he said. ‘If it is me he’s after, he’ll wish he’d never been born.’
‘Let me know what you find out, would you? I’d be interested to know what he’s up to.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that, Ross,’ Bonatti said, ‘and thanks for tipping me off.’
Ross smiled with satisfaction as Bonatti excused himself and hurried away, saying he had a phone call to make.
If he knew Ricky and his associates, Wiseman was as good as dead.
By two that afternoon, the subject of their deliberations had just crossed to the north side of Lake Lucerne on a car ferry, following a five-hour drive via Milan from Monaco. After disembarking, David drove the final few miles into the lakeside resort of Weggis, and parked his hire car on the quay near an open-air bandstand where a three-piece orchestra was playing Strauss.
The scene could have come straight from the lid of a chocolate box. The flowerbeds, magnolias, palms and fig trees paraded a palette of colors in the warm September sunshine while a paddle steamer glided gracefully past on the tranquil lake against a backdrop of snow capped mountains. It was as beautiful and peaceful a place as he had ever seen, so he sat for a while listening to the orchestra and soaking up the afternoon sun, trying to relax.
He’d been looking forward to this trip to Europe for years, since before Aunt Freda had died in fact. While she was over in New York with them, just after his father’s death, she’d promised him a vacation at her chateau, or Schloss, as she called it, on the lake. But she’d died before he was able to come.
He could remember vividly how upset and disappointed he’d been, when a few months after her visit his mother had received a letter from Aunt Freda telling them that she was to be married to an English nobleman, Sir Ross Webley of Hertfordshire.
She’d sounded really happy and excited in the letter, and he’d been bitterly jealous. Looking back later, he’d realized it was just a silly schoolboy infatuation, but at the time, he’d been deeply in love with his glamorous rich aunt, and he hated the thought of losing her to another man.
Then, not long afterwards, they’d received another letter, this time from Aunt Freda’s lawyer here in Weggis, regretfully informing them that she had died from a heart attack whilst at her new husband’s estate in England. His mother had been very upset by Freda’s death and by the fact that they had not been left anything in the will, especially since Freda had been sending them money regularly and had promised to pay for David’s college education. She’d been sure there was something fishy about her sister-in-law’s death, but there’d been nothing she could do about it. David remembered how he’d cried for a week, then vowed that one day, when he was a man, he would go to Europe and find out what really happened to her.
But without Freda’s help, the following years had been tough, working his way through college, then finding a job and supporting his mother. He’d more or less given up the idea of ever getting to Europe when the chance of a trip at the Bureau’s expense had come up. He’d arranged to fly home a week after the rest of the team so that he could take his long awaited European vacation. Having his return airfare covered by the Bureau left him with just his hire car and accommodation to pay for the week, which he figured was a pretty good deal.
He’d intended to look Webley up when he got to England and couldn’t believe his luck when he’d found out the Englishman was going to be in Monaco at the same time he was there. He’d managed to arrange an invitation to the party on the rich Italian guy’s yacht through the embassy, but had been badly disturbed by the reception he’d been given by his uncle. It had been preying on his mind ever since.
He realized now, after thinking about it all morning, that he’d been very naïve. Aunt Freda had been such a wonderful person, he’d just assumed that the man she’d chosen to marry would be wonderful too. He’d built up a picture in his mind of Sir Ross as an elderly gentleman, living on a large country estate in regal fashion, who would accept the nephew of his dear departed wife as a long lost family member and invite him to stay.
Instead, his uncle had turned out to be a swarthy, smooth, rather petulant playboy, much younger than he’d expected, with the same guarded, nervous look in his eye as the hundreds of corrupt businessmen he’d dealt with during his time at the Bureau. Webley, he decided, was definitely a man with secrets that needed looking into.
By the time the orchestra finally packed their instruments away, David was thoroughly relaxed. He took a stroll around the town, and suddenly realized that he’d never been in such a peaceful, clean place in all his life. The people were happy and friendly, the children were well behaved, there was no litter or graffiti, no dog’s mess on the sidewalks, no gangs of kids hanging around making trouble, nobody who looked like he wanted to rip your head off. Walking the narrow streets, he felt completely safe for the first time in his life. This place, he thought, is the absolute antithesis of New York. No wonder Aunt Freda loved it so much.
It was after five when he finally made his way back to the car and drove two hundred yards along the quay to the waterfront hotel where he’d booked a room in advance. The Beau Rivage Hotel would normally have been way out of his price range at over two hundred dollars a night, but he’d decided that since he would only be here in Weggis for one night he would live in style, in memory of Aunt Freda. He pulled through the gates into the small graveled car park and was just getting out of the car when a wizened old man in a porter’s uniform approached saying, ‘Guten Abend, mein Herr.’
David couldn’t speak a word of German. ‘You speak English?’ he asked hopefully.
The old man smiled, ‘We all speak English here at the Beau Rivage, sir. Can I take your suitcase?’
David didn’t think the old man looked strong enough to lift the heavy case, but handed it over anyhow, and was surprised to see him carry it up the hotel’s steps and into the reception area with ease. Inside, a pleasant receptionist, who also spoke perfect English, greeted him and had him fill in a registration form before handing his room key to the porter.
While they were riding up in the lift, David wondered if the old man might know anything about Aunt Freda, so he asked, ‘Do you live here in Weggis?’
‘Yes sir, I have lived here all my life. It is a very beautiful place.’
‘It sure is,’ David replied. ‘I had an aunt who came from these parts, name of Freda von Alpenstein. Did you ever hear of her?’
‘You are the nephew of the Baroness?’ the old man asked incredulously. ‘From New York?’
‘That’s right! How did you know?’
‘I worked at the Schloss Alpenstein as chauffeur to the Baron and Baroness for many years,’ he said fondly. ‘When the Baroness came home from America after her brother had died, she spoke of nothing but her fine American nephew and how he would soon be coming to visit. I did not think it would take you twenty-five years to arrive!’
David was choked. So she’d really meant it about the vacation! And he couldn’t believe his luck, actually finding someone who knew her. He followed the porter out of the lift and down the hall to his room. Once inside, the old man put the suitcase down, and going to the balcony doors, opened them wide beckoning David to follow him out. The balcony overlooked the lake, which now had a golden hue on it from the setting sun. A pair of pure white swans glided by on the mirror flat water creating V shaped bow waves that glistened like fire as they caught the dying rays of the sun.