Bradey had been anticipating her opposition. He gave her his con-smile.
“I need it, baby. Now, you and I will go out right now and we will go to one of the best watch shops and I will buy you a beautiful watch to make up for the vanity box; self-winding, solid gold with diamonds. How’s that?”
“Solid gold with diamonds, and I can buy another vanity box?”
Bradey smiled at her.
“That’s what the man said.”
Maggie jumped to her feet; her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Let’s go!” She rushed to the door, then paused. “Then can we go on that steamer?”
“We’ll even do that,” Bradey said.
They rode down in the elevator, and watched by Sergas Holtz, they walked out into the sunshine, arm in arm, and headed for the nearest Omega watch shop.
Happily for Bradey, Maggie was easy to please. She adored going to Evian on the steamer. She adored wandering down the narrow main street where the shops were. She peered at all the shop windows, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was adoring her new watch. Bradey, thinking of the million dollars he was going to earn, wandered with her, bored stupid.
In the evening they visited the Montreux casino and Maggie won twenty francs which sent her out of her mind with delight. He took her to Hazyland where they danced among the young, and Maggie caused wolf whistles which she loved. They had wild sex when they returned to their room and they slept.
The following morning, Bradey drove her to see Noel Coward’s old home. Maggie adored the mountains and the drive. She got out of the car, outside Coward’s entrance, to gape. Sitting in the car, Bradey, although his mind was occupied with the task ahead, watched her and told himself, he could do a hell of a lot worse than marrying this beauty.
After lunch at Le Cygne, the Montreux Palace hotel’s grillroom, Maggie pleaded to go on a steamer again. They took the trip to Lausanne and returned to the hotel in time for dinner.
So the day passed. Maggie declared she adored everything. As she lay in his arms, sleeping, Bradey thought of tomorrow. Duvine, with the Lepskis, would be arriving. He hoped they wouldn’t be late. This operation was a matter of timing. He slept badly that night.
To avoid the Italian customs and a major Swiss customs frontier, Duvine had driven via Grenoble, by-passing Geneva and driving along Lake Léman on the French side of the lake to the Swiss frontier outside St Gingolph.
The Lepskis, who had lived all their lives in Florida, had never seen mountains as big and as impressive as they saw on the route de Napoleon. Even Lepski was impressed. Carroll was ecstatic.
“Tom!” she cried. “Just look at this view! It’s worth the rest of our trip!”
Duvine sighed with relief. Well, at least, something was pleasing these difficult two.
“Well, yeah,” Lepski said grudgingly. “I guess it’s pretty good, but our Rocky mountains are as good.”
“Lepski! Since when have you ever seen the Rocky mountains? Don’t show your ignorance!” Carroll said scathingly.
“Well, we’ve got the Grand Canyon too,” Lepski said defensively. “That wants some beating.”
“Since when have you seen the Grand Canyon?”
Lepski made a noise like a fall of gravel, and Claudette broke in hurriedly. “We’ll be coming to Lake Léman. One side is Swiss, the other side is French. Isn’t that a nice arrangement?”
“How cute!” Carroll said. “You know, Claudette, I’m just loving all this.”
“When do we eat?” Lepski asked.
“There’s a little restaurant not far from here,” Duvine said. He had given up trying to please these two with good food. Why waste money on them, he reasoned to himself, when all they wanted was a goddamn steak?
Although the Duvines enjoyed their curried scampi, the Lepskis found their steaks tough.
“We should have brought along your mincer, baby,” Lepski said, chewing hard. “Then we could have had ground meat.”
Carroll told him to be quiet.
Half an hour’s drive would bring them to the Swiss frontier and Duvine, knowing it was the last hurdle to cross, had to control his uneasiness.
“Swiss officials can be awkward,” he said to Lepski as they drove along the lake road. “Leave them to me. I’ll tell them that you are a distinguished American police officer. They could make us open our bags. The trick with them is to give them a bone. We’ll stop at the next village and buy some Scotch which we will declare.”
Lepski brightened.
“Scotch? That’s a great idea!”
They stopped at a wine merchant just before the frontier, and bought two bottles of Scotch and two bottles of champagne.
“This should do it,” Duvine said, putting the bottles in the boot of the car. Looking at the luggage, seeing the blue vanity box very much in evidence, he was inspired to move it close to his own luggage and pull his and Claudette’s coats over it, leaving the Lepskis’ new-looking luggage exposed.
He got back into the car and drove down the narrow street leading to the French customs post. His hands were moist and his mouth was dry.
The French customs guard waved them through. They drove the few yards towards the Swiss customs post.
Two tall, grey-uniformed men moved out into the street.
“Leave all this to me,” Duvine said as he wound down his window.
Lepski became alert. His police training told him that Duvine was unnaturally tense, and this puzzled him. He wondered why Duvine was making such a thing of this. He told himself to relax. Duvine must know from experience what he was about. He handed Carroll’s and his passports to Duvine who, with his own, gave the guard a friendly nod and offered the passports.
The guard regarded him with cold, stony eyes, then stepping back, examined the passports. These, after a long scrutiny, he handed back.
“Have you anything to declare?” he asked in French.
“No, nothing. Two bottles of whisky and two champagne: nothing else,” Duvine said.
“Open your boot please.”
“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded, irritated that the conversation was in French.
“He wants me to open the boot,” Duvine told him as he got out of the car.
“Why?”
“They do,” Duvine said curtly, wishing to God Lepski would keep quiet.
He went around to the back of the car and opened the boot. To his dismay, Lepski also got out of the car and joined him.
“Which is the luggage of the American gentleman?” the guard asked.
“These two blue bags.”
“Please tell him to bring them to the customs’ house.”
Duvine turned to Lepski.
“They want to check your bags.”
“What the hell for?” Lepski took out his police warrant and shoved it under the guard’s nose. “Tell him who I am!”
Feeling a trickle of sweat run down his face, Duvine said, “This gentleman is a highly placed American police officer. He doesn’t want his bags disturbed.”
The guard examined Lepski’s police warrant and shield. From his expression, it made no impression on him.
“The gentleman doesn’t speak French or German?”
“No. He is American.”
“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded, and began to shuffle his feet as his temper rose.
The guard eyed him with interest. Lepski’s habitual war dance before his temper exploded was something new to the guard.
“The gentleman needs the toilet?” he asked Duvine.
“What’s he say?” Lepski demanded in his cop voice.
“He’s asking if you want to take a pee,” Duvine whispered. “He is puzzled by the way you are jumping up and down.”
With an effort Lepski controlled himself. He made a noise like an electric drill biting into a knot of wood. The guard took a step back and gaped at Lepski.