“Hilary is Nick's ex-wife. They were divorced three years ago. She married Reed the day after the divorce was final.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The silence in the library was oppressive. Nick lounged in one of the mahogany cabriole chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, and watched his father pour brandy at the early-nineteenth-century butler's tray. Old crystal clinked melodically. Nick wondered what Phila was doing at that moment.
He decided she was probably sound asleep. He had walked her back to the Gilmarten place half an hour before. She had been suspiciously silent. He had thought about attempting a kiss and decided not to risk it. Her mood had been a dangerous cross between thoughtful and volatile.
As Reed fixed the brandies Nick shifted his gaze to the familiar book-lined walls of the high-ceilinged room. He knew the library was a fine example of the Federal period. Eleanor Castleton had designed it and overseen the selection of furnishings here as in every other room in the beach cottages and the main homes on Bainbridge Island. He had it on the best authority that if Eleanor said this room was decorated in the Federal style, then it undoubtedly was.
I'm sure it's perfect, Nick, his mother had once said with a wry smile. Eleanor knows how to do everything perfectly. She was raised to be a lady.
The books lining the shelves ranged from Moby Dick to a recent exposé of the inner workings of a beleagured CIA. They resided in glass-paned Duncan Phyfe—style bookcases made of mahogany and poplar and pine. In one obscure corner of a particular bookcase, stuffed behind a three-part series on nineteenth-century American history, was an aging copy of Playboy magazine. Nick assumed it was still there. He had shoved it there himself, a long time ago when he thought he'd heard his mother's step in the hall. He'd never gotten around to retrieving it.
To the best of his recollection the women featured in it were top-heavy in the extreme. Not at all like Phila, who had delicate, pert little breasts and a neat, lush rear he was pretty sure he could cup in both palms.
His gaze moved on around the room to the girandole mirror with its American eagle decoration. The antique crewelwork fire screen was still in front of the fireplace. The circular library table covered in green baize was positioned as usual near his chair.
There were echoes of Nick's childhood as well as his more recent past in every corner of this room. He had not been here in a long time. He did not feel comfortable now.
“Goddamn fireworks get trickier every year, don't they?” Reed remarked in a determinedly conversational tone as he handed Nick a glass. He sat down in a blue wing-backed armchair across from his son.
A truce had apparently been declared. Nick sought to hold up his end of it. “It was a good show tonight. The kids got a kick out of it.”
“They always do.” Reed sipped his brandy. “So how's business? Much demand for this consulting work of yours?”
“Enough.” That seemed a little brusque. Nick tried to expand his answer. “California's full of fast-food geniuses who think the time has come to open a chicken-fried grapefruit outlet in downtown Tokyo or Milan. They're all willing to pay for advice.”
“What do you know about chicken-fried grapefruit?”
“Nothing,” Nick said, forcing himself to ignore Reed's skeptical tone. “But I know a lot about doing business in places like Tokyo or Milan.”
“Thanks to having been raised a Lightfoot.”
“Yeah. Thanks to that. No substitute for a good, well-rounded background, is there, Dad?”
“Didn't think you bothered to remember your background these days.”
“I get reminded of it every once in a while.” Nick heard the belligerence in Reed's voice, but he had questions of his own. “Speaking of the old family background, how are things going with Castleton & Lightfoot?”
Reed regarded him with hooded eyes. “Fine.”
“That tells me a lot.”
“If you cared about getting more details, you'd come to the annual meetings.”
“I think that would be a little uncomfortable for everyone, don't you?”
Reed got to his feet and walked to the end of the room without speaking. He stood looking out the window into the darkness for a long moment. “If you weren't so goddamned stubborn, none of it would have happened.”
“Be reasonable, Dad. You can't blame me for the stubbornness. It runs in the family.”
“We could have worked things out.”
“The business about getting C&L out of government contract work? Maybe. But we both now we couldn't have worked out the other glitch.”
“Damn it, Nick…”
“You didn't have to marry her, Dad. I'm a big boy now. I can clean up my own messes.”
“Well, you sure as hell didn't bother to clean this one up, did you? You just left it for someone else to fix.”
Nick felt his temper flare. “I knew what I was doing. You could have shown a little faith in me.”
“Goddamn it, I had to do something. I couldn't just turn my back on her. It wasn't right. If you hadn't…” Reed made an obviously heroic effort to swallow the remainder of the sentence. “Let's change the subject.”
“Yeah. Let's.”
Reed swung around abruptly. “All right, what the hell's going on between you and that Fox woman?”
“Not much. Yet.” The brandy glass dangled from Nick's fingers.
“You can at least tell me what you're planning.”
“I'm not sure.”
“Why did you bring her here?”
“She's got some questions she wants answered.”
“Questions about what? Castleton & Lightfoot?”
“No, she already knows the firm makes death machines.” Nick smiled slightly.
“Death machines. Oh, hell, she's not one of those, is she?”
“I'm afraid so.”
“I was hoping she'd be more like her friend, the Masters woman. Out for what she can get.”
“Sorry. It's not going to be that simple.”
