Reap the Wind

by Iris Johansen

  Caitlin chuckled. “Have it your own way.”

  “I make a habit of it.” She turned to look at Caitlin. “Everything set for tonight?”

  “No, but it’s getting that way.” Caitlin made a face. “I’ve got only a few minutes before I have to go back down and check on the audio people.”

  Two bellboys surrounded by luggage waited at the double doors of the suite when the glass door of the elevator slid open and Chelsea and Caitlin stepped into the spacious hall. Chelsea watched with amusement as Caitlin’s gaze immediately strayed to the portion of their anatomy which had so enthralled Chelsea.

  “See?” Chelsea murmured.

  Caitlin’s gaze jerked guiltily away from the bellboys’ buttocks to face Chelsea’s mischievous smile. She nodded gravely. “Remarkable.”

  Chelsea unlocked the door and the bellboys swept into the suite with her four suitcases and two trunks.

  Chelsea received an immediate impression of eighteenth-century elegance combined with twentieth-century comfort. She glimpsed a Louis XVI desk against the far wall, two paintings that looked like originals, a casement window overlooking the Mediterranean.

  “Put Ms. Benedict’s bags in that room.” Caitlin gestured to a door to the left of the sitting room. “Don’t bother showing her where everything is. She’ll find it.”

  “I should be able to manage.” Chelsea grimaced. “I practically live in hotels.”

  A moment later Chelsea had tipped the bellboys and sent them on their way. She turned back to Caitlin. “Barbara Walters met me at the airport and tried to get me to give her an exclusive before the presentation tonight.” She kicked off her high heels and prowled restlessly around the sitting room. “You have them salivating.”

  “We’ve worked hard. The Versailles party was nothing compared to this.”

  “How is Alex?”

  “I scarcely see him except at night, and then we both collapse into unconsciousness before we can say more than two sentences.” Caitlin paused. “Marisa’s here.”

  Chelsea whirled to face her. “What?”

  “She wanted to come, and Jonathan flew her in on the Andreas company jet.”

  “Dammit, she was allowed out of bed only two days ago. Where is she?”

  Caitlin nodded at the door across the sitting room. “She arrived late last night. I think she’s still sleeping. I thought you’d want her here in the suite, where you could keep an eye on her.”

  “Damn right I do. Those idiot doctors shouldn’t have let her on that plane.”

  “She seems very well,” Caitlin said. “I don’t think Jonathan would have let her come if—”

  “He shouldn’t have done it.” Chelsea’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “What the hell good does it do me to hop all over Europe to avoid seeing him if he makes gestures like this? How do we know someone won’t find out he brought Marisa—”

  “I think you’re fighting a losing battle, Chelsea,” Caitlin said gently.

  “The hell I am.” Chelsea drew a deep breath and slowly unclenched her hands. “Come into the bedroom. I picked up a present for you while I was in Paris.”

  “You did?” Caitlin followed her into the bedroom, watching curiously as Chelsea opened the trunk the bellboy had set by the armoire. “What is it?”

  “It’s not really from me, it’s from Jean Perdot. He called me at the hotel and summoned me into his august presence.” Chelsea carefully withdrew a silk garment bag. “‘A rose of deepest crimson, strongly rooted,’ ” she quoted as she took out a tissue-wrapped object from a pocket in the trunk. “With thorns.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You should be.” Chelsea took a gown of a crimson shade so dark it was almost burgundy out of the garment bag and held it up. The style was utterly simple; the gown would fall straight to the floor, baring one shoulder in the Grecian fashion. The magic was all in the fabric and draping, the subtle pleating over the bodice, the fluid fall of the silk.

  “It’s . . . wonderful,” Caitlin breathed.

  “And you’ll look boffo in it.” Chelsea unwrapped the object in her hand. “This is to be worn on the upper right arm like a slave bracelet.”

  The shimmering gold bracelet was as simple as the gown; a vine of thorns sparkling with diamond dewdrops that would wind twice around her arm. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank Jean the next time you see him. I’m only playing messenger girl.” She handed the bracelet to Caitlin. “You may not be so grateful when you get his bill.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “We won’t clash. I have that amber lamé I picked up at Chanel.” She swung the trunk shut. “I promise I’ll be everything a spokesperson should be.”

