Without thinking, Lily leaned toward him and placed her trembling hand on his hard-muscled arm. He immediately tensed, and the eyes which met hers were guarded, as cool as she had ever seen them. “I have papers to go over tonight. And I plan to go into the city again tomorrow morning, so I know you’ll understand if I forgo brandy and parlor talk tonight.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured, forcing a small smile as he placed his dinner napkin on the table and rose. She said nothing more as he quickly left the room.
Chapter 29
It was just an hour after dawn when Drayton maneuvered his fine bay stallion through a vaguely familiar alley, around to the loading dock of the Rambert Paints warehouse. The place was all but deserted. Two men moved sluggishly as they loaded a single wagon, while a third man was propped casually against a wall, a bottle in his hand as he observed the other two. No one hurried, no one was there to urge them to do so. There were a few laughing comments from the third man, a grumbling remark from one of the workers. Otherwise all was strangely quiet. Drayton’s eyes lingered on the men, amazed to find things so altered from the bustle of years before. Mornings had always been the busiest time of day for the warehouse, as the workers rushed to fill orders for the day. Pierce’s warnings had not really prepared him for this.
He watched a moment longer before he clucked his tongue and guided his horse around to the front entrance of the building. As he tethered his mount to the hitching post, his eyes flicked up and down the red brick building, huge and imposing, though not quite the frightening structure he remembered. It was a small boy’s memories which clutched at him now, memories of tagging breathlessly along in his father’s shadow, feeling small and unimportant and afraid, though he had never allowed those feelings to show. Tears had always made his father so angry. Drayton remembered his father’s brisk, independent strides, which had been almost impossible for his short, child’s legs to match. And he remembered the terse, authoritative voice which never once softened the way Uncle Henry’s often did, which had never once offered praise or encouragement or affection to a child who needed all. His father had seemed so wonderfully strong in a world that was confusing and rushed and frightening. But there had been no room for a child in James Rambert’ s life. There had been no room for anything but the business he had built from nothing.
Three years after his first wife’s death, James Rambert had married Roselyn Van Ryt, a woman from one of the city’s finest and oldest families. For James, Roselyn Van Ryt was the perfect overt symbol of his success. She was an expensive possession, just as his fine horses, his tailored clothing, and his fashionable brownstone residence in Gramercy Park were. Roselyn knew all the right people, gave the most elegant parties in New York, and had terribly expensive tastes which James happily indulged to prove to everyone that he had achieved wealth beyond measure. The child she brought to the marriage had made no difference to James. One child was the same as the next, a problem to be dealt with until years brought adulthood and usefulness. James had never anticipated the problems that arose between his own son and Roselyn’s.
But the rivalry between the boys had been immediate and intense. Fiercely protected and spoiled by his mother, Aaron was determined to keep her entirely to himself. He learned very quickly that he could do nothing about the man who was now his stepfather, but that man’s son was another matter entirely. For weeks he plotted and lied and played on his mother’s sympathies until James agreed to send his son away, to be raised by an aunt and uncle the boy hardly even knew.
In the years that lay between, Drayton’s feelings for the man who had been too busy for him had faded away. But as his eyes fixed on the faded brick building, the memories came back to life.
He entered the warehouse with a pensive, measured step, the lingering scents of oils and pigments and turpen tine filling his nostrils, the intermittent sounds of the men on the loading dock filtering in muted echoes through the huge, open spaces. He traced a path up a narrow flight of steps to the office that had been his father’s. The smaller, outer room was empty except for a thin young man dressed in a stained blue shirt and patched brown trousers. The youth lounged carelessly in a chair reading a newspaper. He glanced up when Drayton entered the office, but said nothing and went on reading his paper.
“Is Tom Landon expected here this morning?” Drayton asked him.
The younger man looked up in annoyance. “Don’t know any Tom Landon.”
“He is-was the factory foreman.” For thirty years, Drayton almost added.
