Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

“It’s water under the bridge. That happened in 1797.”

  “You said the Andreases had long memories.” He finished his coffee. “We can try.”

  She was no longer sensing that terrible pain in him, she realized with relief. Perhaps Catherine’s story had helped as she had hoped it would. “You’re certainly determined. You’ll try anything, won’t you?”

  “And everything,” he said flatly.

  She glanced at his face. “Do you really think we have a chance of getting the Wind Dancer?”

  “We’ll get it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ve got to get it.”

  She shook her head. “So there is no question of your doing it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why it’s so important for you to get the Wind Dancer?”

  He smiled. “Why, to save me a barrel of money.”

  “But that isn’t the only reason, is it?”

  “Isn’t it reason enough? We can’t all have a passion for antiquities.”

  She wasn’t going to get another answer from him. She didn’t know why the realization hurt her. She didn’t want to confide her own feelings about the Wind Dancer and she had told Alex in the beginning she didn’t care what his reasons were for saving Vasaro. Yet now something had changed. She found she did care when he shut her out.

  His fingers laced through hers, his strong grip companionable, a soothing caress after the hurtful evasion of the moment before. “Try to get some sleep. We have another four hours before we get to New York, and then another two to Charleston. You’ll be exhausted by the time we get to Port Andreas.”

  “I can’t sleep. I’m too nervous. Will he see us?”

  “We have an appointment for three tomorrow afternoon. I called from Vasaro before we left and set it up with Andreas’s personal assistant, Peter Maskovel.” He shook his head. “It was almost too easy. I mentioned your name and Maskovel practically jumped through the phone.”

  “It’s all moving so fast.”

  “We’ll have to move even faster once we get Andreas’s okay.”

  “I know we’re doing the right thing, but it scares me.” She smiled tremulously. “Wheeling and dealing isn’t my area of expertise. I just want to run home and grow my flowers.”

  “You’ll be fine once we start the wheels rolling. It’s the waiting that’s hard.” He smiled. “And why be scared of Jonathan Andreas? You’re practically cousins.”

  “It means too much. The Wind Dancer, the perfume, Vasaro . . .”

  “Well, if you can’t sleep, tell me a story.”

  “A story?”

  “Catherine’s journal. Start at the beginning and tell me all the scandalous details of your family history.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “You really want me to?”

  Alex’s hand tightened. “I really do.”

  She leaned back on the headrest of the seat. “The journal opens on September 2, 1792, when Catherine is in the convent of the Abbaye de la Reine . . .”

  5

  “I’m Peter Maskovel. Is Miss Vasaro with you?” The deep voice rang boyishly eager over the intercom at the front gate.

  Alex shot an amused glance at Caitlin in the passenger seat beside him. “Right here.”

  “I’ll trigger the gate and meet you at the front entrance. Don’t get out of the car until you reach the house.”

  The intercom shut off and the iron gates swung slowly open.

  Alex drove the dark blue rental car through the gates. “I’m sure he would have turned me away if I’d told him I’d left you at home at Vasaro. Are you certain you’ve never met the man?”

  “No, I’ve never even heard of him.”

  The tall iron gate clanged shut behind their car and the huge bolts slid electronically into place.

  Caitlin looked back over her shoulder at the iron gates. “I feel like I’ve just breached a maximum security prison. Where are the bloodhounds?”

  “Dobermans.”

  “What?”

  “Andreas has six Dobermans patrolling the grounds. That’s why Maskovel told us not to get out of the car before we reached the main house.”

  “How did you know about the dogs?” She answered the question herself. “It was in those research packets.”

  He nodded. “The layout of the compound wasn’t important to our purpose, but I didn’t think it would hurt to know something about it.”

  “Why is it called a compound?”

  “Several members of the Andreas family have their own residences on the grounds. Jonathan’s two sisters and their husbands have beach houses on the shore and his father has a cottage farther inland. The mansion itself is surrounded by guest cottages and servant quarters.”