“You said she had some questions she wants answered.”
“About us and about what happened to her friend, Crissie Masters.”
Reed looked exasperated. “What about her?”
“She wants to know how the families treated her and whether they bear some moral responsibility for what happened to Miss Masters. What she decides about us will determine what she does with the C&L shares, I think.”
“Moral responsibility. For Crissie Masters's death? Is she crazy? Masters got drunk and got into a car. End of story. No one else is involved, and we sure as hell don't bear any moral responsibility for what happened. It's just like some muddle-brained liberal type to try to put responsibility on everyone else except the one person who really was responsible.”
“What can I say?” Nick shrugged. “Phila's an ex-social worker or something. That's the way that type thinks.”
“For Crissake.” Reed's brows beetled threateningly. “You don't believe any of that moral responsibility nonsense, do you?”
“No. I haven't been living down in California long enough to start thinking like that.”
“Well, that's something at least.”
“Thanks.”
Reed paid no attention to his son's dry tone. “What's the point of bringing her here?”
“I thought if she had a chance to meet the families and ask her questions, it would put her mind at ease. Phila's been through a lot lately, from what I can tell. She needs something to focus on, something to help her get her feet back on the ground. Crissie Masters was more than her best friend; she was like family to Phila. I thought if she had a chance to satisfy herself that the Castletons and Lightfoots aren't a couple of demon clans, she might be inclined to be reasonable about the shares.”
Reed nodded slowly. “I see your point. Might work. Unless she's too much like Crissie.”
“What do you know about Crissie Masters?” Nick asked.
“Not much. Hilary got to know her better than I did. All I know is
that she landed on Burke's doorstep a year ago and proceeded to set everyone's back teeth on edge, except Burke's. Christ, I felt sorry for Eleanor. Whole thing was such a goddamn shock to her. It can't have been easy having to accept Burke's bastard daughter.”
“Especially after having spent nearly forty years turning a blind eye to Burke's running around,” Nick agreed.
“Eleanor's no fool. She knew what was going on. But she was too much of a lady to acknowledge it.”
“Unlike mother?” Nick asked with a small smile.
“Nora would have had my scalp on a silver platter if I'd tried chasing outside tail.” Reed smiled reminiscently. Then he shook his head. “But Eleanor was different. Nora always said you could put Eleanor to work shoveling shit and she'd find a way to make it look as if she were planting tea roses. As long as Burke didn't parade his conquests in front of her, Eleanor could pretend everything was all right.”
“But when Crissie appeared with proof she was Burke's daughter, there was no way to pretend any longer, was there?”
Reed shook his head. “No, although I'll give Eleanor credit for trying goddamn hard to ignore her. Treated Crissie as though the gal was just some shade tree relative instead of Darren's half sister.
“But there was never any doubt Crissie was Burke's daughter and Eleanor knew it. Even if the girl hadn't spent a fortune on private detectives to trace her father, you'd have known who she was the minute you saw her. Crissie had the Castleton looks.”
“What about Burke?”
“Burke took to Crissie right from the start. Made it clear he was pleased as all get-out with her. Called her a chip off the old block. Kept saying she was the one who had inherited his guts and nerve.”
“Must have made Darren feel like a real second-class citizen.”
“You know Burke. He made a big production out of Crissie. It gave him a chance to hold center stage. He always liked to be the center of attention.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “He did. And he was good at it.”
Reed scowled. “No getting around the fact that Crissie Masters caused a lot of trouble while she was here and, besides Burke—really because of Burke's behavior—no one went out of their way to make her feel like one of the family, that's for sure. But the shift flew both ways.”
“I know that.”
“Think you can convince the Fox woman we're not ‘morally’ responsible for Master's death?”
“It's not up to me to convince her, is it? It's up to the rest of you.”
“Bullshit. You've obviously got a handle on her. Use it.”
“A handle?”
Reed went back to his chair and sat down. “Come on, Nick. I'm your father, remember? I know you better than anyone now that Nora's gone. I saw that scene down at the gate when Phila arrived and I saw the way you watched the woman all afternoon. If you're not sleeping with her already, you soon will be. Is that your scheme? Are you going to get those shares back by talking her out of them in bed?”
“An interesting thought. Think I could?”
Reed studied the ceiling for a moment. “Don't know. She strikes me as a sharp little cookie. Gutsy, too, or she wouldn't be here waving those shares in our faces.”
“You could be right.”
Reed's eyebrows rose, revealing a gleam of humor in his eyes. “Better be careful, son. She may be too goddamned smart to let you climb into bed with her.”
“Yeah. After all, as far as she's concerned, I'm one of the enemy.”
“She's goddamn right. You are the enemy. Don't let yourself forget it for one minute. You're a Lightfoot. If you do wind up in bed with her, you'd better watch your ass.”
“I'll do that.”
Reed's grin came and went. “She sure set Tec off today.”
“Yeah.”
“Got to say I've never seen you throw a woman over your shoulder before, either.”
“Not my style,” Nick agreed.
“What did you say this Phila did for a living?”
“She was a social worker.”
