“Sam had his own ideas,” Walther explained. “Your father could be very stubborn.”
Like old Samuel, Elizabeth thought. Never let a friendly fox into your hen house. One day he’s going to get hungry. And Sam had not wanted to sell He must have had good reason.
Ivo was saying, “Believe me, cara, it is much better to leave all this to us. You don’t understand these things.”
Elizabeth said quietly, “I would like to.”
“Why bother yourself with this?” Walther objected. “When your stock is sold, you will have an enormous amount of money, more than you’ll ever be able to spend. You can go off anywhere you like and enjoy it.”
What Walther said made sense. Why should she get involved? All she had to do was sign the papers in front of her, and leave.
Charles said impatiently, “Elizabeth, we’re simply wasting time. You have no choice.”
It was at that instant that Elizabeth knew she did have a choice. Just as her father had had a choice. She could walk away and let them do as they pleased with the company, or she could stay and find out why they were all so eager to sell the stock, why they were pressuring her. For she could feel the pressure. It was so strong it was almost physical. Everyone in that room was willing her to sign the papers.
She glanced over at Rhys, wondering what he was thinking. His expression was noncommittal. Elizabeth looked at Kate Erling. She had been Sam’s secretary for a long time. Elizabeth wished she could have had a chance to speak to her alone. They were all looking at Elizabeth, waiting for her to agree.
“I’m not going to sign,” she said. “Not now.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Walther said, “I don’t understand, Elizabeth.” His face was ashen. “Of course you must! Everything is arranged.”
Charles said angrily, “Walther’s right. You must sign.”
They were all speaking at once, in a confused and angry storm of words that beat at Elizabeth.
“Why won’t you sign?” Ivo demanded.
She could not say: Because my father would not sign. Because you’re rushing me. She had a feeling, an instinct that something was wrong, and she was determined to find out what it was. So now she merely said, “I’d like a little more time to think about it.”
The men looked at one another.
“How much time, cara?” Ivo asked.
“I don’t know yet I’d like to get a better understanding of what’s involved here.”
Walther exploded. “Damn it, we can’t—”
Rhys cut in firmly, “I think Elizabeth is right.”
The others turned to look at him. Rhys went on, “She should have a chance to get a clear picture of the problems the company is facing, and then make up her own mind.”
They were all digesting what Rhys had said.
“I agree with that,” Alec said.
Charles said bitterly, “Gentlemen, it doesn’t make any difference whether we agree with it or not. Elizabeth is in control.”
Ivo looked at Elizabeth. “Cara—we need a decision quickly.”
“You’ll have it,” Elizabeth promised.
They were all watching her, each busy with his own thoughts.
One of them was thinking, Oh, God. She’s going to have to die, too.
CHAPTER 17
Elizabeth was awed.
She had been here in her father’s Zurich headquarters often, but always as a visitor. The power belonged to him. And now it belonged to her. She looked around the huge office and felt like an imposter. The room had been magnificently decorated by Ernst Hohl. At one end stood a Roentgen cabinet with a Millet landscape over it. There was a fireplace, and in front of it a chamois leather couch, a large coffee table and four easy chairs. Around the walls were Renoirs, Chagalls, Klees and two early Courbets. The desk was a solid block of black mahogany. Next to it, on a large console table, was a communications complex—a battery of telephones with direct lines to company headquarters around the world. There were two red phones with scramblers, an intricate intercom system, a ticker tape machine, and other equipment. Hanging behind the desk was a portrait of old Samuel Roffe.