He hurriedly dialed the Savoy Hotel. “Suite twenty-six.”
“Whom are you calling, please?”
“The Contessa Marissa.”
“One moment, please.”
But even before the operator came back on the line, some terrible premonition told Gregory Halston the disastrous news he was about to hear.
“I’m sorry. The Contessa Marissa has checked out.”
He hung up. His fingers were trembling so hard that he was barely able to dial the number of the bank. “Give me the head bookkeeper…quickly! I wish to stop payment on a check.”
But, of course, he was too late. He had sold an emerald for $100,000 and had bought back the same emerald for $250,000. Gregory Halston sat there slumped in his chair, wondering how he was going to explain it to the Parker brothers.
22
It was the beginning of a new life for Tracy. She purchased a beautiful old Georgian house at 45 Eaton Square that was bright and cheerful and perfect for entertaining. It had a Queen Anne—British slang for a front garden—and a Mary Anne—a back garden—and in season the flowers were magnificent. Gunther helped Tracy furnish the house, and before the two of them were finished, it was one of the showplaces of London.
Gunther introduced Tracy as a wealthy young widow whose husband had made his fortune in the import-export business. She was an instant success; beautiful, intelligent, and charming, she was soon inundated with invitations.
At intervals, Tracy made short trips to France and Switzerland and Belgium and Italy, and each time she and Gunther Hartog profited.
Under Gunther’s tutelage, Tracy studied the Almanach de Gotha and Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage, the authoritative books listing detailed information on all the royalty and titles in Europe. Tracy became a chameleon, an expert in makeup and disguises and accents. She acquired half a dozen passports. In various countries, she was a British duchess, a French airline stewardess, and a South American heiress. In a year she had accumulated more money than she would ever need. She set up a fund from which she made large, anonymous contributions to organizations that helped former women prisoners, and she arranged for a generous pension to be sent to Otto Schmidt every month. She no longer even entertained the thought of quitting. She loved the challenge of outwitting clever, successful people. The thrill of each daring escapade acted like a drug, and Tracy found that she constantly needed new and bigger challenges. There was one credo she lived by: She was careful never to hurt the innocent. The people who jumped at her swindles were greedy or immoral, or both. No one will ever commit suicide because of what I’ve done to them, Tracy promised herself.
The newspapers began to carry stories of the daring escapades that were occurring all over Europe, and because Tracy used different disguises, the police were convinced that a rash of ingenious swindles and burglaries was being carried out by a gang of women. Interpol began to take an interest.
At the Manhattan headquarters of the International Insurance Protection Association, J. J. Reynolds sent for Daniel Cooper.
“We have a problem,” Reynolds said. “A large number of our European clients are being hit—apparently by a gang of women. Everybody’s screaming bloody murder. They want the gang caught. Interpol has agreed to cooperate with us. It’s your assignment, Dan. You leave for Paris in the morning.”
Tracy was having dinner with Gunther at Scott’s on Mount Street.
“Have you ever heard of Maximilian Pierpont, Tracy?”
The name sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before? She remembered. Jeff Stevens, on board the QE II, had said, “We’re here for the same reason. Maximilian Pierpont.”
“Very rich, isn’t he?”
“And quite ruthless. He specializes in buying up companies and stripping them.”
When Joe Romano took over the business, he fired everybody and brought in his own people to run things. Then he began to raid the company…They took everything—the business, this house, your mother’s car…
Gunther was looking at her oddly. “Tracy, are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” Sometimes life can be unfair, she thought, and it’s up to us to even things out. “Tell me more about Maximilian Pierpont.”
“His third wife just divorced him, and he’s alone now. I think it might be profitable if you made the gentleman’s acquaintance. He’s booked on the Orient Express Friday, from London to Istanbul.”