by Sandra Brown
She wasn’t up to an introduction to anyone, but especially not to a woman that Parker had invited over for some afternoon delight. The skirt of her linen suit was badly wrinkled. There was a run in her stocking. The raincoat, which she had needed in New York, was as out of place here as a snorkel mask in the Sahara.
She stood her suitcase in the foyer and folded her coat over it, then combed her fingers through her hair, which had been wind-damaged during the boat ride over from the mainland. There was no time for further repair. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she stepped through the arched opening between the hallway and dining room.
Her primping had been unnecessary. Except for Parker, the room was empty. She looked at him inquisitively. “Up there,” he said, motioning with his chin.
“I’ve noticed it swaying before,” she told him, looking overhead at the chandelier. “It catches the current from the air-conditioning vent.”
“Reasonable explanation. But wrong. It’s the hanging ghost.”
She expelled a short laugh. Finding him alone after all had left her feeling a little giddy. “Hanging ghost?”
He proceeded to tell her a tale about a planter who’d fallen on hard times. “His desperate attempts to recoup the family fortune were ill-conceived and only plunged them deeper into financial ruin. He hanged himself right here in the dining room.” Upon reflection, he added, “I trust no one was having dinner at the time.”
“You really believe that his ghost is…” She motioned toward the swaying fixture. “Up there?”
“Hell, yes.”
“It doesn’t bother you to have a ghost residing in your house?”
“He lived here for almost a century before Mike and I moved in.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to mind us, so we ignore him. Ordinarily. Today, he’s kept me company. Pretty damned good conversationalist.”
Maris peered at Parker suspiciously, then her eyes strayed to the open decanter on the sideboard. Coming back to him, she said, “You’re drunk.”
“Not yet.”
“But well on your way.”
“Working on it.” He rolled his chair over to the sideboard. “Care to join me?”
“Sure.”
His head came around quickly, his surprise over her answer turning into a wicked grin of approval. “Sin suits you, Mrs. Matherly-Reed. You should engage in it more often.” He took a clean glass from a silver tray and began to pour from the decanter. “Say when.”
“When.”
After pouring the two drinks, he wedged both glasses between his thighs and rolled his chair back to her. “Help yourself.”
It was a blatant dare. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she reached between his legs for one of the glasses. “Take your time,” he drawled.
She pulled the glass from between his thighs and clinked it against the one remaining. “Cheers.”
He grinned again. “That might put some needed color in your cheeks, but you’re gonna have to drink more than that if you want to catch up with me.” After saluting her with his glass, he tossed his drink back like a shot.
She sipped the straight bourbon more cautiously. “Is this what you do now instead of write? You drink?”
“You must’ve been talking to Mike.”
“When you refused to take my calls.”
“He’s a tattletale.”
“Some things I can see for myself.”
“You’re a clever girl, all right.”
“Why have you stopped working on Envy, and why are you getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”
“What better time? Besides, all the great writers were drunks. Didn’t you know? I’ll bet Homer went to the ancient Greek’s equivalent of AA. From Edgar Allan Poe, to Fitzgerald, to—”
“Parker, why are you doing this?”
“Why’d you come back?” he snapped in return.
“I asked you first.”
“Because I don’t have any of the narcotics I used to take, and I’d have a hard time hanging myself from the chandelier.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“You’ve mentioned suicide twice. It’s offensive and tasteless. Particularly since a good friend of mind blew his brains out last week.”
The exchange ended there. Parker averted his head, and for a time neither of them spoke. Maris sipped her bourbon until she’d drunk it all, then returned the empty glass to the sideboard.
Finally Parker said, “Mike finished the mantel.”
“I noticed. It’s beautiful.” She crossed to the fireplace and ran her fingertips over the wood’s satin finish. “He did an excellent job.”
“Be sure and tell him.”
“I will.”
“Who was your friend?”
She turned back to him. “Our corporate lawyer. I’d known him all my life. He was like an uncle to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For him it was over before he felt any pain. For the people who cared about him, it wasn’t that easy. They’ll feel the pain of it for a long time.”
“Problems?”
“Not that anyone knew of.”
“Then why’d he do it?”
“That remains a mystery.” Speaking to the mantel, she said almost as an afterthought, “Noah had a meeting with him that afternoon.”
“He detected nothing wrong?”
“No, nothing.”
“What was their meeting about?”
“Normal business. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
She faced him again. “Why?”
Rather than answer, he asked if she wanted another drink.
“No, thank you. My toes are already tingling.”
He glanced down at her shoes. “You’re dressed for New York. Why don’t you change, then you can read the segment I’ve been working on since you left.”
She smiled in surprise. “So you have been writing?”
“Mike only thinks he knows everything.”
* * *
“This couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. We can speak freely.” Noah was pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel. To further convince his visitor of his insouciance, he idly twirled the skewered olive in his martini glass. “Maris went out of town again.”
“Is this typical of her?”
