Dangerous to Know

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  So, in fact, his full name will be Sebastian Horatia Lyon Locke Kamper.”

  “Good Lord, that’s a hell of a mouthful for a little baby.”

  “But he’s going to grow up and be a tycoon and run Locke Indus tries.

  And anyway, he’ll be known as Sebastian Locke Kamper. That doesn’t sound too bad, does it?”

  “It seems you’ve got it all worked out,” Gerald answered. “Well, -there’s one thing I do know for certain, poppet.”

  “What’s that?” I asked gazing into his vivid blue eyes. I loved him a -lot.

  “We’re going to have rather exciting times these next few years, trying to make all the babies you want.”

  I laughed, reached up, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sure that won’t worry you.”

  “Of course it doesn’t, I’m mad for you, Luce.”

  “You’re the sexiest thing, Gerald.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, and let me return it. So are you.”

  “Thank you. Gerald?”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

  “I’m wide awake now, so go ahead, I’m listening.”

  “It’s about Locke Industries,” I began and then hesitated. “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

  “I’m all right, tell me what’s troubling you?”

  “I’m not really troubled,” I answered quickly. “Just concerned about Locke Industries.”

  “In what sense?”

  “Jack’s not really interested in running the business. He does what he does because he has to, and he was brought up to understand that -he had to do his duty. God knows, that was drilled into him all his life.

  But he doesn’t love Locke Industries the way I do. And I feel I should be running the company in his place. He could still have the title of chairman.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you want to be C.E.O and president?”

  Gerald asked, his voice rising slightly.

  “Well,” I began and paused when I saw the concerned expression settle on his face. “Don’t you think I could do the job?”

  “Don’t be silly, Luce, of course you could do it. But it’s awfully

  demanding and all-consuming. Quite frankly, I think Jonas Winston is a

  wonderful businessman and a great C.E.O and he’s done a fine job for ten

  years, performed extremely well. Don’t forget, he was handpicked by

  Sebastian. And Peter Sampson is a darned good second in corn mand. I-“

  “Do you think I can’t run Locke because I’m a woman?”

  “That has nothing to do with it!”

  “Then why are you looking so worried?”

  “You’re my wife. I want to spend time with you, Luciana.

  Obviously I don’t mind if you have a career, in fact I’m proud of you, your -achievements. You know that. But I’m not sure I’d want you spending eighteen hours a day at Locke headquarters in New York.”

  “I wouldn’t be doing that.”

  “Of course you would. You’re a hands-on person, that’s your style of management. I doubt you’ll change.”

  “Maybe Jack would be happy if I became chairman in this place,” I said, thinking aloud. “That’s a much less demanding job. And it would be much better for the company than having him making decisions from France. You wouldn’t mind if I were chairman, would you, Ger aid dear?”

  “No. But Jack might.” He threw me a knowing look.

  I shrugged.

  Gerald said softly, “And how many decisions do you think Jack really makes? Mostly he approves of what Jonas Winston thinks should be done, the decisions that Jonas has already made. They discuss them, of course, but Jack listens to Jonas, I’m positive of that. He’d be a fool not to listen when Jonas is sitting there in full command of the company. I absolutely believe this is exactly the way it is. Trust me on this, Luce, please.”

  “I’m not sure you’re right,” I began and paused. I knew he was correct in everything he’d said.

  “Look here,” Gerald exclaimed, “I’m going to give you a bit of advice.

  It’s the same advice I give to friends and colleagues who come and discuss a problem with me, a problem they have with someone else. I always tell them they’re talking to the wrong person. I point out that they should be talking to the person they’re at odds with, not me, because that’s the only way they’ll get any satisfaction, resolve the problem.”

  “So you’re telling me I should go and talk to Jack?”

  “Yes, I am, darling, if you want to pursue this matter further.”

  “And what if Jack is relieved and happy that I want to take over from him? How would you feel about that? And also, Gerald, would you really move to New York?”