  “You’d be that no matter what you wore. I thought the first time I met you that you were Vasaro.”

  Chelsea felt inexpressibly touched. She knew Caitlin could give her no greater compliment. Caitlin had lost much since that day, and yet she had also gained in many ways. She was stronger, surer, at peace with herself. “Have you been back to Vasaro?”

  “Not yet. There hasn’t been time.” Caitlin’s face lit with a luminous smile. “Tomorrow.”

  “Do you think you can take it?”

  Caitlin nodded. “It’s time to start again. As Alex said, life goes on.” She put the gown carefully back in the garment bag and draped it over her arm as she turned and moved toward the door. “I have to get back to work. The hotel hairdresser will be up at four to do your hair and nails, and the launch presentation is at eight. I’ve arranged to have a light supper served to you and Marisa here in the suite at six.”

  “You sound as if you have everything under control.”

  “Not yet. But I’m working on it.” Caitlin lifted her hand in farewell as she left the bedroom.

  Chelsea took off her suit jacket and tossed it on the bed.

  “Mother?”

  “Here.” Chelsea moved quickly into the sitting room to see Marisa coming toward her dressed in the bottoms of her tailored blue pajamas with the matching robe draped over her shoulders. “You should have stayed in bed. I was coming to you.” She studied Marisa critically. “You look much better. Almost well.”

  She spoke the truth. Marisa’s color was good and, except for the cast on her upper arm and shoulder, she looked entirely normal.

  “I’m fine.” Marisa bent down to brush her lips across her mother’s cheek. “I’m going back to school next week.”

  “That’s too soon. What if—”

  “I’ll be okay.” Marisa’s tone was gently firm. “Chill out.”

  Chelsea found herself chuckling. It always amused her when Marisa used the slang of her peer group. It sounded completely alien coming from her daughter’s lips. Then her smile faded. “You shouldn’t have come. Jonathan shouldn’t have—”

  “Jonathan did exactly what we both wanted.” Marisa met Chelsea’s gaze. “Jonathan is why I came here.”

  Chelsea stiffened warily even as she joked. “Not to see me do my stuff?”

  Marisa shook her head. “I’ll watch it on television from my room.” She paused. “It can’t go on, Mother. You’re cheating us both.”

  “Cheating you?”

  Marisa nodded. “You’re cheating me of a friend and father and you’re cheating Jonathan of a wife and daughter.” Marisa stared gravely at Chelsea. “I learned something when Peter died. One of the last things he told me was to live. Life is too precious to waste when you never know when it’s going to end. We have to live it to the fullest. You’re not letting us do that.”

  Chelsea was stricken. “I only want you to be happy.”

  “Then stop trying to run our lives.”

  Chelsea shook her head, dazed with pain. “You don’t understand.”

  “Sweet heaven, you’re stubborn.” Marisa hesitated. “Let’s look at it another way. What if Jonathan is elected president? Presidents are sometimes targets. Look at Kennedy and Lincoln and Reagan.”


  “No! I wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “You wouldn’t be there. He would be alone.”

  “The president is never alone.”

  “But he wouldn’t have someone who really cared about him. He needs you, Mother.”

  I need you, Jonathan had said in the tunnel.

  “He’ll be all right.”

  “How do you know?” Marisa looked at her mother’s confused face and then decided to bring out the big guns. “We’ve decided we can’t let you do this to us anymore. If you won’t marry Jonathan, I’m moving in with him.” She lifted her hand as Chelsea started to speak. “Very publicly. How much chance do you think he’d have for the presidency living with a sixteen-year-old?”

  “You’re bluffing. Jonathan would never put you in that position.”

  “You’re right, Jonathan is bluffing.” Marisa smiled. “But I’m not. You know I don’t bluff. I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. The press would tear you to ribbons.”

  “I’ve always told you that you were more afraid of my being hurt by them than I was.” Marisa added gently, “My pain was over a long time ago. You’re the one who is still hurting.”

