by Janine Marie
Backing away until he ran into the fridge, Trent stammered “How… h h how?”
“Look, Einstein, if I don’t have the shoes, then one of the other women who were there does,” Wiffy pointed out, rolling her eyes. “The obvious person is Stella. Just go and get them from her.”
“I can’t just show up uninvited at her house and demand her shoes,” Trent managed to stammer as he tried unsuccessfully to push himself into the fridge.
“And why not? What about the others? Have you checked their boats and houses?” growled Wiffy, drawing the knifepoint down Trent’s Adam’s apple.
“Unh uh.”
“Then I think it’s high time you did something! I didn’t sacrifice everything to be blocked by the likes of you!” This was delivered in barely a whisper, with the knifepoint now pricking the skin.
This had happened many times before, the knife pricks always small, easily explained away as shaving cuts. And as in the past, Trent knew this was his opening. If he could get her venting about past wrongs, he could escape further threats with the knife. Besides, he needed to find John to get to Stella. He said quietly, “I don’t know what you are talking about…. You have a good life.”
“A good life, a good life!” she bellowed. “I gave up my career for what—what, I’d like to know?!” Answering her own question she sneered, “Because Braise-Bottoms don’t work. But who, I ask, took your small inheritance and tripled it? ME!” She waved the knife in the air to make her point and backed away to continue her diatribe as she paced around the kitchen’s granite-topped island. Breathing a sigh of relief, Trent put his finger to the small cut on his neck to stop the bleeding.
“It was my connections, me, me, me! That’s what got us the money to buy this house!” she yelled, waving the knife around like a pointer. “I can’t believe I let YOUR mother pressure me into giving up my job—I was on the fast track as one of the few female electrical engineers back then…. And MY parents gave up so much so I could get a decent education and a great job at a growing company. Look at that company today—it’s huge, and I would be a senior vice president by now. By the time that controlling old bat your mother dies, we will be too old to enjoy the money! All those years I lost not working, being a slave to you and the children,… using my connections to invest that pittance of a fortune you inherited to make enough money so we could have a nice house, boat, and vacations, pay for those bratty kids of ours to go to prep schools and expensive colleges….” And so it went.
Trent, having heard this all many times before, had edged over to the breakfast nook and was quietly sipping his coffee as he pretended to give Wiffy his complete attention. In fact he was contemplating how he might explain to John that he needed Stella’s white boat shoes. If he didn’t get the damn shoes…. His dominating mother would no doubt side with Wiffy. The two women were usually like oil and water, except on the rare occasion when she would surprisingly side with his awful wife. What was with the shoes, anyway? He was startled out of his thoughts by Wiffy’s final burst of anger.
“Get going! What’s the goddamn holdup?” she screamed, now standing on her tippy toes and still waving the knife in Trent’s direction.
Chapter Eighteen
Romancing Catherine
Catherine’s narrative
Catherine sat in a quiet corner of the Yacht Club deck. She had spent the previous day, Saturday, at the company. Everyone at the company had to work that Saturday to get the new product launched, and to her surprise she had really enjoyed herself. Having never worked in an office before, she hadn’t known what to expect. After graduating from high school she had been sent for a year of finishing school in Switzerland and had then been admitted to Yale, where she had gotten a degree in art history and met Lorenzo. Lorenzo hadn’t wanted her to work so she had spent her days painting in the studio in their home and gardening.
But working at the company felt like it was just what she needed; with so much to learn, she was sure the days would just fly by. When she’d returned home the night before from the office, she’d been so tired she’d fallen straight into bed and had the first good night’s sleep since Lorenzo’s death. John and Stella were still at the house, and this was surprising, as the funeral had long since passed. But Stella was a good cook and Catherine enjoyed the company. She wasn’t looking forward to the day they would leave and the house would be empty.
Yesterday had been an especially good day. She had worked with the marketing group and had surprised everyone with her artistic skills as she quickly sketched graphics for the web design and other marketing material. It felt great.
Ordering a latte, she looked at her watch and wondered why John had wanted to meet her at the Yacht Club for Sunday brunch and not at the house. A soft touch on her shoulder made her jump, and she looked up to see John standing behind her. He gave her one of those seductive smiles and sat down beside her. Smiling back—how could she not?—she asked, “Where is Stella?”
“She won’t be join us….” He looked up as the waiter appeared and ordered a 12-year-old single malt scotch, then continued in a purring voice, “I haven’t seen her today, but I expect she is packing.”
Catherine’s face fell. “Oh… are you leaving then? Going home to New York?” she said sadly.
John reached out, taking her hand. Leaning forward, he looked into her eyes and spoke so quietly that Catherine, who was still processing his closeness and trying to decide how to react to his holding her hand, had to lean forward to hear him.
Fortunately, at that moment the waiter appeared with John’s drink and a chit for him to sign. To make it easy for members, the Yacht Club used a chit system, meaning that members signed for what they consumed at the club and were then billed monthly. Since John was not a member, Catherine had to extract her hand from his grip in order to reach for the chit and sign her name and member number.
