The Numbers Game

by Danielle Steel

  He had gone out to Greenwich a few times on the weekends to go to the boys’ baseball games, and was glad Eileen wasn’t there. Pennie said she was busy setting up her business and had hired an assistant. They were all moving on, and he’d been left high and dry, feeling sorry for himself. He blamed Olivia for not sticking with it, and Eileen for not forgiving him. They were both tougher than he had estimated. And in six months he’d be divorced, which he thought would never happen to him, after he’d married Eileen in the first place, and sacrificed a more exciting career for her. And now she was leaving him. He only saw his side of it, and had no one to discuss it with. Even his daughter was sympathetic to her mother.

  He took Seth and Mark to several Yankees games, which cheered him up, and he drove them back to Greenwich afterwards. He stopped to buy groceries at the store in Greenwich after he dropped them off, so he didn’t have to shop in New York. His apartment depressed him, and his kids never wanted to come to the city, so he was always there alone. He had taken it to be close to Olivia, which made no sense anymore. He was thinking about giving it up, and renting a house or apartment in Greenwich so he could be close to the boys, since Pennie would be gone anyway. The boys would be in Greenwich for six more years, and he didn’t mind the commute. He was used to it. He was thinking about looking for something in the summer. He might even buy a house, since he was giving Eileen theirs as part of their divorce settlement. He didn’t want to make her and the children move, and she couldn’t afford to buy out his share, so he had done the magnanimous thing to atone for his sins, and given it to her. She’d been very appreciative, and wrote him a nice email about what the gesture meant to her and the kids, not to be forced to move to a lesser house, and to know they were secure. And he was giving her a handsome sum of money too, and child support for the kids. He had put aside the money for college for all three of them. He didn’t want a war with her, and preferred to be generous. He could afford it. His career had been good to him, even if it wasn’t the one he had originally planned to pursue.

  He liked the idea of buying a house in Greenwich, near them, so the boys could ride their bikes over to see him on the weekend, so he called a realtor that week to see what was available. There were three in their neighborhood, which sounded good to him, although they weren’t cheap.

  Mathilde, the real estate agent, sounded pleasant on the phone and they agreed to meet at eleven o’clock on Saturday morning that weekend. When he got to the first house, he saw that the realtor was an attractive woman with dark hair, a good figure, and a friendly smile. She had long hair and was wearing a navy and white–striped sweater, jeans, and running shoes. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her. He figured he had probably seen her around Greenwich, since she said she lived there too.

  He hated the first house, it was beaten-up and old-fashioned inside, needed a new kitchen and bathrooms, and had no charm. It was an estate sale, previously owned by an elderly couple who hadn’t remodeled it since the fifties, and it would require more work than he wanted to undertake. He wanted something new and fresh that would be cheerful to live in and his children would like.

  The second house was all right and in good condition, but there was nothing special about it. And, wise in her business, the realtor had saved the best, and most expensive, for last. The first two had been reasonably priced. The third one was considerably more. And as soon as he walked in, Paul could see why. It was in perfect condition, newly remodeled, with beautiful bleached floors and big sunny windows. The house was full of light. There were three big bedrooms on the second floor, and two more on the floor above. It had a den, a dining room, a big living room, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a gigantic playroom downstairs with a high-tech sound system. There were even curtains in every room that were part of the sale, and bathrooms that had just been redone with stylish Italian fixtures. And there was a big backyard, a pool, and a four-car garage.

  “Wow!” he said, looking around. It was much nicer than their old house. It had every possible modern feature anyone could want, and nice decorating touches. It had been attractively staged, so a potential buyer could see how to do it. “Why would anyone sell this?” he asked in amazement. Did a developer do it? People redid houses all the time to sell them for a profit, and made big money in it, but this one was especially well done.

  “No, it’s a divorce. You know how that is. They had just finished the house, and he left with the nanny, a very pretty Swedish girl. So it’s up for sale. They want to get their money out of it, within reason, but it’s priced for a quick sale. They know they won’t make everything back for all the expensive details they put in. They just want to put it behind them as soon as they can, and move on. The wife went back to LA, where she’s from. The house has bad memories for her.” He nodded. It was a familiar story, and his story wouldn’t have been pretty either, if they’d sold their house. He was glad now that he hadn’t made Eileen do that. It seemed like adding insult to injury in an already painful situation.

  He asked Mathilde the price again, and how much negotiating room she thought there was. He didn’t want to exploit their misfortunes, but he didn’t want to pay a crazy price either, and she understood. The current owners had put too much money into it when they remodeled it, thinking they’d be there forever, and now they were probably going to take a loss, or at best break even on it, which the realtor said they were willing to do. They had only owned the house for three years, and spent two years remodeling it. They had moved from a smaller house in Greenwich.

  “It’s only been on the market for a few days and it won’t last long. If you like it, why don’t you make an offer you’re comfortable with, and see what happens? You can always improve it if they don’t accept your first offer. It’s going to sell pretty quickly. Houses like this, in this kind of condition, don’t come on the market often. And the owners are already gone. This is all staging. She’s already back in California with the kids, and he bought a co-op in New York.”

