Tom Hyman

by Jupiter's Daughter

  “I understand.”

  “It’s three now. Come back at five-thirty. I’ll have an answer then.”

  “Five-thirty,” Stewart repeated. He picked up his attache case and left.

  The two and a half hours passed with excruciating slowness.

  Stewart walked the streets of Munich, ate a bratwurst and drank a glass of beer in a cafe, then walked the streets some more.

  He knew he was taking a tremendous risk. He was practically putting his future in her hands. But he believed that he could control her.

  There was not a shred of evidence to suggest that she could be manipulated by him or by anybody—quite the contrary—but his ego wouldn’t permit him to think otherwise.

  When he returned to her office, the baroness was no longer alone. A narrow-headed man in his forties, with slicked-back hair, a high collar, a toothbrush mustache, and a sour expression, was sitting beside the baroness’s desk. Stewart was immediately encouraged. This looked like her money man.

  The baroness introduced him. His name was Richard Spengler—a company lawyer. Stewart shook his cold, damp hand and sat back down on the sofa.

  “I wish to make a counteroffer,” the baroness said in a brisk voice.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I will loan you the twenty-four million dollars on the following conditions,” she began, dropping her gaze to a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. “One, an equal share with you of all profits from the Jupiter program. Two, a fifty-one-percent interest in Stewart Biotech. The twenty-four million dollars will be paid back either out of your profits on Jupiter or directly from gross, pretax earnings of Stewart Biotech, whichever becomes available first.

  For my part, I’ll agree to undertake all initial expenses for developing the program—finding a suitable test site, outfitting and staffing a clinic, arranging for trials, and so on. When you’ve recovered your financial position, we’ll share all future costs equally. There remain a lot of details to settle, of course, but those are the principal points. If you accept those, we can conclude an agreement.”

  Stewart’s jaw tightened. “Fifty-one percent? You expect me to give you controlling interest in Stewart Biotech? For a twenty-four-milliondollar loan?” He said this in a very loud voice.

  The baroness exchanged glances with Herr Spengler. He pursed his lips primly and nodded.

  “The only way I can protect a loan that large is to have control over the company using it,” she replied.

  “Even the banks aren’t that greedy.”

  The baroness folded her arms.

  “The answer is no,” Stewart said. “You’ll have to accept much less. I offered the stock as security. As collateral. That’s all. Until the loan is paid back.”

  “That’s not good enough. I want stock.”

  “If you want stock, you can’t expect a cash repayment of the loan as well. That’s absurd.”

  “That’s my offer, Dalton.”

  He thought the baroness was just staking out a tough bargaining position, but she wasn’t. She meant her original offer to stand.

  That was it. Period. Take it or leave it. Stewart argued heatedly with her for half an hour, but she refused to budge.

  He left her office, finally, telling her that he needed some time alone to think. He felt sick, confused, and angry. The woman was unbelievable. She knew she was his last hope, short of bankruptcy, and she intended to extract the maximum from him-strip him of everything she possibly could.

  He went outside and walked the streets again. It had begun to rain hard. He pulled his coat collar up around his neck. He was shivering violently, and his joints and his muscles ached. His knees felt so weak and rubbery he feared that he might fall down.

  He retreated into a bar, ordered a drink, and downed another Halcion.

  She had calculated her offer with a brutal precision, he thought.

  No matter how much he hated it, it still came out as the best alternative. It boiled down to a choice of giving control to her or to the banks. And the banks wouldn’t lend him the money he needed to develop the Jupiter program. And that was what mattered. If he could just get the baroness to back off from her demand of controlling interest, he decided, he’d accept her offer.

  Then Jupiter would get developed, and it was Jupiter, after all, not Stewart Biotech, that held the key to a vastly richer future.

  And he was pretty sure she’d accept less than controlling interest in Biotech. She was too smart—and too greedy—to hold out for the impossible.

