by Gail Bowen
Madeleine and Lena said “thanks” in unison and then dug in. Each bag held a black sequined eye mask and a Rocky Horror Picture Show jigsaw puzzle.
“The masks are great for our costumes,” Lena said. “Madeleine and I are going trick-or-treating as bank robbers.”
“Mum says we’re too young for The Rocky Horror Picture Show movie,” Madeleine said. “But she likes us to do puzzles because they develop our problem-solving ability, so she’ll be okay with these.”
“That’s a relief,” Margot said. “Now would you mind vamoosing for a few minutes, so your Mimi and I can talk?”
Margot smiled as she watched the girls sprint towards the couch at the end of the hall. When she turned back to me, her smile had vanished. “Jo, I need to talk to you about the equity partners’ decisions. I’m sure Zack told you that the vote for Maisie was unanimous.”
“He did, and he also said the partners were all pretty well in accord on the other votes.”
“We were, but there’s one decision that troubles me. Did Zack mention anything about Emmett Keating?”
“No, Zack’s always discreet about anything to do with the firm.”
“Well, I’m about to be indiscreet,” Margot said. “Emmett was on all our lists but Delia blackballed him. She didn’t offer an explanation, just a notation beside his name: ‘Not FS equity partner material’ and her initials.”
“None of the other partners questioned it?”
“No, and I didn’t question it either. Delia has been accommodating about the other changes we’d proposed. I guess none of us wanted to rock the boat.” Margot frowned. “But there was a whiff of elitism in Delia’s comment about Emmett Keating that I found offensive.”
“I understand that,” I said. “I always find the ‘them and us’ mentality grating.”
“Have you met Emmett?”
“I don’t think so.”
Margot raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ If you’d met Emmett, you’d remember. He’s a whiz of a tax lawyer but definitely an odd duck. One of those nonstop talkers that makes you feel as if you’re being fire-hosed.”
I laughed. “I’ll try to stay clear of him.”
“Very wise,” Margot said. “The day I became a Falconer Shreve partner, Emmett cornered me in my office and spent seven solid minutes telling me about myself. I don’t know where he got the information – the legal stuff was public, but he had personal details that he’d have had to dig for. It weirded me out, so I told Zack. He said that Emmett is uncomfortable if he doesn’t have a head full of facts when he’s confronted with a new situation.”
“A seven-minute fire-hosing is extreme,” I said, “but the impulse behind it makes sense. I always like to have at least some background information to bring to a new situation.”
Margot nodded. “So do I, but, Jo, Emmett Keating is eccentric. That said, he seldom comes into contact with clients, but when he does, all the information he’s committed to memory is exactly what they want to know. The restructuring isn’t about personalities, though, it’s about process. Emmett has put in the time and God knows he’s brought in the money. He deserves to be an equity partner. Delia’s dismissal of him without citing cause is unfair, and I’m going to challenge her.”
“Do it,” I said.
Margot flashed me a quick smile. “I knew you’d say that, but I’m going to speak with Zack first. If he thinks opening the Keating decision will make Delia walk away from the restructuring plan, I’ll back down. The letters of offer won’t be sent out till next week, so we have plenty of time to think this through.”
—
Few sights are lovelier than a farm after the first real snowfall. Pete and Maisie’s driveway was ploughed, but the branches of the trees were heavy with snow, and as far as the eye could see the fields were white. Pete and their dog, Rowdy, came out to welcome us. The girls gave Rowdy and Pete a quick greeting and sped towards the house to see the main attraction: their almost-one-month-old cousins, Charlie and Colin. Pete watched them and sighed. “Not long ago Madeleine and Lena thought I was cool.”
I reached down to scratch Rowdy between the ears. “We’ve all been demoted since the twins arrived,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“I can’t stop smiling. The boys seem to like us. Maisie has plenty of milk. She feeds Charlie and Colin at the same time, which absolutely blows me away. The boys don’t sleep through the night but they sleep for a few hours at a stretch. Once in a while, the stretches coincide and we all sleep. Truthfully, whether they’re awake or asleep, I just love watching them.”