  “In a shot! Of course I would. Move to New York, I mean. I’d be happy living there, I could run our Wall Street office, we could live in that magnificent townhouse of your father’s that’s now yours and is standing empty. And we could spend weekends at Laurel Creek Farm.

  I’m sure your brother would be happy if we made use of it in his absence. As for you taking over the chairmanship from Jack, that would be perfectly all right with me as long as you were not killing yourself at Locke Industries.”

  “I wouldn’t be doing that!” I exclaimed. “Not as chairman.”

  “No, I don’t think you would. You have more sense than that” He grinned at me in that boyish way of his and added, “It’s absolutely necessary that we have some free time together, in order to make all those babies you say you want.”

  “I do want them, don’t doubt that, Gerald.”

  “I don’t. Now if Jack’s not amenable to giving up the chairmanship, which he may not be, then you could suggest something else to him.

  You could offer to become joint chairman, share the responsibility with him.”

  “Yes.. .1 guess I could...”

  “Let’s just suppose that Jack agrees to your proposal. How do you think Jonas would feel about it?”

  “I don’t think he’d mind. He’s always liked me, admired me even, and we got on well when I worked with him at Locke in New York. I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that both he and Peter Sampson respect me.”

  “And certainly you don’t have any shareholders to answer to, since Locke is a privately held company with all of the shares in the hands of the Locke family.”

  “Except for Vivienne Trent. She has some shares. Sebastian gave them to her years ago when they were married,” I reminded him.

  “Good Lord, Luce, that’s not a problem! Vivienne would never fight you in any way.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “No, I certainly do not. And in any case, it’s not even a fair bet, since she doesn’t own enough shares to make a bit of difference one way or the other.”

  “That’s true.”

  Gerald yawned and stretched. “I’m frightfully sorry, poppet, but I think I do have to go to sleep now. I feel as if I’ve been awake for four or five days, I’m so tired. It’s the Hong Kong time difference getting the better of me at last.” He leaned over, kissed me lightly on the lips.

  “But at least I had strength enough earlier to make love.”

  “And perhaps make a baby,” I murmured.

  He smiled at me. “I hope so, I really do. Good night, sweet.”

  I said and turned out the light.

  Within seconds Gerald was fast asleep, breathing deeply. Poor thing, he really was exhausted after the long flight from Hong Kong, plus the time difference. He had arrived last night, looked fatigued, and yet he had insisted on going to the bank this morning.

  Not unnaturally, his jet lag had caught up with him later in the day.

  He had succumbed to it this afternoon, had fallen asleep in the car as I had driven us down here to our small country house in Mdington in Kent.

  I lay next to Gerald in the darkness, trying to fall asleep, but my mind was racing, working overtime. M
ostly it was focused on Jack.

  I cared about him and I knew he cared about me; he had looked after me when we were little, had always been my champion. And despite his ridiculous infatuation with Vivienne I knew he was always on my side when it came to the crunch. We may have had different mothers, but our father had made sure we were close and caring.

  We had been through a lot, seen a lot when we were children. I had shared Jack’s hurts, as he had shared mine, and I suffered with him when Sebastian and Cyrus were forever brainwashing him about doing his duty at all times.

  In the last few years I had felt sorry for him. My brother had had such rotten luck with women. No wonder he had turned to drink at one point.

  His first wife had become obsessed with our father; h is second wife had turned out to be a nymphomaniac panting to get into any man’s trousers.

  And now he had quarrelled with his girlfriend Catherine Smythe. I had met her with Jack twice, and I was not particularly enamored of her.

  When Jack told me two weeks ago that he had broken up with her and sent her back to London I was not in the least surprised. Those two were totally unsuited to each other and I had predicted to Gerald that they were bound to split up in the end. She was far too intellectual and highbrow for my down-to-earth Jack.