  And there was another reason. He had heard the men in the catacombs—the same men who had been watching Slater’s apartment—speak German. It was close to certain they had been sent there by the baroness. Despite her tough bargaining stance, she still wanted Jupiter as much as he did.

  He called the baroness from his hotel. “Forty percent of all common stock,” he said. “And two seats on the board. Take it or leave it.”

  “Fifty percent and four seats on the board. That’s the best offer I can possibly ever give you, Dalton.”

  “Sure. Forty-five percent and three seats. And that is the best you’re ever going to get from me.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Stewart waited, holding his breath.

  “Very well.”

  “Good. Draw up the papers. I’ll initial a draft tonight. Tomorrow I’ll send Hank Ajemian over to hammer out the details. I’ll need you to transfer twenty-four million dollars to my bank in New York by noon tomorrow. I’ll give you the account number tonight.”

  “I’m pleased,” the baroness admitted, when they had settled their deal.

  Suddenly her voice was warm, sensuous. “It’ll be a great adventure, I think.”

  Stewart didn’t reply.

  “Oh, there is one other condition,” she added.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your daughter, Genny. I’d like to meet her very much. If she’s the living proof that Jupiter really works, I must see her myself, don’t you agree?”

  “Of course,” Stewart said. “Why not?”

  He hung up the phone and collapsed heavily onto the bed. He pulled the comforter up over himself and fell asleep, fully dressed.

  A last hurried survey of the situation downstairs assured Anne that everything was in order. Amelia, the cook, was working furiously on the menu; the servers were properly dressed and instructed; the wines were chilled, the bar was set out, the hors d’oeuvres made; the newly decorated dining room was spotlessly clean, the silver was polished, the places set, the candles and the flowers arranged.

  Anne rushed upstairs to change. Guests would be arriving in fifteen minutes. Dalton was already pacing the downstairs halls impatiently, drink in hand.

  Her husband had so many times in the past reminded her that her performance as a hostess reflected on him that she was invariably in a state of nervous apprehension whenever they were entertaining.

  But tonight she was more anxious than normal. This dinner was no ordinary affair. It was for Stewart’s business partner, the Baroness Gerta von Hauser. Every time Anne thought of the word “baroness” she felt her throat constrict. God knew what the woman was accustomed to, but it had to be pretty grand. She was not only a baroness, she was the head of a huge European business conglomerate.

  Dalton had gone out of his way to reassure her. The baroness, he said, was really very likable and easygoing—not at all the demanding autocrat some had made her out to be. But beneath her husbands assurances Anne detected his own nervousness. Thewoman had recently saved Stewart Biotech from bankruptcy with a big cash loan. Dalton obviously wanted this dinner to make the best possible impression on her.

  Lexy had helped Anne choose the wine and the menu. Anne had suggested they should try some German dish, in honor of the baroness, but Lexy had vetoed the idea. “Germans are not gourmets. They eat cabbage, potatoes, and a variety of vile sausages.

  The menu has to be French.”

  In consultation
with Amelia they settled on quenelles of pheasant with morel sauce for the main course. It was a daunting choice, given the long preparation time required, and the difficulty of finding both fresh pheasant and fresh morel mushrooms in the same season. But Amelia was enthusiastic. For the wine, Lexy chose a great Rhone, Beaucastel’s Chateauneuf du Pape 1989. For dessert they agreed on something Amelia had found in an old French dessert cookbook—a rich, complicated winter holiday cake made with hazelnuts, Swiss bittersweet chocolate, and Dutch cocoa, called Gateau Castel Vallerien aux Noisettes.

  “If the baroness has any taste, Amelia will astonish her,” Lexy said.

  “If she doesn’t, at least the rest of us will all know we’ve had a great dinner.”

  Lexy had also helped Anne pick out a new evening gown for the occasion, and Anne wished she’d hurry up and get here.

  Anne slipped into the gown and fussed with it in front of her dressing room mirror. It was black, with long sleeves. It was also cut very low back and front, and decidedly clingy. She had never worn anything so daring before. She would never have chosen it herself, but Lexy had insisted. It was a matter of association, Lexy had explained. The baroness naturally expected to be in glamorous company.