  “With the nanny?” Paul couldn’t resist asking, and she nodded.

  “She’s a lucky girl,” she commented. “Not all those stories end happily. And it didn’t end happily for the wife. She wants to get her money out of this as fast as she can, so she can buy in LA.” It seemed so cut-and-dried to Paul, people whose lives fell apart, or were torn to shreds, sold their homes and moved on with their broken hearts or new loves. It made him sad to think about and reminded him of Olivia and Eileen. So far, none of them had come out winners, in his opinion. Eileen would have disagreed.

  “I’d like to make an offer,” Paul said, forcing his mind back to real estate. He could just imagine how much Seth and Mark would love it, with the giant playroom and outdoor pool they could use all summer. They would never want to leave, which was partly the idea.

  “I’ll write up the offer for you,” the realtor said pleasantly, “and present it to their agent today. He was busy this morning, so he let me come alone. I’ll drop it off at his office, once you sign it.”

  “Can we do it now?” Paul asked her, she nodded, and they sat down at the rented dining table to do it. He liked some of the furniture and the realtor said it was all for sale from the company that had staged it.

  He made an offer just below their asking price, but not enough to insult them or blow the deal. Just low enough to feel that he had been smart about it. He signed the offer, took a last look around, and then they left, and stood outside for a minute.

  “You know, you look so familiar. I keep thinking that we’ve met, but I don’t know where.” He smiled at her and she looked shy for a minute.

  “School,” she answered. “My middle son is in class with your boys. My older boy is starting high school in September, and my youngest is starting first grade. He’s six.”

  “I knew I’d seen you.” They both smiled. “It was driving me crazy while we walked around the house. I really hope I get it,
it would be great for my boys.” He hesitated for a minute and then added, “We’re getting divorced too. My wife is staying in the house. My ex-wife,” he corrected himself painfully. It was hard to get used to.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” she said sympathetically.

  “Me too. It happens, I guess.” He thought she was very pretty, in a natural way. She didn’t look like a model, but she wasn’t plain either. He thought she was in her late thirties, or maybe forty at most, and he remembered seeing her at school now. He had an urge to invite her out for coffee or lunch, but he wanted to deal with business first. “Maybe we can get our boys together sometime,” he said cautiously, and she smiled at him. She had a warm smile and perfect teeth.

  “I’d love that. We have three almost the same age, my older boy is only a year and a half older than yours, and my little guy loves to tag along.” The vision of five boys together would have daunted most people, but Paul liked it. Mathilde was the right age, and they both lived in Greenwich. And she had mentioned her ex-husband so he knew she was single. It all made sense and appealed to him. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear back about the offer,” she promised him. They shook hands and got back in their cars, and she waved as she drove away to submit the offer.

  He took Mark out for ice cream then, since Pennie and Seth were out. And then he drove back to the city.

  He was watching sports on TV that night, alone in his apartment with a half-empty pizza box next to him, when his cellphone rang and he picked it up absentmindedly without looking at the number. He still hoped it would be Olivia, missing him unbearably, but it never was. It was Mathilde Smith, the realtor.

  “Hi, Paul. It’s Mathilde.” She sounded bright and cheery, which was her personality. She seemed like a positive person and enjoyed her work. “We’re almost there. We need the approval of both parties. The husband accepted your offer. I know I said they were included, but his ex-wife wants ten thousand for the drapes. I got her down to five. I think it’s just emotional for her. It’s the only sticking point.”

  “You’ve got it. Five thousand for the drapes. I like them anyway. Done. And I’d like to look at the furniture again, and see what I’d like to buy so I don’t have to run around furnishing it.” He no longer had Eileen to do his decorating.

  “Of course, we can go anytime. I’ll just call them back about the drapes. And Paul, congratulations!” she said warmly. “You bought a beautiful home.”

  “I can’t wait to show it to my kids. My daughter is leaving for college at the end of August, but she’s going to love the pool. You’ll have to bring your boys over sometime.”

  “They would love that,” she sounded shy then, “and so would I.” He wondered why he hadn’t noticed her before. But he hadn’t been available, and life had been different. He was married. And then he was in love with Olivia. Now he was alone, and his eyes were open and his mind clear. He was beaming when he hung up, thrilled with his new house.

  He went out to Greenwich the next day to tell the kids and Eileen. He drove Pennie and the boys past the new house, and they loved it, and the idea that he would be nearby so they could see him anytime. Eileen smiled at him when he dropped them off, and gave him a thumbs-up. He had done a good thing, and was proud of himself, and she was too.

  * * *

  —

  During the two weeks after Eileen hired Max, he had been at her house every day, making lists with her, and working on the email blast she was going to send. She emptied her address book into her computer, singling out people who were likely to give big parties, or even medium-sized ones, and host charitable events. She had six hundred names on the list, and they had added some fun artwork, and written an enticing email. She had put everyone on the list she could think of, including people she had met through charity committees and some of the more social parents at school. Anyone who might give a party, an event, or a wedding, or a nice dinner with some style, and good food. Max contributed some creative ideas, and was adept with the technology on her computer, and two weeks after they had met and she’d hired him, she hit the send button and sent the email for Eileen Jackson Events out into the ether. She and Max sent up a cheer, and Pennie came into her mother’s office to see what was happening.