Morris Blume had arrived at the Reeds’ West Side co-op, wearing his condescending attitude like a fashion accessory. Noah had insisted that they meet informally and alone, without Blume’s flunkies. They were like hummingbirds around a tropical blossom, hovering when they weren’t actually fluttering.
Noah had given his doorman an exorbitant tip to admit Blume and to ensure his memory loss about it later. He’d been hospitably waiting for Blume when Blume stepped out of the elevator. Blume had practically marched into the apartment, surveying it as a drill sergeant would a barracks, his colorless eyes seeming to be searching for flaws. Apparently it passed inspection. “Very nice.”
Noah had attributed the tasteful decor to Maris. “She has an eye for such things. Drink?”
Now they were seated on facing sofas, Tiffany martini glasses in hand, and Maris’s name had entered the conversation again. “She goes away frequently, doesn’t she?” Blume asked.
“Not until recently when she began working on a project with an author who lives on an island off the coast of Georgia.”
“You’re sure of this?”
Since Noah felt his control over his wife and his mistress had slipped lately, Blume’s insinuation smarted. “Sure about what?” he asked testily. “My wife’s whereabouts?”
Blume stretched his colorless lips into his distinctive facsimile of a smile. “I knew a man whose wife was allegedly interviewing interior decorators to redo their recently purchased winery in Sonoma. Turns out she was consulting with a notorious divorce lawyer in LA who did his best work in bed. The wife wound up with the lawyer, the winery, and just about everything else. Once the fleecing was over,
the man considered himself lucky to come away with his dick still attached. There’s a lesson to be learned there.”
The implied criticism rankled, but Noah chuckled. “This writer is shriveled and disabled, wheelchair-bound. Passion hasn’t drawn Maris to Georgia.”
“The draw could be something more damaging than a love affair.”
Noah pulled the olive off the skewer with his teeth and chewed around his lazy grin. “If you’re suggesting that Maris is up to some corporate subterfuge, you truly don’t know her. She doesn’t think as we do, Morris. She’s a bookworm. A romantic, a dreamer. Head in the clouds. Trust me, she won’t be springing any nasty surprises on us.”
“I assume she’ll be surprised when Matherly Press becomes part of WorldView.”
“We’ll know soon.”
“I like the confident ring of that.”
Still smiling slyly, Noah set his glass on the coffee table and reached for his briefcase. With a flourish, he clicked open the latches. “Delivered on time, as promised.”
He passed Blume the document prepared by Howard Bancroft. After finding Nadia naked in bed and reeking of another man’s sweat, following closely Maris’s inconvenient and unexpected disappearance, he had determined that his next action must be bold and definitive.
He was tired of playing cautiously, tired of other people—women, for God’s sake!—dictating what he did and when he did it. He must move quickly and aggressively. It was time to take care of Noah, and only Noah, and let the rest of them go fuck themselves. Or their meatheaded personal trainers. Jesus.
Blume scanned the document, rapidly flipping through the pages. He was familiar enough with legal jargon to catch the gist of it. Noah waited to be congratulated.
But when Blume finished glancing over the last page, he returned the document to the coffee table. “Very nice. Now all that’s needed is their signatures.”
Noah’s inflated chest emptied like a punctured balloon. “Not necessary, Morris. Didn’t you read—”
“That it’s valid with your signature alone?” He chuckled as he stood up and buttoned the top button of his perfectly tailored gray suit jacket. “A problematic clause, Noah. Very. I’m already dodging antitrust laws and myriad other trade regulations.” He waved his pale hand in a dismissive gesture. “They’re nothing more than time-consuming nuisances. But only if everything else is in perfect order, and I mean all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed.
“I couldn’t swing a deal of this magnitude with a legal trapdoor like this waiting to open up beneath me. I wouldn’t even want to try. This document, as it is now, would flag the feds. Even if it didn’t, the Matherlys could raise a hue and cry, and then we’d all be screwed. I don’t know about you, but when I get screwed, I like it to feel good.”
He winked and Noah wanted to kill him.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner date.”
He turned and headed for the door. Noah blinked the pulsing red lights out of his vision and followed. “Not to worry, Morris. I’ll get the signatures.”
Blume said, “I never worry.”
He opened the door, then paused and turned back to Noah. “One of their signatures would probably be sufficient. Either your father-in-law’s or your wife’s.” He mulled it over for several seconds, then nodded. “Yes. I’d feel protected with only one in addition to yours.”
“You keep the antitrust thugs off our backs,” Noah said stiffly. “Leave the Matherlys to me.”
“Gladly. Between the two, I’d rather take on the federal government.” His grin made him look like a leering skull recently exhumed. “Call me when you have that signature. Only when you have it, all right? My time is extremely valuable, and this has taken far too long already.”
Then he was gone.
* * *
An hour later, Noah entered Daniel’s home study. Seared by Blume’s parting shot, he had deliberated for only a few minutes before deciding which Matherly to approach.
He hadn’t spoken to Maris in more than a week. She was still pissed over Nadia. The power-of-attorney document was hardly an olive branch to hold out to her. Besides, she had recently revealed a stubborn streak he hadn’t known she had.