  They rounded a curve in the road, and an immense brick mansion with huge round white columns came into view.

  “Very impressive,” Caitlin murmured. “Southern aristocracy and mint juleps.” She nodded to the flag flying from the pole in the middle of the grounds. “But shouldn’t that be a Confederate flag?”

  “Andreas’s family fought on the Union side and he’s very patriotic.” As Alex started up the curving driveway he saw the wide double doors open and a slender man come out on the veranda. “That must be Peter Maskovel. He could be important to us.”

  “How?”

  “He’s worked for Andreas for eighteen years and Andreas trusts him completely.” He studied the man coming down the steps. “They went to Yale together. Maskovel’s family are coal miners in West Virginia and he earned a scholarship. There was something else. . . .” His brow cleared as he brought that final paragraph in the report into focus. “That’s right, Maskovel has a bad heart. He had a triple bypass operation about five years ago.”

  “He doesn’t look ill.”

  Peter Maskovel was a little over average height and, though not muscular, looked fit and tan in a white summer sweater and gray slacks. His carefully barbered light brown hair shone soft and baby fine in the sunlight, and his features were nondescript except for wide-set brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence.

  “He’s not ill. He just has to be careful.” Alex parked the car and turned off the ignition. He turned to face her and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous. We’ll get what we came for.”

  “As I said, I’m out of my element.” She smoothed her skirt. “Do I look all right?”

  Alex glanced casually at the navy blue suit she was wearing. “Fine.”

  She grimaced. “I’m not sure my mother would agree. This suit is five years old.”

  “Andreas won’t be looking at your clothes.” He opened the door and stepped out onto the driveway. “Let’s go get him.”

  “Mr. Karazov?” Peter gave Alex a polite nod as he opened the passenger door for Caitlin. “I’m Peter Maskovel.” He helped Caitlin from the car, his gaze eagerly searching her face. “And you must be Caitlin Vasaro. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  Caitlin looked at him in bewilderment. “How do you do, Mr. Maskovel?”

  “Peter.” He smiled. “I hope we’ll be very good friends. I read your research paper that you contributed to Beaujolis’s doctorate. It was the sharpest and most insightful part of the entire thesis.” He paused. “I’d like to use you.”

  “Use me?”

  He slammed the door. “You have Catherine’s journal. I have Caterina and Sanchia Andreas’s journals, but I’ve never read Catherine’s. You see, I didn’t even know—”

  “Wait.” Caitlin held up her hand to stop the flow. “You have the Andreas journals?”

  He looked sheepish. “Well, Jonathan actually owns them, but I feel as if they’re mine. I’ve been intending to phone you for the last year and ask if you’d make a Xerox copy of the journal at my expense and send it to me.”

  “I couldn’t do that. The contents of the journal are confidential.”

  He made a face. “I was afraid you’d say that. Th
ere are quite a few family secrets in the Andreas journals too.”

  “Why would you be interested in Catherine’s journal?”

  “The Vasaro and Andreas families were bound together for centuries. I guess my interest began because I’ve lived for years with the Wind Dancer and I wanted to find out more about him.” A gentle smile illuminated Maskovel’s features, and suddenly they were no longer nondescript. “One thing led to another. I don’t have any close members of my own family alive any longer, and the Andreas family and their ancestors have become my family now.” His brow knotted in a thought. “And then, too, I wondered if there might be something in the journal about the inscription on the statue.”

  She stiffened. “The inscription?”

  “You must know it’s never been deciphered?”

  “Of course, but I—”

  “Excuse me, I wonder if we could discuss this later,” Alex cut in. “I don’t want to keep Mr. Andreas waiting.”

  Peter nodded. “Jonathan’s in the study.” He took Caitlin’s elbow and began to climb the steps. “As I said, I started to read the journals to find out more about the Wind Dancer.” They passed through a gracious foyer with gleaming oak floors. “Then last year I ran across some correspondence in the family records that mentioned Catherine’s journal.”