  They had put up a website to which they would add photos of various events later. For now, it was all very basic. Max had been a big help to her, and he was always willing to help around the house, make a quick lunch for her while they worked, or a snack for the children when they got home from school. They liked him. He had been a terrific asset so far. They had compared recipes, and he was impressed by what Eileen had learned at Cordon Bleu, and her own natural abilities.

  “You’re a born chef,” he complimented her. And he was a masterful one, with both experience and talent. She could hardly wait for the meals he would help her design for their events, while working with the clients.

  They got their first client call three days after they sent the emails, from a woman whose name Eileen remembered, but not her face. The client said they had met on a committee for a charity to help abused women years before. The moment Eileen answered the line dedicated to her catering business, Sandra Melling breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, thank God…your email is an answer to my prayers. We haven’t seen each other in years. My daughter is getting married for the second time. She just told me two days ago. She’s thirty-nine and she wants a big wedding. I’ve called every caterer in Connecticut, they’re all booked. She’s insisting on getting married in June. We have eight weeks to plan a wedding for three hundred people, and she wants everything pink, even the wedding cake. I’m having a nervous breakdown. I got her to do it on the last Saturday in June. That’s June twenty-seventh. Can you do it?” She was talking a mile a minute, and Eileen vaguely remembered that she was the widow of a very wealthy man, and had a beautiful estate. If she still had it, it would be the perfect location. And an audience of three hundred as a debut for her catering skills was a fabulous opportunity, and scary as hell. Max was in the room when she got the call, and she waved her arms frantically and pointed to the pad on her desk, where she had written the word “wedding” and the date “June 27.” Max’s handsome Italian face broke into a broad grin and he gave her a thumbs-up.

  “As it happens, we’re still free on that date,” Eileen said, trying to sound businesslike and not too excited. “Mrs. Melling, we’d be happy to do it.”

  “You’re a godsend. Call me Sandy. When can we meet?”

  “Does tomorrow work for you?” Eileen suggested.

  “That’s perfect. I don’t even know where to start. We did her first wedding in Palm Beach, but she wants this one here.”

  “We’ll make it work,” Eileen promised her, and jotted down the address for their meeting the next day. She hung up a minute later and Max whirled her around her small office. “We have a client! We’re in business! It’s working!” she burbled happily.

  “We will look at everything,” Max told her, “and then we will discuss it and give her an estimate. We agree to nothing in the meeting.” He was so seasoned and so bold that sometimes she wasn’t sure who was the boss and who was the assistant, but she liked him more and more. He was easy to work with so far, and a nice person, and he had excellent ideas. And they had a wedding to do in two months.

  “By the way, everything has to be pink.” He looked horrified after she said it.

  “No. A wedding cannot be pink. It must be white.”

  “Second wedding. The client gets what she wants, and we get a wedding to show future clients. If she wants it green or black, we do it. Besides, it might be cute.”

  “We do elegant weddings, not cute ones,” he said grandly.

  “Ten percent of a pink wedding is still money, especially for three hundred people on a magnificent estate.”

  “True,” he said, reconsidering, and then he broke in
to a smile. “I think pink is a very good idea, don’t you?”

  “A very good idea.” She smiled broadly at him. They were off and running with eight weeks to plan a pink wedding.

  * * *

  —

  Olivia got everything in order before she left New York in mid-April. Jean-Pierre was expecting her, and he was picking her up at the Ritz for dinner on the day she arrived. She was eager to see him. She hadn’t stopped since she left Paris, and she was looking forward to setting up their office space at his father’s gallery on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Jean-Pierre said he had a lot of plans to discuss with her over dinner.

  She was at the Ritz by noon, had a quick lunch in her room, went through her emails, swam in the pool afterwards, and then had an appointment at the spa for a massage. She was back in her room at four o’clock. A vase with two dozen red roses was waiting for her in the room, with a card. “Welcome to Paris. À ce soir. Jean-Pierre.” Until tonight. She smiled when she read it.

  She went back to answering emails, and at six-thirty she bathed and dressed carefully for dinner. She wore a short black skirt, which showed off her legs, a white Chanel jacket, and towering high heels. Her red hair was like a beacon and lit up her face and green eyes.

  She was outside promptly at eight o’clock, and two minutes later, he pulled up in a sleek black Ferrari. He looked incredibly handsome, even more than she remembered, and very racy in the sports car. “It’s my father’s,” he confessed as they pulled away from the hotel, and she liked that he admitted it. “He let me borrow it for the night to impress you.” There was an innocence and unpretentiousness about him that she loved. She thanked him for the flowers, and they started talking immediately as though they had seen each other the day before. They had spoken constantly since she left, but there was an ease about their relationship and their meshing of ideas that made it feel as though they had known each other forever. They were friends and business associates now, and the same unspoken question hung between them that had been there before.