Dawn in Eclipse Bay

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Wouldn’t want to interfere with your best painting time.”

  He closed the door. With a little more force than was necessary.

  chapter 13

  “It’s just a business,” Hampton said on the other end of the line.

  “The hell it is.” He’d had enough of the familiar argument, Sullivan decided. He ended the call abruptly with a sudden punch of a button.

  He ought to be used to this feeling after so many years of butting heads with his stubborn son. It was always like this whenever the subject of the future of Harte Investments arose. Hampton had done a brilliant job with the company, but he flatly refused to be concerned about what happened to it in the next generation. As if it didn’t matter a damn.

  It had taken him a long time to realize that, to Hampton, Harte Investments was just a business. Running the company was nothing more than a job to him. He had done it extraordinarily well but he could walk away tomorrow and never look back.

  In fact, walking away from H.I. was precisely what Hampton planned to do. Sometime in the next two years. Sullivan swore under his breath and reached for his cane. He still could not believe that after having worked so hard to take the company to another level, his son was looking forward to retiring so that he could start a charitable foundation.

  As far as he was concerned, Sullivan thought, charity began at home.

  Just a business.

  What the hell was the matter with everyone else in the family? Didn’t they understand that a company like Harte Investments was a work of art? It had required vision and sweat to bring it to life. It was the result of a lot of carefully calculated risks and farsighted strategy. It had heart. It had struggled and fought and survived in a jungle where other businesses, large and small, got eaten alive.

  And now, because none of his grandchildren had any interest in the company, it would be sold or swallowed up by some other, larger, predator.

  He rapped the tip of the cane sharply against the cool terra-cotta tiles of the living room floor. The small gesture did nothing to release his pent-up frustration.

  Just a business.

  He stopped at the bank of floor-to-ceiling French doors that overlooked the pool.

  Rachel was on her last lap. He watched her glide through the turquoise water and felt some of his anger fade. He became aware of the quiet sense of connection that he always experienced when he saw her. It calmed him and gave him a centered feeling that he could not explain. The older he got, the more he realized that Rachel helped define him. A great deal of what he knew about himself he had learned from living with her all these years.

  He opened one of the glass-paned doors and went out onto the patio. It was late afternoon. The long rays of the desert sun were blocked by the walls of the house. The pool lay in comfortable shadow. In the distance the mountains were very sharp against the incredibly blue Arizona sky.

  He selected two bottles of chilled springwater from the small refrigerator he had installed near the outdoor grill and lowered himself onto a lounger. He unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles, took a long swallow, and waited for Rachel to emerge from the jeweled pool. Talking to her always helped him put things into perspective.

  She reached the steps and walked up out of the sparkling water. He watched her peel her swim cap off her short, silver-blond hair and admired her figure in the black-and-white bathing suit. After all this time he still felt the quiet heat of sexual attraction. She was only five years younger than he but somewhere along the line she had stopped aging, at least to him. He would want her until the day he died. And probably after that, too.

  Her mouth curved as she walked toward him across the patio. “I can see that the discussion with Hampton did not go well.”

  “I don’t know where he gets that stubborn streak.”

  “Certainly not from you.”

  She picked up her white terrycloth robe, wrapped it around herself and sat down beside him. He handed her one of the bottles of cold water. She removed the cap and took a sip. They sat and watched the sunlight on the mountains. Sullivan relaxed into the lounger.

  “Hampton and Elaine think that Gabe will try to marry her in order to get his hands on a chunk of Harte,” he said after a while.

  “What do you think?”

  “No Madison I ever knew had enough common sense to marry for money.”

  “Good point. But everyone says that Gabe is a different kind of Madison. His company is his passion. He built it to prove something to himself and everyone else. It’s as important to him as Harte Investments is to you.”

  “I know.” Sullivan grimaced. “Just wish one or two of my grandkids felt the same way about H.I. It’s Hampton’s fault that none of them ever showed much interest in the company.”

  “He didn’t want them to feel the same kind of pressure he got from you when he was growing up.”

  “Pressure, hell. I just guided him a little, that’s all.”

  “You groomed him for Harte from the day he was born. Made him think he owed it to you and that he had to prove he wouldn’t turn out to be the same kind of wastrel Mitchell’s son was. Hampton took over the firm to please you and you know it.”

  “What’s wrong with that? He’s done a damn fine job of growing the company. He couldn’t have run it that well if he hadn’t had a talent for business.”

  “Hampton has a talent, all right. But he wants to use it to set up that foundation of his. He’s had enough of H.I. and he doesn’t want any of our grandchildren to be forced into running it when he steps down.”

  Sullivan groaned. “I knew Hannah and Lillian probably wouldn’t take on H.I. But I had hopes that Nick would take the helm eventually. Why he had to go off on his own to write mysteries is beyond me. Don’t know why anyone as smart as he is would want to waste time writing novels when he could be running a company the size of Harte Investments.”