Daniel was the weaker of them. He had earned his spurs years ago, but age had dulled them. He was no longer the formidable force he’d been. Tired and in declining health, he wasn’t as obstinate as he once was. If he put up any resistance at all, Noah was confident of his ability to wear him down.
Maxine answered the door and told him that Daniel was in his study. “He went in there immediately after dinner. Said he was going to read for a while before bedtime.”
Sure enough, when Noah went in, an open book was resting on Daniel’s lap. But his head was bowed low over his chest, and for a second Noah feared the old bastard had died. That’s the way his luck had been running lately. “Daniel?”
He raised his head. “Hello, Noah. I was just reading.”
“Do you always snore when you read?”
“Tell me I wasn’t drooling, too.”
“Not that I saw.”
“Good. Have a seat. Drink?”
“No, thanks.”
On the way over, an unpleasant thought had crossed Noah’s mind. What if Maris had told her father about his affair with Nadia? Maybe she had confided in Daniel before running off to Georgia. To crown a totally shitty day, all he needed was for his father-in-law to accuse him of adultery and order him from his house. But the old man was behaving normally.
Noah sat down on the love seat. “I’m sorry to disturb you. But Maris will call later, and I’ll be required to give her a full report, right down to what you ate for dinner.”
“Grilled sole, brown rice, and steamed vegetables.”
“A menu she’ll approve. She also put me in charge of keeping you company while she’s away.”
Daniel snorted. “I don’t need a baby-sitter.”
“I agree. But please go along with me or I’ll catch hell when she returns.” He set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “What say we go to the country tomorrow for the weekend? Get in some fishing. Relaxation. I could use it, God knows.”
“I rarely go up there anymore.”
“Before she left, I ran the idea past Maris, and it met with wholehearted approval. I think she feels guilty for not taking you to the farm more often. If we go, it will alleviate her guilt and give her peace of mind knowing that you’re enjoying yourself.”
Daniel pondered it for a moment. Noah said no more. He couldn’t push too hard or the old man would become suspicious. He’d made his pitch; it was time to shut up and let Daniel make his decision.
“What time tomorrow?”
Noah’s tension eased and he smiled. “I have a breakfast meeting that would be difficult to reschedule. We could leave right after.”
“That doesn’t give Maxine much time to—”
“Actually, Daniel, I was thinking that we could go alone. Really bach it.” He glanced over his shoulder as though to assure himself that the housekeeper wasn’t eavesdropping. Lowering his voice, he said, “If Maxine goes, she’ll fuss over you like a mother hen. You’ll be accounting to her for every drink, every fat gram. Forget puffing your pipe.”
“She nags worse than a wife, and everything I do will be reported straight to Maris.”
“Sometimes we men must take a stand.”
“Hear, hear.”
“So, are we all set?”
“I am if you are.”
“Great!” He stood and crossed the room to shake Daniel’s hand. “I’ll be over in the morning around ten. Pack light. I’ll call the grocer up there and have him deliver food and drink to the house, so it’ll be well stocked when we arrive.” As he moved toward the door, he spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll even volunteer to break the news to Maxine that she’s not invited.”
Chapter 22
While Maris studied his manuscript, Parker studied her.
She had taken a full h
our in the guest cottage and had returned wearing a loose, casual skirt that came almost to her ankles, along with the sleeveless shirt that tied at her waist and allowed an occasional glimpse of bare midriff. She had kicked off her sandals when she settled into the easy chair and tucked her feet beneath her.
Her hair had been shampooed. A fresh application of lip gloss had left her mouth with a peachy shine. And whether it was the whisky she’d drunk or cosmetics, there was more color in her cheeks than when she arrived. She looked and smelled delectable.
He supposed he should be grateful that she found his manuscript so absorbing that she was unaware of his scrutiny. She was focused solely on the pages lying in her lap, and he was irrationally jealous of his own work for the amount of her attention it was receiving.
Before her unheralded arrival this afternoon, he’d been well on his way to getting good and trashed. He hadn’t been able to write worth a crap all day, although from a meteorological standpoint it was a perfect day for it. Cloudy, gloomy, and gray, it was the kind of day when he usually immersed himself in his story and came up for air only when forced to by hunger, thirst, or needing to relieve himself.
But his mind had been a blank. Well… not a blank. He just wasn’t able to write down what was on his mind, because all that was on his mind was Maris. As it had been since she left, he could think of little else today.
Maris presiding over a meeting.
Maris smiling at Noah.
Maris hailing a taxi.
Maris kissing Noah.
Maris working at her desk.
Maris sleeping beside Noah.
Maris shopping on Fifth Avenue.
Maris opening her thighs to Noah.
The revolving mental images had been enough to drive him crazy. Had been enough to drive him to drink, anyway.
He wondered now if he’d had a premonition of her arrival. Yeah, maybe he had. Because he’d been in the dining room, a room he visited only rarely. He’d been feeling sorry for himself, quaffing Wild Turkey as fast as he could pour it, and glumly staring out the window at nothing.