The Winner's Curse

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

Erik Weissenstein sat at the breakfast table of his family château, the Neue Zuricher Zeitung propped up in front of him. The leading quality newspaper in the German-speaking part of Switzerland. Also required reading for the financial community. He was the owner of the Weissenstein private bank and one of the richest men in Switzerland. He came from a family of bankers which was proud of their aristocratic line and represented the government in many social and constitutional roles.

His name wasn't familiar to the uninitiated as he avoided all kinds of publicity. He left that to the politicians. He was more concerned with the reputation behind his name and the influence he wielded beyond the boundaries of his small country. It increased from generation to generation, and his aim in life was to ensure that he died the richest and the mightiest of any of his ancestors.

His only regret was that his aristocratic wife had not born him an heir. No children even. A nervous and highly strung woman, she was cursed with miscarriages and a divorce was out of the question. For a number of reasons. But it was a cross he had to bear. For the moment anyway.

A maid who had been fussing around with fresh coffee and toast, eggs and cut meats and cheese, suddenly curtsied and left the room. Nathalie, Weissenstein's wife, entered, dressed to go out.

"What, no breakfast, chérie?" he greeted her, looking up.

"I had something in my rooms." She spoke German with a soft Swiss-French accent. Her long auburn hair, curled inwards at the ends, framed her face, emphasising her large oval eyes. She was twelve years younger than her husband. And her clothes were designed to make her appear even more youthful.

Papers and magazines were laid out on a side table. She took one and dropped it into her oversized leather shopping bag. "I'm going then," she said, her eyes turned to the door.

"Where to today?" he asked, taking up his paper again.

"A committee meeting at the Institut Français. A stint at the reference library. We've got new books coming in. Then some shopping with Marie-Louise. And … And so on. Adieu." She turned to go.

"I'll be at the house in Appenzell today," he said. "I won't be returning until late. I've told Cook."

She nodded, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

"And please don't forget the Federal Bank dinner in Bern tomorrow. All the wives are going to be there."

"Of course not," she said dryly, moving towards the door. "Your secretary will see to that."

He watched her disappear, her walk purposeful as if glad to be gone. The fragrance of her perfume still strong, and her slim, shapely figure rekindled memories which he shrugged off. Reluctantly. Their marriage had promised so much and had now been reduced to nothing more than a social commitment.

Swiss society had considered them the match of the year, and in their eyes, they were still the ideal couple – outwardly. An image he was afraid of tarnishing however much she provoked him. The Swiss took lineage and breeding seriously, and he belonged to the upper crust of Swiss-German society. He had a duty to fulfil in this regard. One that he took very seriously.

He allowed her the freedom she desired, giving her a wing of the great house to herself. She responded by posing as the perfect wife when the business or social needs dictated. But he had her on a golden chain. He knew where she was and who she was with whenever she went out. A firm of private detectives from Munich took care of that.

He sighed. He would have given half his fortune to avoid all these unnecessary games, to turn back the years to when they still shared a life. To start over again. Avoid the mistakes.

But he knew it was wishful thinking.