“I know.”
“You heard Nick tonight. He has the same attitude toward your going into politics that he had three years ago.”
“I realize that.”
“If you're going to make a successful run for governor, you've got to have the backing of C&L's chief executive officer. No, as much as I hate to admit it, Eleanor's right when she says we need Hilary in charge of the Lightfoot side of Castleton & Lightfoot. We have to support her.”
“You're always so clear sighted and rational when we discuss my political future, Vicky. Sometimes I get the feeling my future is more important to you than it is to me.”
Victoria caught her breath. “That's a terrible thing to say.”
“Tell me something. I've always wondered how much my father offered you to stay with me three years ago when you were getting ready to file for divorce.”
Victoria closed her eyes in silent anguish. They had been through this before. Twice. Once in the beginning and later when Crissie Masters had dredged it all back up again. “He didn't pay me a dime. I told you that three years ago and I told you that last year when Crissie found out about it from Burke and taunted you about it.”
“Oh, come off it. You had an appointment with a lawyer three years ago. Something changed your mind. Dad always claimed he bought your loyalty. I figured he must have promised you a lot to compensate you for the trouble of being a politician's wife and your role as mother of his grandson. He had no intention of letting you walk off with Jordan. Dad must have made it worth your while.”
“Stop it, Darren. I stayed because I wanted to be with you. I've told you that. Didn't I grovel enough the day I told you I wasn't going to get a divorce?”
“I just want to know what Dad promised you. A fortune in his will?”
“If he did, then the joke's on me,” Victoria said bitterly. “Because he didn't leave anything extra to me, did he?”
“Maybe Crissie got what he had planned to leave to you. Crissie threw everyone's plans into the wringer.”
“And Burke loved it. He loved watching her effect on all of us.”
Darren exhaled heavily. “Nothing's been the same since she arrived last year.”
“It wasn't Crissie who started changing things for all of us,” Victoria muttered. “The real changes began three years ago when Nick left.”
“Let's drop it. I'm sorry I brought up the subject.”
“Not nearly as sorry as I am.”
Darren sighed. “You know,” he said softly, “when Reed laughed at Phila tonight, I realized it was the first time he's really laughed during the past three years.”
“I know. God, I wish we knew what Nick was up to. Maybe Eleanor was wrong to bring him into this situation.”
“She should have thought about the possible consequences before she called him.”
“One's thing's for certain. We can't let Nick take control from Hilary,” Victoria declared.
“It could complicate things. On the other hand…”
“No.” Victoria stared at the ceiling. “It will ruin everything. Eleanor says we need Hilary at the helm while your career is getting started. Maybe sometime in the future Nick can come back, but not yet.”
“The trouble with Nick is that he tends to make his own decisions in his own time and he doesn't always bother to inform everyone else until it's too late to stop him.”
Eleanor sipped her late-night glass of sherry and stared out into the darkness. Too late she was beginning to wonder if she had made a serious mistake in bringing Nick back into the picture. She had realized as she watched him at dinner tonight that she was no longer certain she could depend on him to do exactly what she had wanted him to do.
She had pleaded with him to get the shares back from the little nobody to whom Crissie had left them, and Eleanor did not doubt that Nick would do exactly that. He would get them back. After all, he was family and he could work magic when it came to business. He had more of a talent for it than either his father or Reed or Darren.
But she was old enough now to know that magic never came cheap. What would this magician take as a fee for getting the shares out of Philadelphia Fox's hands? Perhaps, Eleanor, thought, the Castletons would lose them altogether. Perhaps Nick would get those shares for himself and use them.
She tried to imagine what he would do with them, and every option led back to one crucial point: Nick would have to get rid of Hilary if he came back to stay. The two of them could not coexist for long. The tensions between them were too violent.
But Nick would need more than the shares Phila now held if he wanted to wrest back control of the firm.
Eleanor knew she had to face the fact that if Nick succeeded in regaining control of C&L from Hilary, Darren's chances for a successful start in politics were going to be dimmed severely. Nick showed no indications of being enthusiastic about a gubernatorial campaign for Darren, and it would take combined family money to win an election. Money and the freedom to campaign actively.
Nothing must get in Darren's way.
“He's more of a man than you ever were, Burke, even though you could never admit it. But that's probably one of the reasons you were always so hard on him, always baiting him. You saw him as competition, didn't you? One of these days he'll have more power than you ever dreamed of having. He's going to be the next governor of this state.”
Eleanor turned away from the window and gazed around the Federal-style bedroom with its fine old dressing table, high-post bedstead, and dimity hangings. She was so much happier here in this room these days. She had moved all Burke's things out, claiming it saddened her to be reminded of him. Everyone had accepted that explanation without questioning it.
But the truth was, she had experienced an enormous sense of relief the day Burke died. She had felt freed at last.
She was far from free, however. She knew that now. None of them was free.
“Did you plan it this way, Burke? You'd be happy if you knew that we're all still paying for your cruel games. I should have known you'd find a way to reach beyond the grave to hurt us.”