John took the opportunity to order Eggs Benedict for two and a vintage bottle of champagne. Catherine looked up in surprise; she didn’t even like hollandaise sauce and always ordered it on the side. But as she loved champagne and actually felt like celebrating after her successful day at the company, she decided to let it go. So far, John and Stella hadn’t offered to pay for anything, though they’d been her houseguests for several weeks. But in truth she hadn’t asked them to because she was happy to have their company and Stella’s cooking. She herself had never been much of a cook, though she had prepared meals for Lorenzo and her father for years; keeping house for Lorenzo had been her life, and with him gone she no longer had the heart to do it. The soft pop of the champagne cork followed by the bubbling sound of champagne being poured pulled Catherine’s thoughts back to the table and John.
“To the future,” he said, as he handed her a glass.
After the toast John asked about the company. Catherine shared details about the new product and launch. John’s skilled questioning, combined with her new enthusiasm for working led her to talk and talk. She knew she was telling him confidential company information, but the champagne on her empty stomach removed any barriers she should have had, and soon John had moved to sit beside her on the bench seat. As the bottle emptied, Catherine floated on a champagne glow—and on the surprising feelings and heat she felt now every time John touched her. This was becoming more and more frequent, and she was having confusing, disjointed thoughts that seemed to alternate between Where is our food? and I wonder what it would be like to kiss John?
With the perfect timing of a charmer, John saw his opportunity, waved the waiter with the food away, put his arm around Catherine, and said, “It looks like the Atlantis has just arrived, and I think it’s only proper that we go down to the dock to greet her.”
This seemed reasonable to Catherine, who was now more than a bit tipsy and ready to go anywhere with John. With his arm around her, they made their way down the ramp and dock to the Atlantis. Boarding the yacht, they were greeted by the crew. Catherine gave them a crooked smile as she struggled to reme
mber what it was she wanted to ask Carl the first mate and his girlfriend Sandy. It had something to do with Lorenzo’s murder, she was sure of that, but what was it? She knew the Canadian Police had cleared them because the detective in charge had called her frequently in the past few weeks with more and more questions.
John was relieved to see that the crew had their bags packed and were keen to depart for their long-overdue shore leave with friends and family. Though Catherine had been planning, pre champagne, to tell them that the yacht was for sale and talk to them about the opportunity of working for the new owner, she forgot all about it because she was still trying to remember what she wanted to ask Carl and Sandy. She had, however, come prepared with their pay envelopes in her purse. But in her current state all she could manage was a silly smile as she handed out the envelopes.
John took charge, slapping the first mate on the back and promising to call them with the new schedule. In a moment of clarity Catherine realized how inappropriate it was that she was drunk, hanging on her dead husband’s friend’s arm, smiling up at him like a school girl in love, but she couldn’t help it. It felt good, and she wanted to kiss John. Fortunately you don’t last long as yacht crew if you are particularly sensitive to virtue, and they all left smiling and shaking their heads at the antics of the rich.
John closed and bolted the sliding door, then turned crossed the few steps to the bar where Catherine was trying to open yet another bottle of champagne. Taking the champagne from her, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. In a scene reminiscent of a James Bond movie, they moved together to the master stateroom, tearing each other’s clothes off as they went.
Afterward, Catherine stretched like a cat, picked up her glass of champagne, and snuggled into John’s chest, thinking to herself that it had felt good, and she felt good. John’s lovemaking was so different from Lorenzo’s, so passionate. She had been married to Lorenzo for so long she had forgotten what it was like to feel desirable.
John raised his glass to hers: “To many yachting trips together on the good ship Atlantis.”
“Mmmm,” she said. “John, you do know that I’m selling the yacht.”
“Yes, you might have mentioned that, but I’m sure I can change your mind. You did make that decision immediately after Lorenzo died.”
“You are, of course, correct, and after this afternoon my memories of this yacht are much improved, but I really must sell,” replied Catherine.
“Must sell?” inquired John.
“Yes. Unfortunately, I need the money,” Catherine explained.
“No….” said John in disbelief, seeing her face he said
“If you need the money, then sell the company, not this lovely yacht.”
“Oh John,… it’s complicated.”
“Try me, Catherine… I’m one hundred percent here for you. Let me fix all your problems. Let us keep the yacht. Don’t worry—I will arrange all the upkeep and I will be the captain; just think of all the great places we cave visit… I know: let’s ship the yacht to Caribbean for the winter, then to the Mediterranean for the summer. It will be wonderful, so romantic: here’s to tropical nights.” He raised his glass and toasted her again.
Shocked and very confused by the direction the conversation had taken, Catherine said, “Umm, John, I’m not sure what you are talking about, but I really must sell the yacht.”
“Oh, okay, I get it: too many memories. So sell the Atlantis and we will buy a new yacht just for us and start fresh, making new memories together,” John said in his silky voice, snuggling into her in that manner that had worked so well for him in the past.
“Us, together?” Catherine said, as she tried to pull herself away from John. “John, what are you talking about? What about Stella? You are married!”
