Stone Cold by Norman Moss Read Free Book Online

although, she said, her father remained a quintessential northerner. Then she asked whether I knew enough about England to know what that implied.
    “I think so,” I said. “Brass tacks. Down to earth. None of your southern toffee-nosed snobs.”
    She smiled. “That sort of thing, yes.” She had worked abroad for several years after graduating, briefly at the UN in New York and then at the European Commission in Brussels. The conversation was relaxed, interesting, and we clicked. I felt confident about suggesting dinner at the Bellevue, and she gestured me towards her car. I looked forward to dinner table conversation. And if the evening did go that way, my room was only one floor up.
    She knew the Bellevue and she knew the menu. When we were seated and had ordered, I asked her what had taken her here in the first place. “I want to live abroad for a while, and I’m doing it while I can,” she said. “I’ll have to go back and live in England at some time.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Well, I’ve got a brother who has special needs. He has to have somebody around to help him through the day. He lives with our parents now, but they’re getting old.” I liked the matter-of-fact way she said this, and accepted the responsibility. There was something solid and down to earth about her. Perhaps she had inherited it from her north country father.
    I told her a little about my father living in England and my French mother, and about looking for a job and the pain of breaking up with Tamsin; I wanted her to know that I had feelings. Then I said, “I suppose you’re going to be working hard a few weeks from now.”
    “Why do you say that?
    “When the skiing season starts.”
    “What’s that got to do with my working harder?”
    “Don’t you work in the ski chalets? Running them?”
    “No. What gave you that idea?”
    “I thought you said you did. At the café you said you work close by.”
    “I work for an international property owner who lives nearby. As his PA I’ve got a flat on the premises.”
    “Who’s that?” I had an idea of what the answer might be. How many international property dealers lived nearby?
    “A man called Stavros Stakis.”
    The only thing to do was to come clean. I put down my knife and fork and wiped my mouth with my napkin before speaking. “I’m so glad,” I said slowly, “that you didn’t tell me that before I asked you out to dinner.”
    “Why is that?”
    “I’ve come to Switzerland because of Stakis. I wouldn’t want you think that that was why I asked you out.”
    “You’re trying to get him to finance something?”
    “No, not that. It’s to do with a diamond he has. His wife has. A special diamond.”
    “What about it?”
    “I want to know where it comes from.”
    “Well, I’ve no idea where it comes from, but in any case I work for Stavros on a confidential basis. I can’t discuss his affairs.”
    “Of course, I understand that. That’s why I told you what I’m doing here in Villars. I didn’t want you to think I was being underhanded.” I liked the fact that she would not betray a trust.
    “We won’t talk about Stakis, we’ll talk about you,” I went on. “How did you come to work for him? I presume you can tell me that without breaking a confidence.”
    “We were introduced by someone in the European Commission. The work there was boring and the life was boring, and he made me an attractive offer.”
    “What’s he like to work for?”
    “He’s always been fair and very considerate with me. If I travel with him I always go business class. And because a lot of his dealing is international I’m sometimes up half the night with e-mails and telephone calls, and he makes allowances for that. But enough about me and Stakis. What was your life like in the American army? Frankly, you don’t look like the military type.”
    She leaned forward now, her eyes sparkling with interest. She did not want to talk any more about her job. She knew how to handle