  Caitlin caught a glimpse of Alex’s amused gaze on Peter and she knew how he felt. Peter’s eagerness was almost childlike and yet she had the impression that here was a man who was entirely mature and worldly-wise. The contradiction made Maskovel’s enthusiasm all the more appealing. Yet, much as she liked the man himself, she was beginning to feel a fierce sense of envy and resentment. He had the two early journals, he had the Wind Dancer itself to study every single day, and he still wanted more.

  Peter paused before a paneled mahogany door. “Could we talk about it later?” he asked quietly. “I really do need to see that journal.”

  “We’ll talk. But I can’t promise anything will come of it.”

  “Good enough.” He smiled at her as he threw open the door. “Mr. Karazov and Miss Vasaro are here, Jonathan.”

  He stepped aside for them to enter before following them into the study and closing the door behind them.

  Jonathan Andreas was big.

  Caitlin’s first impression was of the sheer magnitude of the man who turned from the window at their entrance. He was at least six feet five, with massive shoulders, a deep chest, and the build of a construction worker. His nose and mouth were hammered on the same large scale, broad cheekbones, eyebrows that slashed above eyes nearer to black than brown. Gray threaded Andreas’s dark brown hair at the temples, but he looked no older than in his early forties. He was dressed with the same casualness as Peter in a navy blue cotton sweater, black twill trousers, and loafers.

  A smile lit Andreas’s face and caused the laugh lines to fan out around his eyes as he came toward them. Caitlin stared at him, mesmerized. He wasn’t at all a handsome man, but there was something—

  “Miss Vasaro.” His hand enfolded Caitlin’s in a firm, secure grasp and she experienced an overwhelming sense of well-being. “I hope you’ll let me call you Caitlin. I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m glad you decided to come. I’ve heard about the Vasaros all my life and it’s time we got together.”

  She suddenly understood Jonathan Andreas’s attraction. He projected an aura of goodness that gave one a feeling nothing bad could happen in his presence. How extraordinary.

  She smiled. “I wasn’t sure we’d be welcome. I remember hearing stories about how furious your father was about the loss of the Wind Dancer.”

  “He still is.” Andreas’s black eyes twinkled. “That’s why I’ve only heard about Vasaros all my life.” He released her hand and gestured to one of the two brown leather chairs before the huge rosewood desk in the center of the room. “Sit down. I suppose Peter attacked you as soon as you stepped from the car?”

  “Guilty,” Peter admitted as he dropped down onto the cushioned leather couch across the study. “But Mr. Karazov rescued her before I could drag her off.”

  “Mr. Karazov.” Andreas turned to Alex. “Forgive me for being rude. It’s not often that I have a chance to knit a rift of fifty years.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Alex said. “From what I’ve heard, you’re admirably suited to rift mending.”

  Andreas’s cordial expression underwent only the slightest change, but Caitlin was conscious of a new element of wariness as he appraised Alex more carefully. “I’ve done my share. You can’t run a business successfully unless everyone works together. Won’t you sit down?”

  Alex seated himself and smiled easily. “You’ll notice I’m not waiting for you to be seated. I’m perfectly willing for you to occupy the position of power.”

  Andreas nodded. “You told Peter this was pertaining to a business matter.” He turned to Caitlin. “Vasaro?”

  She nodded. “We need your help.”

  “Money?”

  “Not exactly.” She nodded at Alex. “I’d prefer that my business partner explain.”

  “What do you want from me?” Andreas asked Alex.

  “The Wind Dancer.”

  Caitlin heard Peter Maskovel murmur something, but she didn’t take her gaze from Alex and Andreas.

  Andreas chuckled. “You’re joking.”

  “We’d like you to lend the Wind Dancer to us for a short time. Perhaps six months. Caitlin has a new perfume that needs to be suitably launched and—”

  “You want to use the statue for a publicity gimmick?” Andreas interrupted. “So do half the entrepreneurs in the world. Do you think you’re the first to come to me? We don’t use the Wind Dancer for that purpose, Mr. Karazov.”