  At least my brother had the vineyards to consume him. They gave him immense pleasure, and he relished the success his label had be come in recent years. Earlier this week he had told me on the phone that he would never get married again, and I believed him. Further more, even if he changed his mind, and did tie the knot again one day, he would never have children. He disliked them far too much, found them irritating.

  Therefore it really was up to me to provide a new generation of Lockes, my own Lockes who would take the family into the twenty-first century. I fell asleep thinking about this.

  The following morning after breakfast, I went into the den and telephoned Jack at the Chateau d’Case. He seemed glad to hear my voice, and pleasantly surprised when I told him I wanted to visit him.

  “Is Gerald coming with you, Luce?” he asked.

  “No, I’m afraid he can’t. As you know he’s been away for three weeks, and he’s a lot of work to catch up on.”

  “How long can you stay?”

  “’IWO days, that’s all. I need to talk to you about a few business matters, quite aside from wanting to see you, Jack. I really was disappointed that you cancelled your trip to London this weekend.”

  Ignoring this, he said, “When are you coming?”

  “On Wednesday morning. Is that all right?”

  “It’s fine.”

  We said good-bye and hung up. As planned, I left London very early on Wednesday morning.

  Several hours later I was being driven out of the airport in Marseilles , the driver headed in the direction of Air-en-Provence.

  I had not visited the chAteau for some time and I had forgotten how beautiful Provence was. Now as we drove up through the Bouches-du Rhone I leaned back against the car seat, occasionally glancing out of the window, enjoying the scenery. -It was a pleasant spring day.

  Sunlit fields, vineyards, and olive groves under a fine blue sky brought back a rush of childhood memories, and for a few seconds I was transported to another time.

  I had first come to Provence when I was five years old, and I recall how confused I had been by the foreign language and this strange new place full of valuable people and unfamiliar sights.

  I had clung to Jack’s hand tightly, my eyes as big as saucers as I had taken everything in. But I had not been afraid. Quite the contrary. I remember that, like Jack, I had been excited about seeing the castle my father had recently bought. And when we had finally arrived at the ChAteau d’Case, Jack and I had been impressed.

  Together, hand-in-hand, we had wandered around the great house, peering into its vast rooms, traversing its endless corridors, and exploring its dusty attics. We had been awed by it all.

  We had spent many happy times at the chAteau for the next few years, even though Antoinette Delaney and Vivienne had invariably been with us on our vacations in France. My father had wanted them with us and who was I, a mere five-year-old, to protest.

  vivienne. I wondered what to do about her.

  Madge Hitchens had warned me she wanted to interview me for the profile of my father she was writing. No doubt she knew I was coming to Air.

  Jack wouldn’t have been able to keep that to himself. He told her everything. Like my father he had made her his sole confidante, a role which went all the way back to their childhood in Connecticut.

  There was no question in my mind that she would come bearing down on me whilst I was staying with Jack. I at once decided to beat her to the draw. I would call her and make a date before she had a chance to phone me. I didn’t particularly relish the idea of seeing her, but knowing her as I did, she would persist in hounding me until I talked to her. I might as well get it out of the way. And on my own ground.

  The last time I had seen Vivienne was at Sebastian 5 memorial service at the Church of St. John the Divine in Manhattan.

  She was miffed with me after our run-in at the farm following my father’s burial; I was angry with her. She had tried my patience, playing the grieving widow the way she had during the course of that morning.

  Divorced from Sebastian for a number of years, Vivienne had been another man’s wife and then his widow. I had seen no reason for her to adopt the role of widow at Sebastian’s funeral, since she was merely an ex-wife.

  Jack had said I was wrong, pointing out that Vivienne was genuinely grieving, reminding me that Sebastian had been her guardian after her mother had died. I’d quarrelled with Jack that day too; we had all been on edge I decided later and immediately smoothed it over with Jack.

  I made up my mind to be civil and cordial with Vivienne when I saw her at the chateau. For undoubtedly I would see her.