  Anne picked out a long string of pearls and wQund them twice around her neck. She decided they called too much attention to her bosom. She tried half a dozen other necklaces. None of them looked right. Where the hell was Lexy anyway?

  The guest list was small—only a dozen—but Dalton had made sure it was high-caliber: none of your boring local WASP gentry, jet-set riffraff, or Wall Street types this time around. Besides Lexy and a male friend, Carlton Fisher, who was curator of antiquities for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, there would be Henry Klein, secretary of state in the last Republican administration, and his wife, Claudette, an imposing social figure who sat on the boards of half a dozen cultural and philanthropic organizations; Charles VanDamme, the president of International Airlines, and his new wife, the famous actress Sylvia Sanders. And of course, Hank and Carol Ajemian. Since the Baroness was coming alone, the table was balanced by inviting an extra single male—the Broadway producer and director Freddy Abbot.

  Lexy finally breezed into the room, a full glass of white wine gripped precariously between thumb and forefinger. “Wow!”

  That gown!” she exclaimed. “Fantastic.”

  “I’m scared to death. What am I going to say to these people?

  A secretary of state? A German baroness?”

  Lexy handed Anne her wineglass. “Have a taste. Settle your nerves.”

  Anne took two deep gulps.

  “Hey, take it easy. You don’t want to pass out before the soup course.”

  Lexy picked out a small gold necklace from the jewelry case on the dresser and put it around Anne’s neck. “Black and gold.

  You’ll look like a goddess. Now, two things: One, don’t worry.

  Two, don’t try too hard to be amusing. Just be yourself. The men aren’t going to hear a word you say, anyway. Just smile and ask a lot of intimate questions. Everybody loves intimate questions.”

  “I’m depending on you to keep things lively.”

  “It won’t be necessary. Tonight’s crowd is strictly A-list.

  They’re all super-articulate egomaniacs. You’ll have to shout to make yourself heard over the din. It’ll be the best dinner party you ever had.” Lexy handed Anne a set of her gold earrings.

  “Here, put these on. That’s all you need.”

  Anne stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the earrings. “I have great news,” she said. “Dalton finally said okay. I’m going to have a real job!”

  “You’re joking.”

  Anne squeezed Lexy’s hand in glee. “Biotech has a small research facility half an hour away from here. I’ll have my own lab and two assistants! Isn’t that great?”

  Lexy laughed. “Sounds like nepotism to me.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “I’m happy for you, of course. What’ll you be doing?”

  “Tell you more later,” Anne promised. “Go ahead down. I’ve got to go check on Genny.”

  Her daughter was in the nursery, eating dinner with Mrs. Callahan and watching a videotape.

  “Mommy, you look so pretty!”

  Mrs. Callahan murmured her agreement, although Anne thought she seemed a trifle shocked by the gown. Anne gave Genny a quick hug. “The baroness wants to meet you,” she said.

  “I’ll come up and get you in about half an hour. Then you let Mrs.

  Callahan put you right into bed, okay?”

  “What’s a baroness, Mommy?”

  “It’s a special name given only to very special ladies. And I want you to be very nice to her.”

  “Does she have any name besides baroness?”

  “Yes, but you can call her baroness.”

  “Miss or Mrs. Baroness?”

  Anne and Mrs. Callahan laughed. “Just baroness,” Anne said.

  Anne arrived on the ground floor just in time to greet Carol and Hank Ajemian. She gave each of them a hug and hurried them into the library, where Dalton was already engaged in a lively conversation with Carlton Fisher and Freddy Abbot.

  Henry and Claudette Klein arrived minutes later, with Charles VanDamme and Sylvia Sanders right behind them.

  Lexy’s predictions were exactly right. The guests crowded into the library and within minutes all were talking at once. The mood was relaxed and jovial, almost boisterous—as if they were all old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. Anne was showered with compliments and was soon beaming.