  “You’d destroy Jonathan.”

  “No, Jonathan’s too strong to be destroyed by either of us.”

  “The presidency is—”

  “I like Jonathan. I love you. If I had to sacrifice one to make the other happy, which would I choose?” Marisa met Chelsea’s gaze. “Look at me. Do I mean it?”

  Chelsea stared at her and then sighed shakily. “Yes, you mean it.”

  “I’m glad I’ve made myself clear.” Marisa leaned forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Think about it. I’ll give you until next week before I go to Port Andreas.”

  “Thank you,” Chelsea said ironically.

  “It will be easier once you accept it.” Marisa turned and moved toward her room. “On most subjects you’re not this muddle-headed.”

  As the door closed behind Marisa, Chelsea shook her head dazedly.

  Jesus, she was being railroaded.

  She moved slowly to an overstuffed brocade chair and collapsed onto it. She would have to consider what to do. This was ridiculous. Marisa was only an inexperienced girl and she was a grown woman. There had to be a way to deflect Marisa from this course, if she could just think clearly.

  But Marisa had said Chelsea wasn’t thinking clearly in this instance. Was it so bad to want to protect the people you loved?

  Yet what if that protection protected them from living to the fullest, as Marisa claimed?

  She just didn’t know.

  She leaned back, resting her head on the chair. She might be muddle-headed, but one fact was becoming very obvious.

  She had to come to some conclusions fast.

  At seven-thirty that evening Chelsea knocked firmly on the door of Caitlin’s room.

  Caitlin opened the door. “Chelsea, you’re not even dressed.”

  “Don’t worry. It will take only a few minutes.” Chelsea came into the room. Her gaze went over Caitlin’s statuesque form from head to toe. “I told you that you’d look great in that gown.”

  “Thank you.” Caitlin made a face. “It’s a wonder I don’t have it on inside out. I just tore up here to shower and change twenty minutes ago and I have to get back downstairs and make sure security is checking those invitations that—”

  “I won’t keep you long.” Chelsea closed the door behind her. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  At four minutes to eight Caitlin hurried into the grand ballroom and down the long, cordoned-off aisle toward the flower-festooned stage.

  “All right?” Alex asked as Caitlin slipped onto the seat beside him on the stage.

  “Breathless,” Caitlin murmured. “I’ve just had it knocked out of me.”

  Alex frowned. “Is something wrong? I thought everything was going pretty well. Where’s Chelsea?”

  “She’ll be here soon.” Caitlin looked out over the seated crowd and lifted her hand in greeting as she saw Jonathan sitting in the back of the huge high-ceilinged circular room.

  The first ten rows had been reserved for journalists, photographers, and TV crews, and as Caitlin glanced at the podium she saw at least thirty microphones set up and waiting for Chelsea’s launch speech. “I’d say we got enough coverage.”

  “We’re broadcasting live by satellite to seventy-two countries.” The string quartet in the back of the room began to play, and Alex checked his watch. “Where is she? We’re due to start.”

  “Don’t worry. Chelsea never misses a cue.”

  He must have caught the hint of suppressed excitement in her voice, because he turned to look at her. “Caitlin, what the devil are—”

  Her hand grasping his arm stopped him. “Here she comes.”

  The music rose, and a whisper rustled through the room as Chelsea Benedict started down the aisle toward the stage.

  She wore the silver-sequined thigh-length tunic Jean Perdot had created for her that made her look like a young knight in chain mail. She wore no jewelry, but her long, gorgeous legs gleamed with every step and her wildly curly hair shimmered torch-bright beneath the lights. She looked neither left nor right, her eyes glittered sapphire excitement, her face luminous with vitality, every step exuding a crackling energy that was like a crash of symbols.

  She was electrifying.

  Caitlin heard the stir that went through the audience even though she couldn’t take her eyes off Chelsea. “It’s show time,” she murmured as she rose to her feet. She felt a sudden pang as she said the phrase she had heard Chelsea use so many times before. She had learned so much from Chelsea. Six months earlier she would have been terrified to face an audience of this caliber. Now she found herself perfectly at ease.