“And Maisie’s enjoying being a parent?”
“She is, but it’s harder for her,” Pete said. “Maisie loves the boys as much as I do, but she misses Lee. I always knew Maisie and her sister were close, but I didn’t understand how powerful the bond between identical twins is until we had Charlie and Colin. I don’t know how to explain it except to say it seems there’s never a second when the boys aren’t aware of each other. For thirty-three years Lee and Maisie shared that connection, and now Maisie is having all these incredible experiences and Lee’s not here to be part of them.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here, and that part is good for both of us. Maisie and I talk about everything. For me, one of the great things about farming is that we’re truly partners, talking things through, making decisions together. This is the life I’ve always dreamed of.”
I looked into my son’s eyes – they were the same intense green as my own. I’d always known when Peter was holding something back. “But this wasn’t Maisie’s dream,” I said.
“No. Our decision to carry on Lee’s work with the heritage animals and crops felt right to us both at the time, but now I’m wondering if we acted too quickly. Maisie hasn’t lived out here since she started university, and she loves the law.”
“Has Maisie said she’s unhappy?”
“No, but she wouldn’t. She’s played lacrosse for years, and she believes in playing through pain.” Peter shook his head as if to clear away the thought. “I’m probably over-thinking this.”
“Pete, give yourselves some time. You’ll work this out. You’ve had an incredibly difficult year, but you’re together. You love your boys. You’re all healthy. In the meantime, the renovations you’ve made on the house are beautiful. Maisie’s told me many times that her childhood here was idyllic, and this really is a great place to raise a family.”
Pete gave me a one-armed hug. “Thanks for the shot of perspective,” he said.
“Anytime,” I said.
—
The farmhouse in which the Crawford Kilbourn family now lived had been built shortly before the First World War. It had been maintained meticulously but never altered, so the house Maisie and her twin sister, Lee, grew up in was solid but, in the manner of that earlier time, starchily proper.
The renovations Maisie and Peter made had humanized the old place. The main floor was now fully accessible and the kitchen, family room, and bedrooms were spacious and bright. The walls of Colin and Charlie’s nursery were painted a warm, lemony yellow. Maisie had asked Taylor to make paintings of the heritage birds that Lee had raised, and the paintings were hung where Colin and Charlie could see them from their cribs. The boys would never know their aunt, but they would come to know the exotic beauty of the Blue Andalusians, scarlet-combed Langshans, Swedish Flower hens, Ridley Bronze turkeys, and pink-billed Aylesbury ducks that she loved.
When Pete and I entered the house, we found Madeleine and Lena in the nursery, watching wide-eyed as Maisie breastfed both babies on a nursing cushion designed for twins. It was a process that called for quick, sure hands and an impeccable sense of timing. As a weekend athlete, Maisie was accustomed to making the right moves, and she and her sons were the picture of contentment. Maisie’s face lit with pleasure when she saw us. “I was just telling Madeleine and Lena, I’m surrounded by men, and it’s nice to have some women around.”
&
nbsp; I kissed my daughter-in-law and her sons on the forehead and stood back so I could get a better view of Colin and Charlie. Like their mother, the twins were long-limbed and had springy copper curls. Mother and sons were a compelling trio. I caught Maisie’s eye. “Pete told me he could watch the three of you for hours,” I said.
Maisie laughed. “I believe that’s in the paternal job description.” She glanced at Pete. “And I’m pretty sure the job description for uncles includes taking nieces for horseback rides when they come to visit.”
Pete turned to the girls. “Interested?”
Madeleine and Lena were careful to keep their voices low, but their eyes were pleading. “Mimi?”
“Wear your helmets, and listen to your uncle,” I said. The girls were gone before I could add to the list of cautions.
“They love it out here,” I said.
“There’s a lot to love,” Maisie said. “Animals. Freedom. Peace. Quiet.” She looked down at the babies in her arms. “Cousins who have fallen asleep.”