  Dalton came over. “Everything okay?”

  Anne squeezed his hand. “Yes. But where’s the baroness?”

  Dalton glanced at his watch. “Good question.”

  “She hasn’t called.”

  “It’s begun to snow outside,” Dalton said. “Maybe that slowed them down.”

  Another halfhour passed . . . still no baroness. The cook was getting anxious, and the guests were beginning to expect dinner.

  Anne went upstairs and told Mrs. Callahan to put Genny to bed.

  Ten minutes later the baroness arrived, chauffeur and bodyguard in tow.

  Dalton did the introductions in the library.

  Anne found the woman intimidating. She looked both regal and gorgeous, like a movie star. Her gown was subdued, but it complemented her figure and complexion perfectly. Her makeup was artfully invisible, and every strand of her blond hair rested exactly in place. She acted as if she dressed this way every evening of her life.

  The baroness seemed preoccupied. She greeted everyone in the most perfunctory manner and then stood aloof from the others, as if she preferred not to talk with anyone.

  The festive mood evaporated. The guests began looking about awkwardly and staring into their drinks. The baroness hardly seemed the shy type, Anne thought. What was her problem?

  Lexy came over. “Don’t worry. A temporary lull. A little culture shock. Things’ll improve as soon as we get into dinner.”

  Dalton came by. “Remember, the baroness wants to meet Genny.”

  “It’s awfully late. Is it that important?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. I’ll bring her down. But just for a few minutes.

  We’ve got to start dinner. Amelia is about to start screaming and throwing things.”

  Anne raced upstairs. Genny was in bed but still awake. “Would you like to come downstairs to meet everybody?”

  The little girl jumped up, immediately excited.

  “Just for five minutes. Then right back to bed.”

  “Okay. Do I have to get dressed?”

  “No. We’ll put on your bathrobe.”

  Genny clutched her stuffed animal. “Can I take Rabbit?”

  “Okay.”

  Anne guided Genny around the room and introduced her. She was mildly astonished at how the child poured on the charm.

  Someone asked her how old she was, and
there was a widespread expression of disbelief when they learned she was just past two years of age.

  Anne introduced her to the baroness last. Genny did a little curtsy and said “Good evening, Baroness,” in a very formal tone.

  Everyone laughed.

  The baroness smiled—the first time she had smiled since her arrival.

  She came up close to Genny and bent down to take her hand. Genny backed away. Her cheerfulness vanished, replaced by an expression of wild-eyed fear.

  The baroness stepped forward again, murmuring some endearment in German. Genny backed away again. Panic lit her eyes.

  She pressed her lips together as if she were about to burst into tears.

  Anne put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently toward the baroness.

  Genny exploded in a rage. She twisted away from her mother and uttered a high-pitched scream that froze everyone in place.

  Anne caught her, but Genny punched her hard on the arms, twisted free again, and ran from the room, wailing loudly.

  Anne was dumbstruck. The child had never done anything like this, ever. She caught up with her on the stairs and followed her into her bedroom.

  Dalton quickly escorted the guests into dinner.

  Anne picked Genny up in her arms and rocked her gently. She soon calmed down.

  “What’s the matter, darling?”

  Genny buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

  “Did something scare you?”

  “Baroness.”

  “She scared you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “She’s bad. I hate her.”

  Anne held her daughter in her arms for a few minutes, then tucked her back in bed. She fell asleep almost instantly.

  Anne returned downstairs, wondering how she was going to explain Genny’s embarrassing behavior. She could hear the baroness’s voice as she approached the dining room. The shock of the incident with Genny seemed to have jolted the woman out of her unsocial mood. She was laughing at a story Dalton was telling her.

  Anne was relieved to see that everyone else at the table was chatting amiably. Lexy and Henry Klein were joking about some movie they had seen recently. Claudette Klein and Charles VanDamme were engaged in a discussion about the new politics of Eastern Europe. Freddy Abbot and Sylvia Sanders were telling each other show business anecdotes.