  She went to the podium and spoke into the microphones. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Caitlin Vasaro and I thank you for coming tonight. We’re here to introduce a perfume that we believe will become unique in the history of fragrance.” Chelsea had almost reached the stage and Caitlin met Chelsea’s gaze as she started up the stairs. “To introduce you to our perfume we’ve chosen a woman as unique as the fragrance itself. So unique we’ve decided to designate her as sole spokesperson forever for our perfume.” She saw Chelsea stop in shock on the steps but continued. “We believe our perfume will endure through the ages, but there will never be another spokesperson for it. As Vasaro is irreplaceable, so is Chelsea Benedict.”

  She stepped back and sat down again beside Alex.

  “What the hell is happening?”

  “You’ll see.”

  As Chelsea reached the podium the applause rose.

  Chelsea stood, back straight, head high, before the podium and waited for the applause to die down. She cleared her throat, but her voice was still a little husky when she spoke. “You have no idea what an honor Caitlin Vasaro has just done me, but you will soon.” Her hands gripped the sides of the podium as she gazed out at the audience. “First things first.” She took LeClerc’s crystal bottle from the podium before her and held it up. “Vasaro perfume. Quite simply, it’s the most wonderful perfume in the world. I will never wear anything else as long as I live.” She grimaced. “If I can get hold of it. I should have insisted on a clause in my contract guaranteeing my own personal supply. You all know what happened at Vasaro, and we may not be seeing it for a while.” She paused. “And now I’d like to announce my retirement as spokesperson for Vasaro.”

  Caitlin heard Alex’s sharp intake of breath.

  “I’ve told Caitlin Vasaro I’ll return all fees paid and will no longer represent any company’s product.” A murmur went through the room and Chelsea smiled. “Surprised? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” She squared her shoulders and flung out, “It’s my privilege to announce that the man I am to marry, Jonathan Andreas, will be running for the office of the president of the United States of America.”

  The
audience exploded into an uproar, and Chelsea waited for a moment before holding up her hand to quiet them. “I know this isn’t how things are supposed to be done.” She grinned. “But what the hell? Why break my record?” As laughter swept through the room her smile faded. “Quiet down now. I have something else to say.”

  Silence.

  “Jonathan Andreas is the finest, most honorable man I’ve ever known.” Her voice reverberated with sincerity. “Being president is a pretty thankless job, and I don’t know why he wants it.” She paused. “No, that’s not true. I guess I do know why. He wants to help, he wants to mend, he wants to create something better out of the chaos. He’s that kind of a man. After the mess we’ve made, I don’t know if we deserve him, but he’s going to be there for us.” She paused. “If you don’t blow it because you think I’m not the kind of wife a president should have.

  “Jonathan has been told by some very savvy politicians that marrying me will deep-six any chance he has for the presidency. They’ve told him that you can’t count on the public to embrace a woman of my notoriety, that you have to appeal to the lowest common denominator.” She smiled crookedly. “I told him the same thing, but he won’t listen to us. He loves me.” She leaned forward and her voice vibrated with urgency. “And he respects you. He respects your intelligence and your judgment. He says the world has changed and people want honesty more than pristine images. I guess we’ll have to see if he’s right.”

  Chelsea’s hands tightened on the edge of the podium. “I’m a fairly well-known actress and I haven’t had to audition for a role for a long time, but that’s what I’m doing tonight. You have to know that what you see is what you’ll get. I won’t be a Nancy Reagan or Jackie Kennedy and I’m a world away from Barbara Bush. I can play the lady of the manor, but I won’t always be the perfect first lady. I have a temper and I’ll make mistakes. I’ll be too frank and call a spade a spade when protocol will demand I call it a diamond in the rough.”

  She smiled. “But there’s a plus side. You’ll always know where you are with me. I’m not stupid. I’m loyal. I do my job.” She stopped and tossed back her head. “I have one other quality that’s been under fire lately from people for whom I care a great deal. It’s been claimed that I’m overprotective. Well, maybe I am, but that’s not all bad. We can make it work for us. Because it means that once I consider you all my family, I’ll protect you too.”