“Tom Landon...” the younger man repeated thoughtfully. ‘’Oh, yes. I remember now. The old man with the white hair. He was fired a few months back. Gota job on the docks, I think. Doesn’t work here anymore, at any rate.” He unfolded his newspaper and began to scan a new section in a gesture of dismissal.
“I’ll speak with Aaron, then.” The ring of authority in his voice made the boy look up again.
“He’s not in.”
“When will he be in?” Drayton inquired in a slightly too polite tone.
The younger man lowered his paper to consider Dray ton a bit more closely. “Might not come in today at all,” he said unconvincingly. “Do you have an appointment with him?”
“A long-overdue appointment, as a matter of fact,” Drayton said with an unreadable look in his eye. Without another word he crossed the room and opened the door to the inner office.
“Wait a minute!” The youth scampered after him in an attempt to stop him. But he was too late and watched in wide-eyed horror as Drayton took a seat in Aaron’s chair and began examining the papers on his desk. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Drayton’s eyes lifted, and the younger man took a step backward, wondering why he hadn’t seen the cold, dangerous anger there sooner. ‘’I’m cleaning off this desk,” Drayton told him slowly, his eyes daring him to challenge the move. “When Aaron arrives, be sure and send him right in.”
The office clerk struggled to swallow as he forced a shaky nod. “Who shall I say is-er, waiting for him...sir?” he stammered. He watched as Drayton lifted a stack of papers and began to sort through them.
“Just tell him his stepbrother is here.”
“Ye-yes, sir.” He turned quickly away and gingerly closed the door behind himself as he left the room.
It was just after ten when Aaron Rambert finally arrived at the Fulton Street warehouse on his burnished stallion. He cut a fine figure on horseback with his sleek gray broadcloth suit and bright green brocade vest. He spent a great deal of money on clothing and horses, having acquired his mother’s expensive tastes during his formative years. But since his mother’s death, he had lost interest in so many things and turned again and again to gambling just to feel alive. It was almost like a sickness, a compulsion that made him forget everything else and play hand after hand of poker, all the while believing that he would win the next, or the next, or the next. Winning had been so easy at first. He could not understand why his luck had so suddenly run out. But he’d lost a fortune in the past few months, more than he would have dreamed he could lose. And now he could not afford to give up the game, since he had gambled away too much of the company’s money even to meet the payroll this week. Besides, he was certain he would win again soon. Perhaps tonight. Tomorrow night at the latest...
He tied his horse to the post and paused to eye the black stallion tethered alongside his horse. Someone was waiting to see him, in spite of the orders he’d given to the clerk to tell any visitor that he wasn’t expected. He hesitated, considering remounting and leaving rather than facing another disgruntled customer or a supplier demanding to be paid.
He muttered a curse and turned toward the building, deciding there was no sense in putting off a confrontation that was inevitable. He would handle it the way he usually did, smoothly proclaiming his innocence and promising whatever would make the visitor happy, just to get rid of him. If only he
had clear title to the business or the land, he would have sold or mortgaged either in order to raise money. But such a move would be totally illegal, and the lawyer handling his stepfather’s estate was probably just waiting for him to try something like that.
He stepped into the building, scowling darkly at the smell of paint, at the sight of the place he abhorred. He’d all but kowtowed to the old man in the years before he died, working harder and longer than he’d ever worked in his life. He’d been so sure that the old man would change his will, giving Aaron the inheritance he deserved. But when James Rambert breathed his last, every penny went from the old bastard to his blood son. The only reprieve had been that Drayton was away at war. There was no one to stand in Aaron’s way if he worked quickly and cleverly to claim a part of what he felt was owed him. His mother had urged caution and restraint, and had seen to it that most of the money was invested in railroad stocks that would secure his future after his stepbrother came home to claim his inheritance. But when his mother died, Aaron began to gamble using company money, to sell warehouse inventory and pocket the money without even bothering to alter the books. To keep the factories going a bit longer, he contracted to buy cheaper materials, less expensive “extenders” to take the place of the costlier pigments. Several of the business’s largest accounts had been terminated as a result of inferior products manufactured by Rambert Paints.