  “Not generally,” Alex said quietly. “But the circumstances are different in this case. Miss Vasaro could lose everything she owns unless the perfume is a success, and she is your kinswoman.”

  “Distant kinswoman.”

  “I think it still might make a difference to you. You’re reputed to be very protective of your family,” Alex continued. “We wouldn’t expect to use the Wind Dancer indefinitely. A short tour in Europe to launch and then a slightly longer tour here in the United States. After the tour the statue would be returned to you here at Port Andreas.”

  “How kind of you.”

  Alex ignored the irony in Andreas’s tone. “Naturally, since we’re limiting the use of the Wind Dancer, we’ll have to use a secondary draw in the launch campaign.”

  “And why would you believe I’d actually do this?”

  “I told you, family feeling.” Alex smiled. “And the added inducement that I’ll give you six percent of my twenty-five percent of the profits for the next five years. I estimate those profits should be in the neighborhood of three hundred million dollars.”

  “Quite a respectable neighborhood.” Andreas leaned back against the desk. “But even if I decided to help you, sending the Wind Dancer to Europe is out of the question.”

  Alex nodded understandingly. “The thefts. I give you my word that you won’t lose the Wind Dancer if you choose to give us your cooperation. It goes without question that security would have to be incredibly tight.”

  Andreas looked at him skeptically.

  “You’re right, it’s still a danger. Perhaps we should use your security people and do the tour under your personal supervision.”

  Andreas laughed in disbelief. “You expect me to go on tour with the statue? I’m a busy man, Karazov.”

  “It’s the logical way to assure the safety of the Wind Dancer. Anyone could see that.”

  There was an odd emphasis on the last sentence, and Andreas’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully on Alex’s face. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’ve said it.”

  “Not enough.” Andreas turned to Caitlin and said regretfully, “I’m sorry, but the risk is too great.”

  Caitlin felt her hopes plummet. Merde, she should have known it couldn’t happen.
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  “At least listen to our plans for the campaign.” Alex unsnapped his briefcase. “As soon as we return I’ll find a packager to create a bottle. I thought perhaps the stopper could be a small figure of a Pegasus, reminiscent of the Wind Dancer, made of frosted Baccarat crystal.” He pulled a sheaf of drawings, notes, and photographs from his briefcase. “As I said before, we’ll need another draw, and that’s usually provided by a celebrity. Elizabeth Taylor had Passion; Cher, Uninhibited; Baryshnikov, Misha.” He stood up and crossed the study to stand before Andreas. “Here are some pictures and biographies of several actresses we might consider as spokeswoman.”

  Andreas hesitated before accepting the sheaf of papers.

  Caitlin watched him seat himself at the huge rosewood desk and put the papers on the blotter in front of him. It was clear Andreas had no intention of letting them use the Wind Dancer and was merely being polite. Yet she knew Alex wouldn’t give up. He had the same expression of single-minded intensity as he had when he had worked in the fields.

  Andreas began to flip impatiently through the photographs.

  “What we need is someone with glamour, intelligence, and strength, someone the public will perceive as a survivor as well as a sex symbol.” Alex’s tone was without expression. “My personal choice is Chelsea Benedict. I’ve always liked her pictures. Probably any of the others would do as well. Glenn Close is gaining a certain following and rep—”

  “Chelsea Benedict?” Andreas didn’t look up from the photographs.

  “I agree she’s controversial, but I think her good points outweigh her bad.”

  Andreas looked up, and Caitlin was surprised at the coolness of his expression as his gaze met Alex’s. “You seem to have thought out your campaign very thoroughly.”

  “It’s only a preliminary plan, but I didn’t want to waste your time by coming totally unprepared.” Alex smiled. “You’ll think about it? If you’d like any other information, we’ll be at the Hyatt in Charleston for the next two days.”

  “I’ll think about it. You’re a very clever man, Mr. Karazov. I wonder if Caitlin knows exactly how clever.”

  Wariness flickered in Alex’s expression. “I beg your pardon?”