“Stella left me,” said John sadly. “We haven’t been close for years and once we—” he leaned over and caressed and kissed her neck to make sure she knew the “we” he was talking about was the two of them “—started spending so much time together, I knew—and more importantly she knew—that it was over. Stella and I had a big fight last night and she left this morning…. Yes, she up and left. She said she was leaving me and going to move back to her home town. I slept in your second guest room last night, and when I got up she had packed up all her things and was gone.”
“Oh John, I’m so sorry; I’m sure she will be back. All couples have fights.”
With a sudden flash of anger John snapped back, “NO. Aren’t you listening? We haven’t been a married couple for years! Do I have to spell it out for you? We don’t love each other anymore; actually, I think it would be a stretch to say we even like each other. We don’t have kids,” Taking a deep breath he continued, this time quietly, “so there is nothing to keep us together, especially now that she knows that I love you.”
“But John… ” was all she could think to say.
“I know you need time to adjust. Don’t worry, my darling, we will go slowly.” He moved very close to her and very gently brushed his lips against hers. Then before she could object he pulled away and lifted his champagne glass in a toast: “To new beginnings.”
“No, John!” Catherine said forcefully. Then seeing his devastated look, similar to that of a child who has been told No by a cherished adult, she continued in a soothing voice. “John, that does sound lovely, but I can neither afford nor do I desire to spend months on end on this yacht or any other yacht.”
“What do you mean?” demanded John. “You love boating as do I! It’s one of the many things that we have in common.”
“Things, things in common” Catherine stuttered. “But John, I really don’t like boating. I never have! It was Lorenzo’s passion, and I only did it for him. Most of the time I was seasick… I know people thought I was hung over, but the medication made me sleepy.”
Looking rather stunned, John slowly rallied with “Uh, well, that’s a real shock and very disappointing! Mmmm; okay, then, it’s a second home…. Should it be a condo on the Med? I’ve always loved Cassis, no, St. Tropez Would be better! Yes, that’s it. And we will buy a day boat for me to bomb around in and visit the other yachts.”
“John!” snapped Catherine, interrupting his dream. “To be clear, Lorenzo spent all our money on the company. I can’t afford a second home anywhere, particularly the Med. I don’t even know if I can afford the house I live in.”
“You—YOU have no money?” said John very slowly, enunciating every word carefully. He looked very pale and sick as the blood drained from his face.
“John, John—are you okay? Here, I’ll get you some water to drink,” Catherine said, jumping out of bed to match her actions with her words.
Taking a big breath and exhaling slowly, John leaned forward and said under his breath, “Sell the company, it’s a start…. Sell the company, yacht, house,… it might be enough.” Grabbing Catherine’s arm as she moved from the bed and looking her in the eye, he declared, “I have a buyer for the company.”
“But John, I can’t sell, I don’t want to sell, I won’t sell! I’m enjoying working at the company.”
“Listen, Catherine, I appreciate that you are having FUN playing at working, but that’s not who you are.”
“Who I am…” repeated Catherine, feeling like a foolish parrot but too stunned to think of anything more intelligent to say.
“Yes. You are a beautiful and gracious wife, you were born and bred to support your husband. Your work is to host parties, remember names, and send thank you notes. Work, NO! You WILL sell that company, this yacht, and house, then we WILL get married. We’ll have enough money from selling everything to move into one of those new luxury suites they just finished across the bay. With your contacts and my savvy investment strategy, we will be back on top in no time.” Reaching over and grabbing her by the back of her hair, he gently but firmly pulled her into a long kiss that she tried to struggle out of, but the harder she did the more pressure he used. Finally he broke off the kiss and co
ntinued:
“Now be a good girl, and let’s agree to sell the company so we can continue this pleasant celebration.” The last was said in a horse voice that sent shivers through Catherine.
Desperately she said, “John… I don’t want to sell the company and I don’t want to marry you!”
John calmly said, “Yes, you do.” He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of the bed. Then, pushing her in front of him, down the stairs to the engine room, he added, “Either you change your mind or you can join Lorenzo.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
We woke up docked at Geranium Island on Sunday to a cool foggy morning—great for joggers, dog walkers, and gardeners, but I wanted to sit on the deck enjoying my coffee and newspaper in the sun. This is a real treat because at home I get all my news online, and I really do enjoy the old-fashioned newspaper. It’s great to see a whole page at a glance, and I love the folding challenge, followed by finding the right page to continue the article, then refolding the paper—not to mention my favorite part, the page negotiation with Thomas. We were mid-debate about who should have page A5 when my cell phone rang. Since my phone was down below in the galley, I reluctantly handed page A5 to a gloating Thomas and went to see who was calling me on Sunday morning.
“Hi, Janeva,” came Tiffany’s voice across the cell line.
“Tiff. What’s up?”
“Well, you know we always go to visit Cody’s aunt after church on Sundays.”
“Yes… is she okay?”
“Oh, yes, she is still the same; the cancer isn’t getting worse but she seems thinner and getting depressed. I guess being in a hospital day after day gets you down. But that’s not why I called: as we were leaving I saw Stella Blackwood on a stretcher in the hall.”
“Stella? Really?! How did you know it was her? Have you met her?” I asked surprised.