“I believe that’s my cue,” I said. I carried first Colin and then Charlie to his crib. The weight of a new baby in my arms was sweet, and I didn’t rush. Unencumbered, Maisie stood and stretched her arms above her head. My daughter-in-law was close to six feet tall and her stomach was once again flat as a washboard.
“You’re amazing,” I said. “No one would ever know you had two babies a month ago.”
Maisie grimaced. “I’d know,” she said.
“Feeling less great than you look?”
“Physically I’m fine, just a little weepy.”
“You’re entitled,” I said. “There’s a lot going on in your life.”
“There is,” Maisie agreed. “Roiling hormones, aching for Lee, and, as of this morning, another complication.” She went to the chest of drawers, picked up an envelope, and handed it to me. It had a Falconer Shreve logo on it, and in it was a photocopied list of names.
Delia’s handwriting was distinctive: very small with letters so neatly formed they were almost like print. Beside each name, she had jotted brief notes indicating an acceptance or a rejection, with a note about why and when to reconsider. However, for one name on the list, there would be no reconsideration at a later date. Beside Emmett Keating’s name, Delia’s curt note was underlined twice: “Not FS equity partner material.”
As I read through the list and Delia’s comments, my breath caught. “Where did this come from?” I said.
“It was hand-delivered to my mailbox,” Maisie said. “As you can see, the sender used a Falconer Shreve envelope, but there’s no stamp.”
“Do you know of anyone else who received a copy of the list?”
Maisie shook her head. “No. Logic would suggest that it was delivered to some of or all the people whose names appear on it, but I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation by calling around.”
“That was wise. Whoever gave you this wanted to make trouble. No use helping them. Now, let’s not let them ruin our day. I come bearing gifts.” I took the brightly wrapped presents Margot had sent for the twins from my tote bag and handed them to Maisie. “My car is filled with boxes of baby clothes that Kai and Lexi have outgrown, but Margot wanted to give you something that was just for your boys.”
As she looked at the tiny costumes her sons would wear for their first Halloween, Maisie’s expression was wistful. The outfits were practical – footed fleece sleepers with the left side of the sleeper orange and the right side black. There were also matching orange toques with green pompom stems. “Lee and I never dressed alike,” Maisie said quietly, “but at Halloween we always wore identical costumes. We had a lot of fun.”
In a gesture that seemed to have become characteristic, Maisie squared her shoulders and tried for a smile. “Now if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the munchkins, I’m going to check Peter’s mac and cheese. He used a Barefoot Contessa recipe, so it should be fantastic.”
The macaroni and cheese was indeed fantastic, but when the girls came in, pink-cheeked and beaming from their ride, it was clear they were not going to be picky. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse,” Lena said.
Madeleine glared at her sister. “Well that was certainly awkward,” she said, and we all laughed.
It was a meal with plenty of laughter. The boys woke up just as we finished dessert. After they were fed, we dressed them in their pumpkin suits; sent photos of each of us holding one or both of them to Margot, Zack, Mieka, Angus, and Taylor, and said our goodbyes.
—
As soon as we had all buckled up to go back to the city, I checked my messages. There were several from Margot. While I was debating whether to wait until we were home to call her, my phone rang. It was Margot, and she sounded harried. “I just got the pictures. Thanks. They’re great. Look, I needed to head you off before you mention my ambivalence about the Keating decision to Zack. Delia called me an hour ago. She’s withdrawing her veto.”
“Did she say why?”
“She just said it was critical that no one outside of the five current partners know about the veto, and that she’d left messages for Blake, Zack, and Kevin saying she was reversing her decision and would join us in putting forward Emmett Keating’s name for an equity partnership. She sounded terrible. She’s always so forceful, but she seemed frightened. She said she’d had to make a difficult choice and if anyone else saw the list, the results would be dire. Anyway, please just forget I said anything.”
“I will,” I said. “But, Margot, there’s a new development.”
After I told her about what had arrived in Maisie’s mailbox that morning, Margot uttered her favourite expletive. “Did Maisie know if anybody else received the list?”
“No. She had no idea what was going on, so she thought it was best to do nothing until she did.”
