This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2013 by LeAnne Burnett Morse. All rights reserved.
First edition 2016.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published by Bluestocking Books. Bluestocking Books is an imprint of Bluestocking Media, LLC.
Library of Congress Control Number 2016901173
ISBN 978-0-99664-15-0-0
ISBN 978-0-9966415-1-7 (ebook)
For Kelly—in this or any other time.
44.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 2: THE GRANDE DAME
CHAPTER 3: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 4: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 5: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 6: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 7: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 8: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 9: EDWARD CHASE
CHAPTER 10: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 11: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 12: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 13: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 14: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 15: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 16: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 17: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 18: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 19: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 20: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 21: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 22: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 23: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 24: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 25: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 26: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 27: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 28: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 29: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 30: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 31: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 32: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 33: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 34: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 35: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 36: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 37: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 38: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 39: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 40: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 41: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 42: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 43: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 44: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 45: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 46: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 47: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 48: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 49: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 50: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 51: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 52: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 53: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 54: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 55: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 56: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 57: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 58: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 59: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 60: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 61: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 62: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 63: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 64: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 65: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 66: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 67: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 68: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 69: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 70: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 71: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 72: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 73: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 74: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 75: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 76: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 77: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 78: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 79: CATHERINE PARKER
CHAPTER 80: TOM KELLY
CHAPTER 81: CALVIN WALKER
CHAPTER 82: OLIVIA FORDHAM
CHAPTER 83: TOM KELLY
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
In another place and another time he would have been a proper English butler. Like Mr. Carson from Downton Abbey, doing things the “right” way because that’s what one does. Knowing where the scandal lies and how to keep it under wraps. And always presenting an immaculate façade to the world. Just watching him walk up 14th Street there’s an obvious air of the dandy about him. Perfectly coiffed, every seam pressed, and just the right break of the trousers over his freshly polished wingtips. But it’s the tilt of his head and the purpose in his stride that makes him look like he belongs. It would be hard to imagine a place in the world where a man with his confident demeanor would be out of place and that’s no accident. Even his standing out makes him blend in because no one would think to question his presence.
Not a single person noticed him standing on the sidewalk that day as President Kennedy’s funeral procession marched by. How touched he had been when little John had saluted his father. And why would anyone pay attention to another well-dressed white man in the gallery of the Supreme Court during final arguments in the Brown v. Board of Education hearings? Even as crowds had swarmed the White House the night of Andrew Jackson’s inauguration, he wasn’t noticed as he tried in vain to keep the raucous crowd from tearing off souvenir pieces of the East Room drapes.
But today he doesn’t seem to have anywhere pressing to be. At the crosswalk, he waits patiently for the walk sign among tourists in fanny packs and fourth graders in matching t-shirts and their exhausted chaperones. When the light changes, he crosses Pennsylvania Avenue and takes a sharp left along with the touring masses. But he’s not going the two blocks to see the most famous house in the world. Under the leaded glass awning, up the granite stairs, and through the brass-laden revolving doors, he walks into an elaborate lobby and crosses with his purposeful stride to an imposing wall of mahogany behind a desk of carved wood and marble. From this vantage point, he has been going about his work diligently all of his adult life. The antique clock above the cubbies tells him he’s right on time, naturally. Below the clock in elegant brass letters is one word. One word that sums up his life’s work. CONCIERGE. Yes, he belongs here and fits in so well that in a busy lobby no one has seen his entrance. No one notices him settling in behind the massive desk. No one except the elegantly dressed lady with the rolling Louis Vuitton luggage and the slightly travel-worn look about her. Her name is Catherine Parker and she is the reason he has come to work today. He gives her his best smile and sets into motion a series of events that should have happened 151 years ago. Better late than never.
“Good morning,” he says to the businesswoman. “Welcome to the Willard.”
CHAPTER 1
CATHERINE PARKER
Sixteen dollars plus tip for a cab from the airport to the hotel. It could have been worse, but really it was ten times more than the buck sixty she would have spent taking the blue line from Reagan to Metro Center and hoofing it the three blocks to the front door. Normally that’s exactly how she would have done it, but normally she wouldn’t be checking into a hotel of this caliber and frankly, nobody cared how you arrived at the Best Western. But this trip was different and that’s why she had sprung for the pricey luggage (secondhand of course, Craigslist) and the designer heels she had regretted by the time she got to her departure gate in Dayton. Now I understand wh
y office workers wear running shoes with their business suits on the way to work. Who cares how you look on your way somewhere if it keeps the blisters away?