She could envision him laughing as he watched those he had left behind struggle with the results of the disasters he had set in motion. Some people were destined to go through life wrecking the happiness of others. Burke Castleton had been an expert at doing exactly that, and his bastard daughter had inherited his talent.
But Darren was different. Darren was her son. He had inherited his father's looks and charm but not his callousness.
Eleanor's fingers tightened around the sherry glass. She refused to contemplate failure. She would not let her dead husband ruin her son's future.
“Did you enjoy the evening, Reed?” Hilary asked casually as she climbed the stairs ahead of her husband.
“Sure. Eleanor always puts on a good feed. If she weren't so hung up on proper wineglasses and forks we'd probably all enjoy ourselves more, but what the hell. The halibut was good.” He tugged at his tie, amazed at how automatically he concealed his true feelings from Hilary these days. It was almost instinctive.
“Phila is an amusing character at times, isn't she?”
“She'll give Nick a run for his money, that's for sure.”
“Did she really remind you of Nora?”
Reed wondered where all this was leading. He grew even more cautious. “Just once with that little lecture on charitable contributions. Nora was always after the rest of us to spread the money around a little. She used to quote the same bit about it being like manure, as I recall.”
“You know most charities are scams,” Hilary said as she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs. “One has to be so careful. Much more effective to donate money to the conservative organizations and politicians who are working to keep the country on the right path. In the long run, everyone benefits that way, rich and poor alike.”
“Goddamn right.”
“Nick certainly seems taken with Phila.”
“You can never tell with Nic
k,” Reed heard himself say carefully.
“I know.” Hilary walked into her room. “We all learned that the hard way three years ago, didn't we? Good night, Reed.” She smiled wistfully before she closed the door.
Reed stood staring at the closed door for a long moment before moving slowly off down the hall to his bedroom. He walked inside and shut his own door. His gaze caught on the carved maple bed. He tried to visualize Hilary in that bed, her beautiful red hair cascading around her breasts, her fine body stretched out languorously beneath the sheets.
It was impossible. No matter how hard he worked at it, he could not summon up an image of Hilary in his bed. Nora was the only woman who had looked at home there.
In spite of everything, Reed realized he was glad that Nick was finding some happiness and satisfaction with Philadelphia Fox. Nora would have wanted her son to be happy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The revolver roared, the noise penetrating even the thick headgear Phila wore over her ears. The heavy gun jumped in her hand, and she struggled to bring it back in line with the target.
“Take it easy, Phila.”
“What?” Phila shouted in return, squinting at the paper target in the distance to try and see if she had come remotely close.
“You're doing everything too fast. Slow down. This isn't a quick-draw contest.”
“What?”
“I said,” Nick repeated, lifting the muff-shaped headgear away from her ears, “this isn't a quick-draw contest. You want the whole operation to be smooth and easy. Try doing it in slow motion.”
“I don't think I like this gun.”
“You don't like guns, in general, so you're hardly a good judge.”
“Why can't I practice with my own gun?”
“Because for someone who doesn't really like guns, someone like you who won't ever want to practice, a revolver is a much better option than an automatic. I've already explained that. You'd have to fire hundreds of rounds with your 9-mm to break it in and to get yourself familiar with it. Somehow I don't see you being willing to do that.”
“This thing's hard to load.”
“Stop bitching. You'll get used to it. Even if it is a little more awkward to load, a revolver is a lot less complicated to use. For your purposes you want something simple and direct, not fancy. Trust me, Phila, you're better off with a .38 than your 9-mm.”
“This sucker's heavy. My arm's getting tired, and my hand is sore from pulling the trigger so many times.”
Nick gave her an exasperated look. “You've been complaining since we got here this morning. Close your mouth and reload your gun, lady.”
“You're getting impatient with me, Nick.” She fumbled with the ammunition, feeling like some desperado in an old-time western movie. “You'll make me nervous if you start yelling.”
“It was your idea to carry a gun. I'll be damned if I'll have you running around with something you can't handle. If you're going to keep a gun beside your bed, you're sure as hell going to know how to use it. That's final.”
“You're starting to raise your voice, Nick.”
“That's not all I'm going to do if you don't start paying attention. All right, step up to the firing line and for God's sake, try to remember what I just told you. Easy does it.”
“Must be something about guns that brings out the macho in men, huh? Is that why you're talking so tough this morning?”
“Another five minutes and I won't be talking tough. I will be acting tough. Be interesting to see if that approach works any better.” Nick shoved the muffs back down over her ears.
Phila groaned, took her stance and brought the revolver up with what she thought was a smooth, sweeping motion. She snapped off two shots in the general direction of the target and lowered the gun.
“Not bad,” Tec said loudly behind her. “She's got a tendency to pull to the right and she's still trying to get the shot off too fast, but she's starting to hit the paper.”
Phila removed the muffs and smiled loftily. “Why thank you, General Sherman. So kind of you to pass along some encouraging words to the troops. If I paid too much attention to Nick, I'd get very depressed. He hasn't said one nice thing to me all morning.”