Aaron mounted the steps to his office, his mind going over and over the business’s assets and liabilities. He frowned as Timothy Huber, the office clerk who usually bowed and scraped and brought him his coffee, instead rushed forward in a fluster. “Someone’s here, Mr. Rambert! In your private office! He-he forced his way in-I swear it! I tried to stop him, but- “
“Someone forced his way into my office?” Aaron repeated furiously.
The younger man gave a breathless nod. “I tried to stop him, truly I did. But he-” He scurried after Aaron, who was already swinging open the door.
Aaron stopped short, frozen to the spot. Lounging in the high-backed leather desk chair, a cigar poised near his mouth, was his stepbrother. Drayton continued to scan a paper as if he were totally unaware of Aaron’s interruption. A moment later, his eyes met Aaron’s without the slightest change of expression. He tossed the papers on the desk and casually drew on his cigar, expelling a curl of gray smoke which rose to the ceiling. “Close the door, Aaron. I have a few things I want to discuss with you.”
For what seemed an eternity Aaron could not move. The hatred he’d always felt for Drayton Rambert was overpowered now by fear. For a terrifying instant he thought Drayton knew about Kathryn, about what had happened that night. Something had changed him, that was frighteningly apparent. The Drayton who sat at James Rambert’s desk was a hardened, dangerous man whose total control unnerved Aaron completely. When his mind finally began to function, Aaron assured himself that Drayton knew nothing about that night. No one knew. No one would ever know. He calmed himself and began to wonder just how long Drayton had been in this office. Minutes? Hours? What had he found out in that time?
Aaron forced himself to smile. It was possible that Drayton knew nothing at all. He stepped forward to offer his stepbrother a hand in greeting. “I-I hope Tim didn’t keep you waiting long. He ought to have sent for me the moment you arrived.”
Drayton’s eyes lingered pointedly on Aaron’s extended hand. “Sit down, Aaron,” he said, making no move to take it.
Aaron attempted to disguise the shudder that ran through him as he withdrew his hand and moved to take a seat. He forced a second nervous smile, all the while feeling Drayton’s eyes saw right through him. “I-I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come home,’’ he stammered nervously. “You were gone for such a long time-’’
‘’Almost long enough for you to ruin everything,’’ Drayton finished for him in an oddly silken tone that made Aaron cringe inwardly.
He felt the flesh on the back of his neck rise with apprehension. “That’s not true, Drayton. I’ve worked hard these past two years. I’ve done my best.”
“I know exactly what you’ve done, Aaron,” Drayton went on quietly. “I know about the money you’ve embezzled, the ridiculous salary you’ve collected, the cheap paints you sold to menwho trusted the Rambert name.”
“That’s a lie!” Aaron shot back at him. “You know as well as I do that things can go wrong after the paint is sold. The men who claim the fault is mine were all friends of the old man. They liked doing business with him, and now that he’s gone, nothing can please them.” Aaron held his breath and watched Drayton puff calmly on his cigar. The silence was tense and it seemed those icy blue eyes remained on him an eternity. Finally Drayton leaned forward and ground out his cigar in a small brass bowl. His eyes were narrowed on Aaron’s face. “There’s only one thing in this world I hate more than a coward,” he said softly, almost pleasantly. “And that’s a liar.” Aaron’s jaw slackened visibly as Drayton lifted the papers he had been reading a few moments before and tossed the pile across the desk. “I’m calling you both.”
Aaron didn’t have to do more than glance at the papers to know that he was caught. The office had been littered with past-due bills, lists of factory materials he’d contracted for, the company ledgers...Small beads of sweat broke across Aaron’s brow as he lifted his eyes slowly to the cool, impassive face.
“I want you out of here, Aaron. And I don’t want you to ever set foot in this warehouse again. Or any of the factories. And I want you to vacate the house in Gramercy Park. You have until tomorrow to remove all of your personal belongings, or I’ll see that it’s done for you.”