It’s not that she wasn’t a fashion-conscious woman. She loved designer clothes and fancy hotels as much as the next girl, but for all the stretching she had done to it, her wallet refused to support more than TJ Maxx and seasonal sales at the mall. This trip could change all that and that’s why Catherine Parker was determined she would not set foot in Washington, D.C. without the full benefit of an upgraded wardrobe, fresh highlights, and professionally-tamed brows no matter how painful it was to her bank account. Here she would look the part. Fake it until you make it. How many times had she heard that? This time she would try out the old maxim and see if it worked. All she had to do now was get the job, but before she could do that she needed to ditch the luggage and freshen up. She thanked the doorman and casually waved off the bellman who offered to help with her bags. The “LV” bags were part of her carefully crafted new look and, besides, that was just another tip she could keep in her pocket. But for all her attempts at nonchalance, her first steps inside the lobby of the Willard Hotel left her a bit stunned. The expanse of marble and the fine French furniture. The chandeliers hanging from a ceiling that looked like a work of art. And the smell. Is that lilies? Or is it money? The Best Western this was not. Don’t act like a bumpkin, Parker. You’ve checked into hundreds of hotels. Snapping out of her reverie she strode purposefully across the massive lobby to an ornate concierge desk.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Willard,” said the man behind the desk. He was exactly the type of person she expected to find working in a place like this. They probably recruit them right out of boarding school, she thought. “Are you checking in, madam?”
“Yes. Catherine Parker. I’m here for one night.”
“Excellent, Ms. Parker. Let me see to your reservation.”
The concierge quietly typed in a few words and responded in his velvety patrician English. “Everything has been taken care of by the ambassador. There’s no need for you to go to the front desk. I have your room key here.” He retrieved a small envelope from a wall of cubbies that looked like old-fashioned mail slots. As he reached to hand her the envelope she noticed his nametag. “Edward Chase” it said in deeply engraved brass.
“Your room number is 414 and our staff will be happy to assist you with anything you need during your stay. I understand you have an important meeting this afternoon. I’d be happy to arrange for a car to take you to your appointment.”
“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” said Catherine. “I’m very comfortable with a cab.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Miss. The ambassador is a very good friend of the hotel and it would be our pleasure to offer you this service. It will give you more time to rest before your meeting. I believe you need to leave at 2 o’clock. Would that be acceptable?”
“That would be fine,” she found herself answering. How does he know I have an appointment and that it’s at 2:30? She chalked it up to the ambassador’s office making very detailed arrangements. I guess this is how business gets done in these rarified circles. “Yes, that would be excellent. Thank you, Mr. Chase.”
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Parker. Michael will see to your bags.” Yet another bellman appeared and this time she let the luggage go with him.
No cab equals extra tip money. It’s a wash. Oh, for the love of Pete, I can’t nickel and dime everything I do if I’m going to fit in with one of the biggest international business firms in D.C. And with that, she turned on her expensive heel and made her way to the elevator, aiming for a bit more confidence with each step.
Once Michael had deposited her bag on the luggage stand and she had rewarded him with a generous tip, Catherine surveyed her surroundings. She had a beautiful cherry bed and a velvet chair and ottoman that practically begged her to sit back with a good book. But it was the view of the National Mall and the Washington Monument that sealed the deal. At that moment she decided she would get the job, no matter the obstacles. This was the world she wanted to live in. Not the extravagance necessarily, but the feeling of being at the center of things and having a purpose. No, she wouldn’t let this opportunity slip by. Especially not when it had come in such an unexpected way.
After law school in Cincinnati, Catherine had passed the bar exam and taken a job with a small firm in her hometown of Dayton, Ohio. She hadn’t planned to return to Dayton or even to take the Ohio bar. Her sights were set on digging into cases where she could help people in a big city prosecutor’s office, preferably New York. Dayton was too small, too familiar. It was even too “brown.” She had always thought the buildings of downtown Dayton looked like they were clad in mud. Catherine wanted the bright lights and soaring glass skyscrapers of New York and the plethora of criminal cases that came along with the city. The altruism bug had bitten her early and helping others had become her mantra. Becoming a doctor was out because she nearly fainted every time at the sight of blood so the law was the next best thing. She would use her brains and ability to argue for a good cause and help put bad guys behind bars. She even toyed with the idea of a future in politics and was itching to get in the game.