  “All three of them have followed their own stars and that’s the way it should be.” Rachel patted his shoulder. “Besides, you enjoy Nick’s mysteries and you know it.”

  Sullivan brooded on that for a moment. “Little Carson may show some interest in business in a few years,” he said hopefully. “He’s a bright kid.”

  “For heaven’s sake, he’s only five years old. It will be ages before Carson can even think of assuming such a responsibility. You certainly can’t expect Hampton to hold the reins for another two decades on the off-chance that your great-grandson might someday want to take over the business.”

  Sullivan leaned his head against the back of the lounger and considered the problem.

  “You’re always telling me what people will do and why,” he said eventually. “Do you think Gabe Madison would marry Lillian just to get his hands on Harte?”

  To his surprise, Rachel hesitated briefly. A troubled frown creased her forehead.

  “It’s a legitimate concern, under the circumstances,” she said finally. “Of the two boys, I think Gabe was more affected by all the baggage Mitchell carried because of the blowup of Harte-Madison. Proving to himself and everyone else that he could compete with a Harte has been a fierce source of motivation for Gabe for years. In addition, H.I. is one of his competitors.”

  “Only occasionally. H.I. and M.C. have carved out different territories for the most part.”

  “My point is that if he saw a chance to control a portion of Harte Investments he might not be able to resist for both emotional and business reasons.”

  “The ultimate revenge for a Madison, hmm?”

  “I’m not saying that it would be a deliberate act of revenge on his part. More of a subconscious motivation.”

  “Subconscious, my sweet patoot.” Sullivan took a swig of his springwater and lowered the bottle. “When it comes to business, Gabe Madison knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  Rachel stretched her legs out on the lounger. “That stupid feud. I can’t believe that it’s still affecting both our family and the Madisons, too.”

  Sulli
van said nothing.

  Rachel studied the pool for a while. “Do you ever think about her?”

  When Rachel spoke in that quiet, thoughtful tone he paid attention. It meant that she was very serious.

  “Who?” he asked, groping to refocus on whatever this new issue was.

  “Claudia Banner. The woman who destroyed Harte-Madison and ruined your friendship with Mitchell. I’ve always assumed that she was very beautiful.”

  He summoned up an image of the Claudia he had known all those years ago, contemplated it for a few minutes and then shrugged.

  “She was a pretty little redhead. Sharp as a tack, too. Mitch and I were fresh out of the service and eager to make our fortunes. She showed us how to do it. That combination of qualities can make a woman seem pretty damn attractive.”

  “Were you in love with her?”

  He sensed a minefield.

  “Thought I was for a time,” he said. “Changed my mind real fast when she disappeared with the total assets of Harte-Madison and dumped the company into bankruptcy. But poor Mitch had fallen for her hook, line, and sinker. He refused to believe she’d conned us. He was convinced that I had somehow used her to grab his share of the firm.”

  “Hence the infamous knock-down-drag-out fistfight in front of Fulton’s Supermarket and the start of the legendary Harte-Madison feud.”

  “It was a long time ago, Rachel. Mitch and I were young men. Young men do dumb things.”

  “You said you thought you were in love with Claudia Banner.”

  “For a time.”

  “Don’t you know for certain whether or not you loved her?”

  He gazed out at the mountains. “I now know for sure that whatever the hell I felt for Claudia Banner was not love.”

  “How can you be so certain of that?”

  “I didn’t know what love was until I met you.”

  She turned her head very quickly, obviously startled.

  Then she laughed softly, leaned across the small space that separated the two loungers and kissed him lightly.

  “Good answer,” she said.

  “Thanks. I thought it was pretty good, myself.”

  It was also the truth, he thought. But after all these years he was certain she knew that.

  chapter 14

  He dressed carefully before he went to see her, wanting to strike precisely the right note. So much hung in the balance. He contemplated the limited range of clothing in the closet. Unfortunately he had left many of his best shirts and ties behind in Portland. He hadn’t expected to need them here on the coast. But he was not entirely unprepared. He was never entirely unprepared. He wanted her to know that.

  After due consideration he went with a pale-blue shirt that matched his eyes and an Italian knit sweater that made his shoulders appear a little broader. The trousers and loafers worked well with the sweater.

  He stood in front of the mirror studying the effect. Not quite right. He took off the sweater and went back to the closet for a tie and the corduroy jacket. The tie showed respect. The cord jacket said he was a deep thinker.

  Satisfied, he left the room and went outside to the parking lot. He got into the car and drove the short distance to the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute.

  Ten minutes later he was standing in front of her secretary’s desk.

  “I’m here to see Mrs. Thornley,” he said.

  The secretary looked skeptical and apologetic at the same time. It was probably a natural-born talent.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but please give her this card. I think she’ll see me.”

  The secretary examined the card and the note he had jotted on it. She got to her feet, went to the closed door behind her desk and opened it.

  He waited until she disappeared inside before checking his reflection in the highly polished chrome base of her name plaque.