Aaron sprang from his chair, his fists tightly clenched. “That was my mother’s house! I’ve lived there since I was a child! I can’t possibly be out by tomorrow!”
“You belong to several clubs, Aaron. And there are hotels in town. I prefer the Saint Nicholas, myself.”
Aaron’s breath was coming in short, labored bursts. His nostrils flared with indignation. “I can’t be out by to morrow. I’ve already made plans. I’ve invited guests-” “Then you’d better inform them of your new ad dress,” Drayton broke in quietly. “Or I’ll have them thrown out along with you and your things.’’ He paused. “I’m being very generous, under the circumstances.” He withdrew another cigar from the breast pocket of his coat and studied it intently. “But touch one stick of furniture or remove one painting from that house, and I’ll have you thrown in jail, so help me. I’d take you to task now for embezzling if I thought you were worth the time and effort.” He glanced up. “But I don’t. You might consider my leniency a...courtesy...between brothers.”
Aaron wanted more than anything to smash his fist into Drayton’s face, but he dared not make any move in that direction. Something told him his stepbrother would like nothing more than an excuse to fight him. “Don’t you ever call me brother, you bastard,” he hissed. “You and your father are two of a kind. But neither of you can hurt me now. I’ve invested enough money in stocks to last me for the rest of my life,” he boasted. “No matter what you do, you can’t hurt me.”
Drayton leaned back in his chair and casually lit a cigar. He was more than a little tempted to drag Aaron into court, to make him pay for what he had done. But a longdrawn-out legal battle would only cost them both, and Drayton had better things to do with his time and his money. “I’m happy to hear that, Aaron,” Drayton said finally. “Because you’ve collected the last dime you’re going to get from me.” He took a long draw on his cigar as Aaron turned his back and made a furious exit from the office.
Chapter 30
Every day for the following week, Drayton worked at the warehouse office trying to untangle the mess Aaron had left behind. The work was long and tedious, and the tallies of losses and past-due invoices owed by the business proved far higher than Drayton had expected. He visited the Brooklyn factories as well and authorized a final payroll for the empl
oyees from his personal savings, since the company could not cover the amount owed them. Then he temporarily suspended all operations until he could make a decision as to the company’s fate.
There were so many things to be considered, so many possibilities to be turned over in his mind. The sale of the business at this time would never bring the security Warren Pierce had thought. The company owed too many thousands of dollars to suppliers, not to mention back payments on the machinery his father had purchased shortly before he died. But Aaron had done something far more serious to the firm than ruining it financially. He had destroyed the company’s reputation for quality. Regaining the trust of the businessmen Aaron had taken advantage of would be a difficult task at best. It would mean taking on a staggering debt that would have to be repaid, regardless of whether the business succeeded or failed. Quality raw materials would have to be purchased. Competent workers would have to be hired and trained on the new machinery. But the greatest cost of all would be the cost of waiting, of holding on while the slow rebuilding of trust came about. It would be a gamble. It would also be a challenge. And more than anything else at this moment, Drayton needed a challenge, needed a means of proving himself.
Only the child Ambrosia carried forced him to hesitate, to consider more fully the consequences of failure. He painstakingly went over the books, time and again, from five years before to the present, calculating costs as closely as he could, projecting profits if all went well, losses if all did not. And he pored over page after page of books from his father’s library in the Gramercy Park house, studying the chemical makeup of paints, the various components of a fine, durable product as opposed to a poor one. Finally, after three long weeks of pondering, he took his favorite stallion from the stables on a hot summer morning and rode hard over the land he had traveled as a boy, driving all physical tension from his body, leaving his mind open and clear. It was a freedom he had not allowed himself in a long time. When he returned to Elmwood late that afternoon, he had made his decision. If he could secure an adequate loan from the bank, he would fight to rebuild Rambert Paints.
Ambrosia Page 32