Three weeks before her graduation, the call came from Dayton. Her father was in intensive care after a massive heart attack. Though they were never especially close, she raced home to be at his bedside. After four long days, the decision was made to discontinue life support and her father passed away. Then there was the funeral to plan and details to manage. She made it back to school just in time to take her final exams. Years of devotion to her studies paid off and she graduated with her class. Graduation was a celebration for most, but Catherine walked the platform with no family or friends in attendance. They were still grieving in Dayton. That afternoon she packed up the last of her belongings and left the tiny apartment she had shared with two other students. No fanfare, no reminiscing. Her mother was a mess. Her father hadn’t done much with the family finances and there was a mortgage to pay, not to mention her own school loans. Her brother lived nearby and had a wife and two kids with another on the way. His wife wasn’t shy about telling him that his duty was to her and to the kids.
“Your sister’s a big-time lawyer now and doesn’t have a husband to deal with, so this is her problem.” At least that’s how Catherine’s aunt had relayed the story to her.
So five boxes, a coffee maker, and a stack of textbooks went into her Honda Accord and she made the one-hour drive to the house on Fisher Lane where she had grown up. One week after the bar exam, she took a job with a small firm in Dayton that handled mostly bankruptcies, divorces, and small property claims. There would be no saving the world here—just trying to save the family home and keep her mother together. And that’s what she did, day in and day out for four years until her mother joined her father in Magnolia cemetery and she and her brother split the meager proceeds from the sale of the house.
“You should get a bigger share,” said his wife, Amy. “You’re the oldest and she’s a lawyer. She probably makes a couple hundred thousand a year. Why should she get the same as you?”
“She makes $62,000 a year and she’s spent most of it taking care of Mom. Leave it alone, Amy.”
It was the one and only recorded appearance of a backbone her brother Chris had ever shown with regard to his wife. The money was split evenly between Catherine and Chris. Amy used Chris’s half to put an above-ground pool in their back yard. Catherine used hers to finance a week-long mission trip to help build wells in Africa. She wanted time to think about her future and to do some good at the same time. It was in one of the poorest places on earth that she met one of its richest men, and eventually found herself sitting in a five-star hotel two blocks from the White House.
Robert Tombac wouldn’t have thought twice about staying at the Willard. He’d likely stay in the largest suite they had and he wouldn’t have turned down the bellman when he came for the bags at the curb. Where he
should have looked out of place was in a muddy field in Sierra Leone. Even in this unlikely place and wearing a t-shirt and cargo trousers he looked like he exuded money. But when Catherine first spotted him he was elbow-deep in a ditch securing the last pipe in the run. He bounded up out of the ditch and jogged with a gaggle of shirtless children to the pump handle a few yards away and with a huge smile, he began to work the handle until the water was running fast and clear. After much cheering and dancing, the adults shooed the children away from the pump and began filling their containers. Tombac made his way over to the group that had just arrived, which included Catherine.
“Eight down, two to go! Ready to work?”
He almost seemed to bellow at the new arrivals, but his enthusiasm was contagious. Over the next two weeks, the group worked hand in hand with Tombac and his team and built out the remaining two wells and a bonus well in a nearby village. While they worked, he talked with each of the volunteers and everyone noticed right away that he had a special affinity for Catherine.
“Dirty old man,” some twittered out of earshot.
But nothing untoward was happening with Tombac and Catherine. In a couple of days he had learned she was a bright woman with a good heart. She was also a twenty-nine-year-old attorney at a crossroads in her life. She wanted to do something important and felt that getting down in the mud in a third world country was a good way to start. It almost seemed to him that she was doing penance for the fact that she’d been unable to do anything outside of her family circle over the past four years. Robert Tombac had made billions spotting talent and opportunity and when he saw both in one place he knew lightning could strike. When they returned to the States, he contacted Catherine and told her about a chance to do good for others on a global scale and he introduced her to the world of international business law.
Catherine thought she had a pretty good idea of what that meant.
International business law. Sounds like a bunch of overpaid lawyers raping and pillaging the people and resources of the globe. No thanks.
It took a few months but Robert, as he insisted she call him, finally was able to show her the big picture.
The Willard Page 1