  He straightened quickly when the door opened again.

  “Mrs. Thornley will see you, Dr. Flint.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took a deep breath, preparing himself for acute disappointment in case he had gotten the wrong impression about her last night. The scene in the restaurant had happened so quickly.

  He went through the door, closed it firmly and stood looking at his fate.

  She studied him from where she sat behind her desk, a vision in a fitted red knit jacket that was accented with gold buttons and well-defined, padded shoulders. She toyed with the small card he had sent in a moment earlier.

  He gave the office a quick once-over, checking the quality of the furnishings. First class all the way. The lady had style and taste. The room was spacious with a view of the town and the bay spread out below in the distance.

  There was another door on the far side of the office. It stood open a crack. Someone was moving around in the adjoining room. Probably an assistant or a speech-writer. He heard a desk drawer slam.

  “Please sit down, Dr. Flint,” Marilyn said. Cool self-possessed authority rang in the words.

  He felt his blood heat. He had not been wrong. She was magnificent. A goddess.

  He lowered himself into one of the sleek black leather chairs.

  Marilyn rose, crossed the room to the door that separated her office from the smaller one on the far side of the room and closed it very firmly. She smiled at him.

  Absolutely magnificent.

  “We need to talk,” Anderson said.

  “I found out that she had an affair with Trevor,” Marilyn said. She went to stand at the window of the cottage and looked out over the bay. “I could hardly keep her on as my campaign manager after I learned the truth.”

  “Guess it would be a little awkward,” Lillian admitted. She glanced at her watch. Another morning’s work shot. The last thing she had needed today was to open the front door and find Marilyn Thornley on her front porch. Why me? she wondered. She did not relish being a politician’s confidant.

  “I knew that he was probably screwing someone but I just assumed it was one of his perky little campaign workers. Someone unimportant. Lord knows, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Trevor and I had an understanding, you see. As long as he was reasonably discreet about it, I could ignore it.”

  Marilyn looked different this morning, Lillian thought. No longer the battlefield general with antifreeze running in her veins. More like a woman who has learned the name of her ex-husband’s lover. Hurt. Angry. Resentful.

  “I’ve heard about understandings like that,” Lillian said neutrally.

  Marilyn’s mouth twisted. “You sound very disapproving.”

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want a marriage based on that kind of unwritten contract.”

  “You’d rather be married for your family’s company, is that it?”

  It wasn’t easy but Lillian managed to hold on to her temper. “I don’t know why you came here this morning to tell me this, Marilyn. It’s none of my business.”

  “Don’t you understand? I had to talk to someone. I don’t know anyone else I can trust here in town. Not with something this personal. I certainly can’t talk to anyone on my staff. I would look weak and emotional.” Marilyn took a deep breath and exhaled, making a visible effort to compose herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that crack about being married for Harte Investments. That was uncalled for.”

  Lillian lounged back against the counter. “Forget it. Not like you’re the first person to leap to the conclusion that Gabe is only interested in me because of Harte.”

  “Still, it wasn’t right. I apologize. I’m not at my best this morning. The thing is, even though I knew Trevor was sleeping with someone, I never dreamed it was Claire.”

  “You’re sure it was Claire who had the affair with Trevor?” Lillian asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Pure accident. I was going through some old expense account statements the other day, gathering data for my divorce attorney. I came across record
s of some reimbursements Trevor had made to Claire. At first I thought they were legitimate expenses associated with the campaign. Something made me dig a little deeper. Turned out the expenses were incurred at a series of cheap hotels over a period of several months. In each case Trevor and Claire had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Can you believe it?”

  “Tacky.”

  “Very. Once I started looking, I turned up a few other unusual receipts. When it comes to sex, Trevor has his little, uh, eccentricities. Apparently Claire catered to them.”

  “I see. What did Claire say when you confronted her?”

  “She denied it, of course. Claimed Trevor must have been with some other woman, not her.”

  “But you didn’t believe her.”

  “No.” Marilyn rubbed her temples in a gesture of weariness that seemed uncharacteristic. “Naturally I had to let her go. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

  “If I was absolutely sure of my facts.”

  Definitely should not have answered the door, Lillian thought. At the very least, she ought not to have invited Marilyn inside. But it had been impossible to ignore the bleak pain in the other woman’s eyes. The sisterhood thing.

  “I really shouldn’t have come here,” Marilyn said. “I had no right to dump this on you. But I woke up this morning needing to talk to someone and I couldn’t think of anyone else. You and I have a common bond.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Gabe.”

  “Gabe? That’s stretching the definition of a common bond a bit far, don’t you think?”

  Marilyn rested a hand on the windowsill. “Don’t worry, I’m not even going to try to take him away from you.”

  “Oh, hey, thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “I’m a pragmatic woman,” Marilyn said. “I don’t waste time beating my head against stone walls. You don’t have to think of me as your competition.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact I hadn’t thought of you in quite those terms.”