“Nick,” said Nick, “is taking this seriously and you'd better do the same, Phila. Try it again.”
Phila ignored him for a moment, eyeing Tec's orange-and-pink aloha shirt with some envy. “Nice shirt, General.”
Tec beamed. “Thought you might like it.”
“Get your little ass over to the firing line, Phila,” ordered Nick, “or I will drag it over there, myself.”
“Sheesh. What a way to spend a perfectly good morning.” Phila grumbled and went through the motions once more. She didn't hear the Mercedes arrive but when she finished firing several more rounds and glanced around for approval, she saw that Reed had driven down from the house to join them at the outdoor firing range.
“She's rushing it,” Reed announced as he strolled over to the small group near the firing line. “Just like she rushes her backswing.”
“I know.” Nick handed Phila more ammunition. “I'm working on the problem.”
“I don't need any more of an audience,” Phila said, annoyed. “It's hard enough doing this with Nick and Tec glaring at me.”
“Why are you doing it, Phila?” Reed asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a .357 Magnum Tec had brought along. “It's fairly obvious you don't think much of handguns and you don't seem to approve of individuals owning them. Why are you so goddamned bent on carrying one?”
“I have my reasons,” Phila muttered, not wanting to go into the whole story for the benefit of Reed and Tec.
“She had some trouble a while back with one of the operators of a foster home,” Nick explained as he unpacked more ammunition. “The guy jumped her with a gun, roughed her up a bit and landed in jail. He made some threats about what he was going to do when he got out.”
“Holy shit,” said Tec, looking both reverent and awed. “Were you hurt?”
“No, just shaken up. The police arrived in the nick of time.” Phila concentrated on the targets in the distance.
Reed frowned at Phila. “But the creep threatened to come after you when he got out of prison?”
“I know it sounds melodramatic,” Phila said, examining the heavy weapon in her hand, “but the fact is, I'm scared of Elijah Spalding.”
Reed looked at Nick over Phila's head. “Have you checked into this?”
“Not yet,” Nick said. “But I intend to. All right, Phila, try it again and this time make it very slow and very smooth, understand?”
She stared at him, alarmed. “What do you mean, you're going to check into it? What's to check into?”
“Never mind. Stop arguing and for once in your life try following orders.”
“I never follow orders if I can help it,” Phila announced with fine hauteur.
“You'll learn,” Nick replied, unconcerned.
“Who knows?” Tec added. “You might even get used to it.”
“Not a chance,” Phila retorted. “Antiauthoritarian, ultra-liberal, anarchistic tendencies are bred in my bones. Just ask Reed here.”
“With all three of us yelling at her,” Reed said equably, “she'll learn to follow a few orders.”
“Make that four,” Darren drawled as he strolled up to join the crowd.
Phila surveyed the small circle of determined male faces and knew she was outnumbered. Feeling mutinous but temporarily subdued, she turned back toward the target.
It was an odd sensation to have all these people hovering over her, concerned with making certain she got this gun business right, she reflected as she lifted the .38.
It had been a very long time since anyone had worried about her personal safety and even longer since anyone had felt obliged to ensure it by teaching her how to take care of herself.
It made no sense, but for the first time since Crissie's death Phila didn't feel quite so alone in the world.
Nick arrived in Seattle at four o'clock that afternoon. The trip was another calculated risk, he acknowledged as he parked his Porsche in one of the company lots. But this whole project was dependent on a series of such risks. He had to keep things teetering on the brink until he was ready to send a few of them over the edge.
He turned off the engine and sat for a moment behind the wheel, examining the jumble of plain two- and three-story buildings that comprised the headquarters of Castleton & Lightfoot, Inc.
The company had grown in rapid spurts during the early years. Reed and Burke had paid scant attention to such niceties as coordinated office and manufacturing plant design. Business was booming and they'd had no time for frills.
They had acquired building space in the south end of Seattle and as needed erected the cheapest, most efficient structures they could find. The parking lots were scattered willy-nilly around the buildings. At some point in the distant past someone had planted a few scraggly bushes near the doorways in a futile attempt to soften the no-nonsense surroundings.
There was nothing about the Castleton & Lightfoot headquarters that would win any industrial-design awards, but that wasn't nearly as important to the work force as the fact that there had never been any layoffs in the entire history of the company. Jobs had been steady, even during the worst periods of the notoriously cyclical aerospace boom-and-bust industry.
The company had managed to tread water during the bad times and bounce back as strong as ever when the economy picked up again. Avoiding mass layoffs was just another Castleton & Lightfoot tradition.
There was no denying that C&L had done phenomenally well during the initial growth period when Reed and Burke had been at the helm. But for the past several years things had become comfortably staid as far as Nick was concerned. The company was set in its ways; it no longer responded quickly to the promise of new markets. Competitors nipped at its heels. When Nick had been given the CEO mandate, he'd immediately started making some changes.
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