“Sounds like a real bleeding-heart type.”
“The kind of bleeding hearts who practice what they preach are always the most difficult ones to deal with, aren't they?” Nick offered his father a wry smile.
Reed's gaze sharpened perceptively. “You're finding this really funny, aren't you?”
“Let's just say I think it will prove interesting.”
Reed started at him. “Interesting,” he repeated thoughtfully. “You may be right.”
“Why did you let Hilary vote my shares and yours at the last annual meeting?” Nick regretted the question as soon as the words left his mouth, but he also knew he could not avoid asking it. It had been gnawing at him all afternoon.
Reed's face went taut. “If you give a damn about who votes your shares, come home and vote 'em yourself.”
“You've made a mistake turning things over to her, Dad.”
“Have I? She's devoted to Castleton & Lightfoot. It's all she cares about.”
“Unlike me? You're only partially right. Hilary is devoted to herself, not C&L and if you ever forget that, you're in real trouble.”
Reed's expression turned cold. “You've said enough, Nick. Goddamn it, Hilary is my wife now. You'll show her the proper respect or you'll get your ass out of this house.”
“She's a piranha. Haven't you realized that yet?”
“Shut up, Nick. Now. Before I have to do something about it.”
“How did it happen?”
“How did what happen?”
“How did it get to the point where you turned over complete control of the Lightfoot half of the company to her?” Nick insisted coldly.
“You want to know how it happened?” Reed leaned forward, his face taut and angry. “I'll tell you how it happened, goddamn it. She was devastated after she lost the baby. She was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I thought it might help if she had something to do, something else to think about besides the miscarriage. I let her start getting involved with the company. She took to it like a duck to water.”
“Yeah. I'll bet she did.”
“It's true. The woman's got a real talent for management. And she cares about what happens to Castleton & Lightfoot.”
“And you don't anymore?”
“I'm discovering the joys of retirement.” Reed sat back in his chair and gulped his brandy. “Golf game's better than it's been in years.”
“Don't give me that crap. Running Castleton & Lightfoot was the only game you ever really liked.”
“The whole point of building up a firm like Castleton & Lightfoot is to create something worth leaving behind. I don't have anyone to leave my half of the firm to, now do I? When you walked out you made it goddamnn clear you weren't coming back.”
Nick exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. “You could try for another baby.”
“That would be a little tricky, given the fact that Hilary and I have separate bedrooms,” Reed shot back bitterly.
Nick opened his eyes and stared at his father. “Don't tell me you found out the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That going to bed with her is like bedding an ice sculpture.”
Reed slammed his fist against the arm of the chair. “Goddamn it, Nick, I told you to keep your mouth shut and I meant it. She's my wife, and I won't let anyone talk about her, not even you. Especially not you. Not after what you did to her.”
“Shit. I knew this was going to happen.”
“If you hadn't walked out on your responsibilities three years ago none of us would be in this situation. You've got real balls to sit there and talk about Hilary and me having babies.” Reed set the brandy glass down on the table with a violent snap. The fragile crystal shattered.
Nick watched the shards sparkle in the light from the table lamp for a long moment. Then he got to his feet. “So much for the big reunion scene. Thanks for the brandy. I think it's time I went to bed.”
&nbs
p; Reed looked up instantly. “Your room's the one across from mine. Hilary had it made up for you.”
Nick nodded and walked to the door.
“Nick.”
“What?”
“About those shares the Fox woman owns.”
Nick glanced back over his shoulder. “What about them?”
“They belong in the family,” Reed said bluntly. “Stop playing your goddamnn games with me. Give it to me straight. Are you going to get those shares back for us?”
“Yeah,” Nick said as he turned the doorknob. “I'll get them back for you.”
He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. There was no noise at the top of the stairs, but something made him glance up. Hilary stood on the landing, her hair a gleaming mass of dark fire around her shoulders. Her emerald eyes blazed at him, and he could see the outline of her slim body through the fabric of her flowing robe. He remembered that body all too well. A beautifully molded alabaster statue he had never been able to bring to life.
“I won't have you upsetting Reed.”
“I've got news for you, Hilary. My father can take care of himself. Be careful or one of these days he might show you just how well he can do it.”
Hilary glided one step down from the landing. The silky peignoir flowed around her ankles. “What game are you playing, Nick? Why are you here? Why did you bring that woman here?”
“You don't really expect me to tell you, do you?” He started toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“To find a warm place to sleep.” He let himself out into the cool night air.
It was a ten-minute walk to Phila's cottage.
The loud knock on the cottage door brought Phila up out of a surprisingly sound sleep. Fear lanced through her. She sat bolt upright in bed, orienting herself to the cheerfully shabby surroundings of her new bedroom.
The knock came again, harsh and demanding. Automatically Phila swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her purple velour robe. She was almost to the bedroom door when she remembered the gun.
The gun. This was what it was for, she thought wildly. She rushed back to the nightstand and yanked open the drawer. She fumbled for the weapon in the darkness, her fingers closing around the awkward, square grip.
The Golden Chance Page 9