  Simone, Jack’s housekeeper, and Florian, his hou a role which went all the way back to their childhood in Connecticut.

  There was no question in my mind that she would come bearing down on me whilst I was staying with Jack. I at once decided to beat her to the draw. I would call her and make a date before she had a chance to phone me. I didn’t particularly relish the idea of seeing her, but knowing her as I did, she would persist in hounding me until I talked to her. I might as well get it out of the way. And on my own ground.

  The last time I had seen Vivienne was at Sebastian 5 memorial service at the Church of St. John the Divine in Manhattan.

  She was miffed with me after our run-in at the farm following my father’s burial; I was angry with her. She had tried my patience, playing the grieving widow the way she had during the course of that morning.

  Divorced from Sebastian for a number of years, Vivienne had been another man’s wife and then his widow. I had seen no reason for her to adopt the role of widow at Sebastian’s funeral, since she was merely an ex-wife.

  Jack had said I was wrong, pointing out that Vivienne was genuinely grieving, reminding me that Sebastian had been her guardian after her mother had died. I’d quarrelled with Jack that day too; we had all been on edge I decided later and immediately smoothed it over with Jack.

  I made up my mind to be civil and cordial with Vivienne when I saw her at the chateau. For undoubtedly I would see her.

  Simone, Jack’s housekeeper, and Florian, his houseman, were bur rying down the front steps of the chateau even before the car had drawn to a standstill.

  A second later, as I alighted, they came rushing forward to greet me, their faces all smiles.

  “Bonjour, madame,” they said in unison.

  “Bonjour, Simone, Florian,” I responded, smiling back.

  The driver had now taken my small case out of the trunk and when she saw it, Simone exclaimed, “Monsieur Locke said you would be here only two days. I see that is so from your luggage. C’est dommage, Madame Kamper, c’est dommage.”

  “Next time I hope to stay l
onger, Simone,” I murmured, following her up the steps into the chateau. She had worked here for fifteen years and I had always been a special favorite of hers.

  Jack came striding into the hall at this moment, saying apologetically , “Sorry, honey. I was on the phone. Paris.”

  “Hello, Jack,” I answered and smiled up at him.

  He hugged me affectionately and then held me away from him.

  “Luce. You’re different.” After a sharp and appraising look, he went on, “Cut your hair. Put on weight. Great! You look great.”

  “Thank you, Jack, and you don’t look so bad yourself.”

  Grinning at me, he put his arm around my shoulder and walked me into the small sitting room next to the library. It was a cozy room, full of big armchairs and a comfortable sofa arranged in front of the stone fireplace. Green velvet draperies hung at the windows, the color repeated in the antique savonerie on the floor.

  He said, “Let’s have a chat. And a drink. Before lunch. I have a new wine. Special. You must try it, Luce.”

  “I would love to, and tell me, darling, how’ve you been? I hope you’re not too down in the mouth about the split with Catherine Smythe.”

  “Not at all. Good riddance.” He walked over to the console table, where he kept a tray of drinks and glasses, and proceeded to open a bottle of wine. “We were not suited, not right together. I’m glad she’s gone,” he muttered dismissively.

  Sitting down on a chair near the fire, I studied him for a moment.

  I could not help thinking how much he resembled Sebastian this morning.

  He was wearing a vivid blue turtleneck sweater which emphasized the color of his eyes. With his head of thick dark hair and finely chiseled features he was the spitting image of our father.

  I almost said this and then instantly bit back the words, knowing they would offend him. He hated me to tell him he looked like Sebastian , and he forever went out of his way to dress quite differently.

  Our father had been such an elegant, fashionable, and impeccably tailored man; Jack was just the opposite, favoring old sweaters, frayed shirts, baggy corduroys, and worn jackets that he had Florian endlessly patch and repair. I was really quite ashamed of his clothes. That is why I usually gave him sweaters and shirts, ties and jackets for birthdays and Christmas. He never seemed to buy anything for himself.