“Should we rent a car to go up to Pierce’s place?” asked Katie.

       “So we can make a quick getaway?”

       “The thought had occurred to me.”

       “Better than having a taxi with its motor running outside or a horse-drawn carriage.”

       The next morning Katie asked Greta to rent a small car and asked if the snow and ice conditions were.

       “All the cars here are well adapted to the conditions,” she said. “The conditions change all the time, even during the day. Ice patches, the occasional avalanche. Just go slow and you’ll be fine. I assume you do not need automatic transmission. Those kinds of cars are rare around here, unless someone arrives here in a Rolls Royce.”

       “How about the Maseratis and Ferraris?” asked David.

       Greta laughed and said, “Oh, they do very well. They are very wide and close to the ground and have magnificent ability to hold the road. My husband has an old Ferrari and we drive everywhere in it.”

       “Well,” said Katie, “I think we’d better stick to something like a Volvo or SAAB.”

       “You’d be surprised,” said Greta. “The little Fiat Cinquecentos do well in the snow and ice because they have the engine in the rear.”

       Katie said that in fact she drove a Fiat back in the States, and said, “That’s fine with me.”

       Greta said the rental agency would bring the car to the hotel with the forms to fill out. By the time Katie and David had finished breakfast the car was outside.

       “Do you think I need insurance?” Katie asked the agent?

       “We think it’s a good idea because of the weather conditions,” he replied.

       Katie said she thought he credit card company gave her coverage, but wasn’t sure if it applied in a foreign country, so she agreed to the personal and collision damage coverage for two days.

       “This way if we drive off a cliff, we’re covered,” she said to David.

       “If we drive off a cliff, we probably won’t need coverage.”

 

                                                                      *       *      *

 

    Greta gave them directions.

       “It’s very easy, “ she said, “straight up Route 27, about twenty minutes, and when you get to the town of Engaden (left), turn off onto Ils Muots, then Prazett, and the Pierce’s chalet will be off the road on the right with a big entry road leading into the woods.

Katie called the number Richard Pierce had given her and said she and David would be leaving their hotel and should be up to the chalet within a half hour. It was a very pleasant drive, with the mountains still heavy with snow and green pines at their lower level. At four o’clock it was barely twilight but the roads, with typical Swiss efficiency, were clearly marked, and they saw a sign with a leaping gazelle on it: the springbok, South Africa’s national animal, which was lettered on the sign. The entrance was gated, so Katie rang up Richard who buzzed them through.

       The drive up to the chalet, which seemed far too enormous to be considered one, was at least a mile long, still icy and  edged on both sides by steep pine-riddled ravines. At the end of the driveway the huge structure of the Pierce mansion loomed against the last light on the mountains.  There were several cars in front of the house—all SUVs, including a Range Rover, two Mercedes G Class and a Lexus LX. 

       As Katie and David drove the last twenty yards of the gravel road, stanchion lights flashed on, illuminating the entire frontage of the estate.

The front door, beneath a large porte-cochere, opened and the light from inside silhouetted a tall man who came into focus as Richard Pierce, waving.

       “Welcome to our little chalet,” he said. “My father has been looking forward to your arrival.” Dressed in casual ski resort clothes, Pierce pointed to a space where they could park the car, then came over to greet the two Americans.

       “No trouble finding the place, I assume?”

       “Not in the least,” said David. “Like you said, everybody seems to know where this place is.”

       “It is pretty big,” said Pierce. “Bigger than we need, but we get a lot of work done here and have it outfitted for offices as well as living quarters. At the moment it’s just the two of us here.”

       Taking Katie’s arm he said, “Careful on the ice here. It’s very slippery.”

       David wondered to himself how come a rich guy like Pierce wouldn’t have heated the entire driveway.

       Once inside the enormity of the building became very evident. Katie and David were standing in a baronial room about thirty-five feet high, flanked by hallways, with a central staircase leading to a second floor that wrapped around the perimeter of the first, all done in exquisitely polished wood designed to indicate this was as far from a cozy log cabin chalet as one could imagine. Baldassari had told them the place was worth about $40 million, complete with ten bedrooms, both a plunge pool and Turkish bath, an outdoor pool and a Himalayan salt room.

       “Come,” said Pierce, “My father’s in  his study. Can I get you anything to drink?”

       “Water would be fine,” said Katie, and David nodded. Katie took her notepad and pen from her bag and slipped them into her parka.

       Pierce led them down a hallway that opened into an adjacent large room with windows overlooking a vast expanse of mountain landscape at the top of which the very last light of the day was fading from violet to deep gray.  The walls were lined with books. There was a fireplace at least five feet high and six feet wide, to each side leather armchairs and a sofa in front of it. At a large desk against the windows sat Angus Pierce, who when he got up looked every inch his six-foot-four height. His son’s resemblance to his father was apparent: Both had large foreheads and slightly hooked noses, with very broad shoulders to add gravitas to their impressive height. Angus Pierce had a well-kempt beard that still retained some of the red color of his hair, probably dyed, which was swept back.

       Angus Pierce’s voice boomed in a voice with a distinct South African accent. “Welcome, welcome! I’ve been looking forward to this meeting since Richard told me you were in town. Everybody knows everybody else’s doings in this little burg. I hear you had lunch with Alessandra up at the Coveglia. She’s quite a gal, isn’t she? Smart as a whip, very wickedly funny, knows where  all the bones are buried. But, of course, she’s really just a high-class gossipmonger, isn’t she? You, however, Miss Cavuto, are world famous for your investigative journalism. Even put your life on the line, I’m told.”

       Katie said, “Well, David and I didn’t plan it that way, but, yeah we’ve had a couple of scrapes.”

       “Real derring-do, from what I read. That business with the Vermeer painting. Y’know, I thought of bidding on that, too. Glad I didn’t from how things turned out. I prefer to keep out of danger when it comes to art auctions.”

       David was looking at the surroundings and saw a large  bronze statue of a bison on Pierce’s desk.

       “Oh, that,” said Pierce. “You may have heard that Robert Maxwell, Rubert Murdoch and I were called the ‛Three Bison’ of the publishing world by Time magazine. After that, my wife had that rather heavy paperweight made for me. I think it says ‛Number One Bison’ or something. Pick it up and look, on the bottom. Good-looking piece, don’t you think?”

       David picked it up and found it was indeed heavy. He turned it over and it said what Pierce said it would, with the addition of what David assumed was the Number One Bison’s wife’s name.

     

 © John Mariani, 2024