“Thank God. I take it you haven’t told Zack.”
“No, I haven’t been in touch with him. The girls and I are still sitting in the driveway at the farm.”
“Zack’s already texted to say he trusts Delia’s new decision,” Margot said. I could almost hear her mind clicking. “Do you think I should let them know the list is surfacing outside our little circle?”
“No, Margot, I don’t. You shouldn’t get more involved,” I said. “You’re on maternity leave, and Zack has a city to run. You’ve both gone above and beyond by handling the firm’s restructuring. Let Delia, Blake, and Kevin deal with the problem. Running Falconer Shreve is their full-time job.”
Margot took a deep breath. Finally, she said, “You’re right, Jo. But this is unsettling. We were being very discreet with our discussions. Someone would have to be devious to get their hands on that list.” Margot’s voice was strong, but she was clearly anxious. “Jo, I have a very bad feeling about this.”
“So do I,” I said.
—
Zack came home around four-thirty. The plan was for us to have a drink and relax before we had to dress and steel ourselves for the evening ahead. But, as Robbie Burns famously noted, “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley.” The phone rang shortly after he rolled through the front door. Zack picked up, turned to face me, and mouthed the name Blake. As he listened to his partner, Zack’s eyes never left my face.
“Let me guess,” I said. “That was about the list.”
His brow furrowed. “You knew?” he said.
“Maisie told me this morning,” I said. “So how did the news get to Blake?”
“Katina called Kevin this afternoon to tell him that she’d received a copy, and Kevin called Blake.”
“Has Blake told Delia about the situation?”
“No. He wants to know the whole story before he brings it to her. So the plan is that Kevin, Blake, and I divvy up the twelve names on that list. We’ll call all of them to ask if they received anything in a Falconer Shreve envelope. It’s a nasty way to break the news to the ones who aren’t receiving an offer, but they’ll have to know sooner or later, and if they’v
e received the letter, they already know.”
“So what are you going to do if they all got a copy of the list?”
“Ask them to keep it confidential till we have a chance to talk to them tomorrow.”
—
By the time we left the house, we had some answers. Kevin, Blake, and Zack had managed to get in touch with eleven of the twelve people they needed to contact. All had received a copy of the list. There was angst but everyone agreed to keep the information confidential until the next day. Emmett Keating wasn’t answering his phone. Given the harsh dismissal Delia had written beside his name, I didn’t blame him.
CHAPTER
7
Not long after Chris Altieri’s suicide, Patsy Choi, a former client of Chris, approached his partners about her wish to honour his memory by creating a foundation dedicated to funding initiatives that helped young people overcome obstacles in their lives. Falconer Shreve lawyers had done the legal work to set up the foundation, and all the partners had contributed to its upfront funding and made long-term financial pledges, but apart from that, the firm kept its relationship with the foundation arm’s-length.
Patsy Choi proved to be a good manager and the foundation, now in its third year of existence, was on solid ground. When Patsy approached Zack and me about a fund-raiser honouring Zack’s commitment to helping young people who had lost their way and needed to find a path back, we were hesitant. But Patsy convinced us that the mayor of the city would attract a crowd that could pay a thousand dollars a plate and pointed out that, since a firm other than Falconer Shreve was now handling the Altieri Foundation’s legal affairs, there would be no perceived conflict of interest. However, it was Patsy’s enthusiasm as she sketched the broad strokes of the event she had been envisioning that finally won us over.
One hundred and fifty invitees would listen to speeches about Zack’s individual acts of outreach and learn how the Christopher Altieri Foundation was working to ensure that initiatives like Zack’s continued on a larger scale. The event – elite, black tie, and glamorous – would be held in one of the last bastions of elitism and glamour in our city: the Scarth Club. It was exactly the kind of evening I hated, but the cause was worthy, and so on that snowy October evening my husband and younger son, stylish in their tuxedos, and I, in a full-length, sleeveless, black-velvet Vera Wang I’d purchased the year before at an after-Christmas sale, set off for the Scarth Club.